20/03/2020

(AU) What Role Did Climate Change Play In The Australian Megafires?

Monash UniversityPaul Read



Paul Read is Senior Lecturer, School of Psychological Sciences, Monash University.
His focus is on global sustainability, natural disasters, and intergenerational equity based on global UN/WHO data linked to policy and the UN Sustainable Development Goals
In preparing for a lecture on an early spring day in the hills of Victoria, I noticed that male cicadas, usually prompted by summer temperatures, began their mating song months earlier than I could ever remember since childhood.

A week later, Queensland was on fire, and many of the blazes were attributed to arson. Despite many being deliberately lit, what followed suggested climate change. The question remained as to how much.

On further investigation, I was further shocked to find that the 2019 fires began in late August, before the usual Queensland bushfire season would start blazing its way down the east coast, six months ahead of the February peak for Australia’s deadliest fires for 200 years.

As well as seasonality, the reach and speed of its journey was “unprecedented”, a word right-leaning commentators immediately attacked.

Misinformation and politics
Andrew Bolt pointed out that the fires were small compared to Australian records since 1851. He ignored the main point about seasonal timing and speed, and went quiet as the fires grew and surpassed historical records. A few little-known grassfires in the Northern Territory were larger in terms of hectares burnt, but even they dwindled into insignificance when height was added to cover three-dimensional biomass.

Alan Jones saved the day for climate sceptics by blaming the fires on arson, using a version of the following logic: If arsonists caused the fires, then climate change didn’t.



This was based on misrepresenting fire investigations and satellite data converging on about 85 per cent of Australia’s 60,000 fires being due to human sources (yet he never mentioned that only 13 per cent were confirmed arson). After being promoted by Breitbart News and an army of right-wing bots spreading misinformation, the same argument was adopted by the Trump administration’s affiliates.

Experts were forced to state the obvious – even after human ignition, the size and ferocity of fires still depends on fuel and prevailing weather. Every cub Scout the world over knew this, but it still took weeks for the arson argument to subside.

In fact, the 2019 fires would have needed a sudden 60-fold increase in arson to account for Australia’s megafires – an impossibility given tiny 5 per cent increases in arson per year for decades.

The arson argument was rapidly smothered as fires grew, because the later, larger southern fires started to create their own weather – burning hotter than a Bunsen burner, pyro-cumulus clouds sparked their own dry lightning, and embers started fires more than 30 kilometres ahead of the front. This was consistent with past studies that massive fires fed their own growth, with diminishing contributions from arson and other human causes.

At this point, and at another level, the only remaining human cause was climate change. In response, Barnaby Joyce started arguing that the Greens’ policies prevented controlled burning, causing megafires due to higher fuel loads.

Determined conspiracy theorists combined this with the dwindling arson theme, claiming that Greens activists themselves lit the fires to push their own climate agenda. Madness. No activist would consider this, much less risk the species extinction that resulted after more than 1.5 billion animals died in these fires.

Indigenous burning: more funding required.
In response to the fuel load argument raised by Barnaby Joyce and others, past fire commissioners pointed to research and fire management experience showing that reduced fuel loads from hazard-reduction burns were inconsistent in decreasing seasonal wildfires. Sometimes it works, sometimes not, often in different areas. This is because the issue is extremely complex.

Hazard reduction isn’t just burning, but bulldozing, pesticides, grazing and deforestation. Using contractors with big machinery smashes biodiversity, whereas more careful but labour-intensive approaches include small-scale burning for fire-adapted species.

This level of sensitivity can only be carried out by dedicated groups of local volunteers following similar approaches to Aboriginal firestick burning, because it remains small-scale per participant (compared to modern machinery), so is more focused and sensitive to patches of ecological fragility.

This probably needs more government funding, because the approach is complex at all levels. It first needs to split state areas into much smaller patches that recognise the mix of species, their age, growth rates and fire resilience – all of which go into calculating what’s called the Tolerable Fire Interval (TFI), a measure now much more sophisticated than simple hectares burned. Adopted since 2017 in some states, the TFI pixelates satellite imagery to adjust and apply hazard strategies at granular levels. Despite the cost, Victoria managed to achieve this level of management and was still vulnerable to wildfires in Gippsland, demonstrating just how hard it is to manage bushfire overlays.

Apart from climate change, the last remaining argument, and one that has some merit, is that the fires emerged from a confluence of natural cycles.

Australia was hit by three of its main climate drivers in 2019: the El Nino Southern Oscillation (ENSO); the positive Indian Ocean Dipole (IOD); and the negative Southern Annular Mode (SAM).

The natural cycles that fanned the flames
El Nino is the hotter phase of the Southern Oscillation Index, measured by air pressure differences between Tahiti and Darwin. The IOD takes a similar approach, but is based on the sea surface temperature anomalies in the Indian Ocean’s tropical west against its southeast. Positive IOD values resemble El Nino, reducing rainfall in Australia’s southeast, and correlating with every Australian drought since 1889. Sometimes they coincide to form a “super El Nino”, which happened in 2019.

The third major driver is SAM, vast westerlies that spin around Antarctica, rising upwards towards Australia in cycles. In 2019 they rose towards Australia in August, causing less rain above Sydney and heatwaves in the southeast. As they rise, they blow across the hot Australian interior, explaining the red dust storms presaging the fires.

There’s no doubt these climate drivers affected drought and fires in Australia; no doubt again that some fires were lit by humans or caused by human activity; again, fuel load would have had a major impact even when properly managed. All converged on Australia’s biggest fires in recorded history, and some part is likely due to climate change as well.
There’s no excuse to remain one of the world’s highest emitters per capita – if developing nations point to Australia as a standard for their own rights to emissions, we would now need almost eight planets to accommodate them.
Here’s a crude estimate of how much climate change might have contributed:

Ignoring fuel and assuming arson followed its usual trajectory, we can presume the remainder of the fires emerged from a combination of natural cycles and climate change. The recently updated McArthur Forest Fire Wildfire Index (FWI) includes temperature, humidity and rainfall, whereas annual data is also available for the three main climate drivers back to 1957 – 60 years of data, all accessible to anyone with an internet connection to BOM.

When the years suffering major fires are compared with all others, all were affected by El Nino, followed by IOD, then rainfall (in other words, drought), followed by SAM. The three natural cycles were involved in 63 per cent of the fires since 1957, whereas rainfall was involved in 20 per cent.

As the single measure of climate change, national temperature anomalies had already risen by one degree in 2020 compared to the average from 1960 to 1990; it transitioned from negative to positive in 1985, and its maxima was linear, suggesting a rise of 1.5 degrees since 1950.

Using this metric alone, the effect of climate change on Australia’s megafires, outside of natural cycles and arson, amounts to 16 per cent. It’s likely much higher, though, as the natural cycles (except in the case of ENSO) are themselves affected by climate change, as can be seen in Figure 1.This simple approach can be calculated by anyone, but is likely a vast underestimate, as the next section demonstrates.

Figure 1. The fingerprint of climate change in the Indian Ocean Dipole, Southern Annular Mode and average annual temperature anomalies for Australia since 1957 (compared to 1960-90).

So, what did cause the Australian megafires?

At the start of February, the world’s leading science journal, Nature, announced that a global team of scientists, including Australia’s own Dr Sophie Lewis, were working on a complex attribution study to test whether and how much climate change was to blame for the Australian megafires. This study came out last week, buried under news of coronavirus and mass panic relating to toilet paper sales.

The authors of this eight-week attribution, led by Geert Jan van Oldenborgh from the Royal Netherlands Meteorological Institute, have now carried out 231 such studies on natural disasters worldwide – storms, heatwaves, floods and now fires.

Four of 11 datasets offered enough Australian data to reach back much further, to 1900. Not all were appropriate due to missing data in temperature, rainfall, humidity or wind speed – the types of factors used to predict catastrophic fires by emergency services. The entire analysis took three steps:
  • Temperature using a seven-day moving average for the fire weather (across available years)

  • Drought using annual precipitation and driest month (again across available years as above)

  • Attribution models on the Fire Weather Index (FWI) and the Monthly Severity Rating (MSR).
They also checked the results against the amount of area burnt in each month of the 2019 fires between the Great Dividing Range and the coast. The models across time and area validated one another, although they didn’t use actual burned area per year.

Final analyses demonstrated that fully 30 per cent of the increase in the FWI was due to anthropogenic climate change alone. Two models converged on a temperature increase of 1.5°C to 1.7°C from 1900 to 2019, plus a massive change in the return rate – the number of years that should elapse between catastrophic events. This fell dramatically from 85 years in 1900, to eight years in 2019.

For Australia, this means more catastrophic fires more frequently.

Outside of climate change, the more natural cycles of the Indian Ocean Dipole (IOD) and the Southern Annular Mode (SAM) caused more than half of the 2019 drought – around one third each – with little impact from the El Nino Southern Oscillation (ENSO). The probability of catastrophe rose by a factor of 11, mostly due to trends in temperature.



Implications for political arguments and misinformation campaigns
These results should put a host of political issues to rest, and also pave the way for adaptation and mitigation strategies – things such as the Australia Institute’s climate disaster levy, reanalysis of our obligations under the Paris Agreement, and a long-overdue reconsideration of Ross Garnaut’s efforts on behalf of the nation.

It should inform what the federal government aims to handle over the next six months – a re-evaluation of our approaches to bushfire, and our commitments under the Paris Agreement.

The Paris Agreement, even if fulfilled, still leaves the world on track for +3°C of warming – and even below this, +2°C would be enough to quadruple the frequency of catastrophic megafires.

The equally important issue of the coronavirus shouldn’t distract us from what the government chooses to do about fires.

As well as the royal commission into the Black Saturday fires, the Deloitte analysis of intangible costs, and many other factors, the government should also take into account two seemingly unrelated reports – the 2019 mass extinction report led by Professor Sandra Diaz, and the 2020 A Future for the World’s Children? report by the World Health Organization and UNICEF, in which Australia fails miserably to protect its own children.

If our children are to avoid ecological catastrophes, the world will have to adapt very rapidly to zero emissions – so rapidly that it would likely lead to resource wars and economic collapse. This means we need to act now if we mean to ease their adoption up to 2050 – to prevent them walking a razor’s edge between natural disaster and war.

For Australia, an interim aim would be to constrain, by 2025, Australia’s emissions to eight tonnes per capita of emissions. There’s no excuse to remain one of the world’s highest emitters per capita – if developing nations point to Australia as a standard for their own rights to emissions, we would now need almost eight planets to accommodate them.

Apart from Australia, the US and a clutch of OPEC nations, the world average is only 2.2 tonnes per capita. Even those who successfully optimised the health of their citizens over the past 60 years needed no more than eight tonnes, and this without any access to renewable technologies.

So why not Australia? If the value of our coal exports ends up less than the rising costs of bushfires, then why not apply a disaster levy, reintroduce Professor Garnaut’s solution, and aim for eight tonnes per person by 2025? At the very least, drop the ingenuous appeal for special consideration based on a confection of carbon credits.

And isn’t it also time to drop the ubiquitous argument of conservative commentators that we also need special consideration because we only emit 1.1 per cent of the world’s emissions. Just wait until China and India claim the same consideration based on our emissions per person – then see Australia furiously back-pedalling as its backyard burns.

If we act now, the cicadas will keep singing, and so will Australia’s children.

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(US) Where The Virus And Climate Intersect

New York TimesBrad Plumer |

Should Airline Bailouts Come With Conditions? And, Climate as a ‘Threat Multiplier’
A near-empty Delta flight to San Francisco from New York this week. Credit...Shannon Stapleton/Reuters
Airline Bailouts - Brad Plumer
Airlines are pressing the government this week for billions of dollars in emergency aid as the coronavirus crisis crushes the travel business. With Congress debating how to help the ailing United States economy, decisions like these could have long-term implications for climate change, too.
The nation’s major airlines recently asked for $50 billion in government assistance, warning that they could soon go bankrupt otherwise. President Trump has endorsed such an aid package, though the idea may prove contentious. On Wednesday, eight Senate Democrats signed a letter saying that any aid to airlines (or cruise ships, for that matter) should come with conditions requiring them to reduce their greenhouse gas emissions over time.
“If we give the airline and cruise industries assistance without requiring them to be better environmental stewards, we would miss a major opportunity to combat climate change and ocean dumping,” read the letter, signed by Senator Sheldon Whitehouse, Democrat of Rhode Island, along with seven of his colleagues.
Air travel has become an increasingly important contributor to global warming.
While aviation still accounts for less than 3 percent of global carbon dioxide emissions, those emissions are expected to triple by 2050 as tourism and travel expand. And airlines have struggled to clean up their act: In recent years, air traffic in the United States has grown three times as fast as the rate of fuel-efficiency improvements.
Some climate experts point out that lawmakers have plenty of options to change that dynamic if they wish, particularly if taxpayers are being asked to save the industry.
One possible model is the 2009 bailout of the auto industry, which nearly collapsed during the financial meltdown a decade ago. The Obama administration rescued GM and Chrysler from bankruptcy but also enacted stricter new fuel-economy rules for cars and light trucks. (More recently, the Trump administration has been working to relax those rules.)
Daniel Rutherford, who directs the aviation and marine programs at the International Council on Clean Transportation, offered a few ideas on Twitter for what a climate-friendly bailout of the airlines might look like. Congress could require new efficiency rules or even offer airlines tax breaks to speed up the retirement of older, more polluting aircraft in favor of newer, cleaner models. Or, airlines could be required to publicly report the emissions that result from different itineraries so that travelers can more easily choose less-polluting flights.
“The focus right now is on saving jobs and preventing a deep recession, and that should be front and center,” Mr. Rutherford said. “But air travel is eventually going to bounce back after this crisis subsides. And if the industry gets bailed out without any change to the underlying status quo, we’re going to see emissions continue to rise in the years ahead.”
Aedes aegypti, a mosquito that can spread dengue, Zika and yellow fever, in a lab. Credit...Photo Illustration by The New York Times; photo by Ricardo Mazalan/Associated Press
Climate change as a ‘threat multiplier’ - John Schwartz
Is there a connection between the new coronavirus and climate change?
Katharine Hayhoe, a climate scientist at Texas Tech and an author of the federal government’s leading climate change report, the National Climate Assessment, took that pressing question on in a series of tweets on Monday.
She was heading back to Texas from lectures in Ireland and Scotland after the pandemic cut that trip short. She was scheduled for 18 talks and 40 other events over an 11-day visit, but had to fly back five days early. (She has cut her travel to reduce her carbon footprint, so when she does take an international trip, she squeezes in everything she can.)
Her first tweet about the possible connection between coronavirus and climate change summed things up nicely: “The short answer is, very little,” she wrote, “but the long answer is, everything is related.”
I spoke with her on Tuesday and she expanded on those thoughts. Some diseases, such as Zika, are spread by animals like mosquitoes and ticks, and can be expected to spread as a warming world expands the animals’ geographic range. But it’s humans who transmit COVID-19. And we’re already everywhere.
She then dug into research showing the ways that climate change can exacerbate the risks associated with viruses and diseases like influenza in general.
You might think warmer winters could help, since flu seasons tend to be milder in warmer winters. But, she said, a milder season makes people less inclined to get vaccinated for the next season. The next season may start earlier and be tougher, and great suffering would result. And, she cited research suggesting that a warmer climate might dampen immune response.
She also looked to a deeper connection between climate change and disease: When we burn fossil fuels for energy, in addition to releasing greenhouse gases, we’re adding pollution to the air. And research has shown that air pollution kills. A study published this month suggests that air pollution is responsible for 8.8 million deaths each year.
Even worse, air pollution makes people more susceptible to respiratory illness. A look at the SARS epidemic in China in the past found that patients from regions with high air pollution were “twice as likely to die from SARS” compared to patients form regions with cleaner air.
Thus, Dr. Hahyoe said, climate change is a “threat multiplier” that makes many of our problems worse.
In closing, she made one more connection between this pandemic and the slower-moving catastrophe of climate change. “This crisis really brings home what matters to all of us,” she told me. “What really matters is the same for all of us. It’s the health and safety of our friends, our family, our loved ones, our communities, our cities and our country. That’s what the coronavirus pandemic threatens, and that’s exactly what climate change does, too.”

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The Coronavirus And The Climate Movement

New Yorker

One frustration of the coronavirus pandemic is that it’s interrupting the movement-building that is necessary to beat the fossil-fuel industry. Photograph by Patricia De Melo Moreira / AFP / Getty
Bill McKibben is a founder of the grassroots climate campaign 350.org and a contributing writer to The New Yorker.
My daughter—full grown and accomplished, but still my daughter—asked me the other day, “Do you think we’re going to go on having crises like this my whole life?” Probably not quite like the coronavirus (pandemics are fairly unique among disasters, in that they attack the whole world at the same time), but I’ve long feared that the result of heating the Earth will be an ongoing, accelerating series of disasters, eventually overwhelming our ability to cope. The pace of those events has been increasing in recent years, and our ability to keep them at something like a manageable level depends, above all, on the speed with which we transition off of gas, oil, and coal.

That’s why, for me, one frustration of the coronavirus pandemic is that it’s temporarily interrupting the movement-building that is necessary to beat the fossil-fuel industry. Just as basketball and Broadway have had to take a break, so have some forms of protest. Greta Thunberg asked school-strikers to go digital for a while: “We young people are the least affected by this virus but it’s essential that we act in solidarity with the most vulnerable and that we act in the best interest of our common society,” she told her four million Twitter followers. The Sunrise Movement—the inspiring young people who made the Green New Deal into a cause célèbre—asked organizers “to avoid mass physical gatherings,” saying, “as a generation shaped by the Internet and social media, it’s time to innovate, esp. digitally.”

When not writing this newsletter, I’ve been volunteering as an organizer for Stop the Money Pipeline, which has been trying to persuade banks, insurance companies, and asset managers to cease their funding of the fossil-fuel industry. (My interest grew out of a piece that I wrote for The New Yorker last fall.) Some of us went to jail, in January, to launch the campaign, which was going to crest with a wave of acts of nonviolent civil disobedience with the occupation of hundreds, or thousands, of Chase Bank branches, on April 23rd, the day after Earth Day’s fiftieth anniversary. (JPMorgan Chase is the world’s single biggest funder of fossil fuels.) But now we can’t—as soon as the potential for community spread of COVID-19 became clear, so did the cruelty of perhaps introducing it into the correctional system. I’ve spent just enough time in jails to know that they’re usually dirty, overcrowded, and full of people (many of whom do not need to be there) in constant motion between holding cells, prisons, and the courts. It’s going to be hard enough to keep inmates healthy without additional germs making their way inside from unknowing protesters. And people really should not be gathering in numbers now, anyway.

Digital activism is rarely as effective as in-the-flesh nonviolent action, but, for the time being, that is what people can engage in. On Monday, Paul Engler, one of the best strategists of nonviolent action, wrote that “we should draw both on the possibilities of new technology that allow for decentralized action and some time-honored lessons from past social movements.” And when the pandemic passes? Here is how Extinction Rebellion U.K. put it: “Nothing will feel the same and we need to be ready”—ready for resuming civil disobedience “when the time is right.”

Climate School
In case you’re wondering why activists are so enraged at banks, read this report from the California-based N.G.O. Amazon Watch, a nonprofit organization based in Oakland, about the “dirty five” financial institutions enmeshed in oil drilling in the Amazon rain forest. Someday, people may look back in wonder at a moment when bankers thought it proper to profit from damaging what the report calls “part of the Earth’s natural ‘thermostat’ ” in order to extract hydrocarbons that would wreck the climate system.

A paper published last week by the journal Nature Communications found that large ecosystems, including the Amazon, tend to collapse “disproportionately faster” than smaller ones. “The findings imply that shifts in Earth ecosystems occur over ‘human’ timescales of years and decades, meaning the collapse of large vulnerable ecosystems, such as the Amazon rainforest and Caribbean coral reefs, may take only a few decades once triggered,” it said. As the lead researcher, John Dearing, of the University of Southampton, in the United Kingdom, told reporters, “the messages here are stark.”

Although it was mostly lost amid the news of the escalating pandemic, the Senate Democrats’ Special Committee on the Climate Crisis held an important hearing last week on the risks that global warming poses to financial markets and the energy transition required to avert them. The testimony of Sarah Bloom Raskin, a former member of the Federal Reserve’s board of governors, was particularly powerful, an American version of the warning that Mark Carney—who was, from 2013 until earlier this month, the governor of the Bank of England—has been providing for the past half decade. Raskin said that, while financial-industry exposure to the fossil-fuel industry risks turmoil, a turn away from oil and gas implies “a sweeping reallocation of resources and technological revolution”—a reallocation that “would generate new, creative investment at a pace, by some estimates, of roughly quadruple the present rate.”

Passing the Mic
Tara Houska is Couchiching First Nation Anishinaabe, from Minnesota, an attorney who works on indigenous land issues, and the founder of the Giniw Collective, which describes itself as an “indigenous womxn-led frontline resistance to protect our Mother, defend the sacred and live in balance.”

You’ve been engaged in the Line 3 fight for a long time now. Remind us of the basics of that struggle, and why it’s so important to indigenous communities.
Line 3 is a massive tar-sands pipeline proposed from Alberta to the shores of Lake Superior. Just that single line is a ten-per-cent expansion of Canada’s oil production. Expanding tar sands, in the face of the climate crisis—it’s total madness. Minnesotans and tribal nations have been fighting tooth and nail in the system for years, but we’ve reached the point of final permitting by the state. I’ve been living in a pipeline-resistance camp in the forest for nearly two years, keeping tabs on the ground movement and land. The bulldozers are here.

For the Anishinaabe territory that the proposed route passes through, Line 3 could eradicate the heart of our culture: wild rice. Wild rice is of such importance to our people. It is the only grain mentioned in any treaty ever made between Native nations and the United States. Pipeline construction through wetlands—through more than two hundred bodies of water and watersheds into wild-rice beds—irrevocably harms the water quality and ecosystems that wild rice needs. Upstream and downstream, Line 3 is a continuation of violating the rights of indigenous peoples and the rights of future generations to have a world that can sustain human life.

Indigenous leaders have been at the forefront of the climate fight in recent years. What are they bringing to this work that makes their presence so important? 
Native folks aren’t new to defending land—it’s what we’ve done since colonization showed up at our doorstep. But the rise of independent and social media has brought new light to our narratives and fights for justice. Indigenous peoples are just five per cent of the global population, holding eighty per cent of the world’s biodiversity. Indigenous peoples have other ways of living, other value systems, that hold the basic knowledge that too many human beings have forgotten and need to remember. We cannot drink money. We are supposed to live in balance, as caretakers.

You spend a fair amount of time in the woods, hunting and so on. What role does the natural world play in your life?
Nature helps me figure out what truly matters in the short lifetime I have. Out here, the simple truths of life are tangible, and priorities are clear. Everything is hard work, every being has both purpose and fluidity. Everything has a spirit and must be treated with respect. It is life in the circular.

Scoreboard
Donald Trump has won few plaudits for the speed of his Administration’s response to the coronavirus. But a big fall in the value of oil-company stocks at the start of last week caught his attention, perhaps because some of his biggest contributors lost billions. By the week’s end, he’d instructed the Department of Energy to fill the Strategic Petroleum Reserve “right up to the top,” in what Oil Change International called an example of putting “the interests of oil and gas executives ahead of the interests of people and communities.”

The effort to figure out the effect of the virus on global warming’s future continues. A big variable is how China might react to the downturn in its economy. After the 2008 financial crisis, China’s recovery depended on huge infrastructure projects (such as airports) that lock in lots of fossil-fuel use, and, according to the South China Morning Post, that strategy is a possibility again. The World Resources Institute suggests that the better option, not just for China but for the world, would be to invest in low-carbon energy.

Warming Up
This feels like a week when real comfort is required—everyone’s nerves are jangled as we try to adjust to new realities. The song that most reliably puts me back on an even keel is “O-o-h Child.” (There’s even a solar-power message.) The original hit, by the Five Stairsteps, is undeniably great, and you should definitely sit down with Kamasi Washington’s wonderful mix. But, for sheer pull-up-your-socks-it’s-going-to-be-O.K. reassurance, it’s Nina Simone’s take all the way.

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