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The average human brain size is growing — but that doesn't exactly mean we're smarter

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Thursday, April 4, 2024

Humans owe our impressive intellect to our large brains, which are unusually sophisticated thanks to evolution. The first surge in our brain size occurred between 2 million and 800,000 years ago, when our species' increase in territory and physical size caused our brains to literally grow. As the climate changed between 800,000 and 200,000 years ago, human brains became even more complex so people could adapt to their new environments. The neocortex in particular expanded during this time, since this region of the brain controls higher-order brain functions including language, motor commands, sensory perception and spatial reasoning. “Larger brain structures like those observed in our study may reflect improved brain development and improved brain health.” Yet while these past periods of growth occurred over thousands of years, a recent study in the journal JAMA Neurology reveals that the human brain has in recent years grown considerably on a mere decade-by-decade basis. It all comes down to the town of Framingham, Mass. Since 1948, scientists have observed more than 5,200 participants across three generations to learn about their cardiovascular health. Over time the so-called Framingham Heart Study yielded a bounty of information about heart-related health matters, ranging from the importance of diet and exercise to the use of medications like aspirin. Yet the researchers behind the new article looked instead at brain-related data, drawing from a cohort of 3,226 participants born between 1925 and 1968. The MRIs of these patients revealed that, as each decade progressed, the comparative brain sizes of the human subjects became larger and larger. "In summary, our results indicate that [intracranial volume], white matter volume, and hippocampal volume as well as cortical surface area have increased over decades of birth ranging from 1930 to 1970," the authors explain. While this data may make it seem like humans are simply getting smarter, the news here may actually be even more hopeful. Diseases like Alzheimer's, strokes and other cognitive impairments continue to bedevil doctors seeking a cure. Because research indicates that "early life environmental influences are more likely contributors" than genetics to intracranial volume and brain size, it seems reasonable to assume that improvements in quality of life during the mid-20th century caused the growth in human brains. These bigger brains are healthier brains — and that, in turn, may offer a clue as to how this research can be used to treat brain diseases. Want more health and science stories in your inbox? Subscribe to Salon's weekly newsletter Lab Notes. "Brain volume is very weakly related to any measure of intelligence." "Life course perspectives emphasize the impact of early life experiences on brain health that also translate into larger brain structures and reduced risk for later-life dementia through improved reserve," the authors write. "Similarly, efforts to improve cardiovascular health during adulthood that occurred over the time duration of this study are associated with reduced incidence of cognitive impairment and dementia, indicating that modifying these factors could also serve to improve resistance to late-life dementia." Dr. Charles DeCarli, the lead author of the study and a distinguished professor of neurology at the University of California, Davis, explained in a press statement that a bigger brains seem to be less vulnerable to the ravages of neurodegenerative diseases. Salon reached out to DeCarli for comment and did not hear back. “Larger brain structures like those observed in our study may reflect improved brain development and improved brain health,” DeCarli said. “A larger brain structure represents a larger brain reserve and may buffer the late-life effects of age-related brain diseases like Alzheimer’s and related dementias.” Jeremy M. DeSilva, an associate professor of anthropology at Dartmouth College who was not involved in the study, told Salon that the new research has important social justice implications. "This study suggest that a key organ is sensitive to poor environmental conditions, which should motivate us as a society to reduce food insecurity, especially in children," DeSilva said. DeSilva also said that a 2018 study from South Korea in the American Journal of Biological Anthropology had the same findings — brain volume increasing from generation to generation — but expressed skepticism about whether human brains overall have grown by nearly 7%. DeSilva said that "it is well-established that brains shrink as we age" and that "while the authors controlled for age, it is almost certain that the difference in brain size between the different cohorts is because of this phenomenon." Although he acknowledged that improvements in nutrition could have resulted in brains getting slightly larger, "I’d be surprised if it was as large as the nearly 7% they report in their study." Even if that is happening, DeSilva said that this would not mean humans are getting smarter. "Brain volume is very weakly related to any measure of intelligence," DeSilva said. "For example, Einstein’s cranial capacity was 1,291 cc, smaller than the average cohort in this study and he was, well, Einstein. Additionally, Pleistocene humans and Neanderthals had larger brain volumes than humans today but there is no evidence that they were substantially more intelligent than we are." Instead of suggesting human brains are growing as we become smarter, the study's main contribution to the field of brain science is in offering hope that its findings could one day treat dementia. Indeed, this is the third 2024 study that has offered scientists new ways of understanding how to treat Alzheimer's. A pair of studies, both published in the journal Nature earlier this year, further illuminated the link between sleep quality and brain health. One study found that brain cell activity while people sleep moves cerebrospinal fluid around the brain, cleaning it of waste products including proteins like amyloid beta and tau, which can build up and cause Alzheimer's disease. This waste is then flushed out of the brain through a "sewage" infrastructure known as the glympathic system. The other study determined that some of the debris produced by the brain's function can be removed — at least, in mice — by stimulating the neural pathways to bring about activity similar to that which occurs during sleep. “What we found is that when we turn on this sensory stimulation, there is an increase in the [cerebrospinal fluid] movement into the brain,” Mitch Murdock, a doctoral student at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) and lead author of the study, told Salon at the time. If this trio of 2024 studies is any indication, the scientific world is rapidly discovering that brain health is not predetermined by our genes but very much controllable through human actions. While it will take time to develop the technology necessary to cure Alzheimer's and other brain diseases, the recent research at least improves our collective understanding of these conditions – and, therefore, what people can do to prevent them. "While such factors as greater educational achievement and medical management of vascular risk factors may explain part of [why dementia rates have declined recently], early life environmental differences also likely contribute," the authors said. Read more about neuroscience

A popular new study suggests modern brains are larger. But size isn't everything

Humans owe our impressive intellect to our large brains, which are unusually sophisticated thanks to evolution. The first surge in our brain size occurred between 2 million and 800,000 years ago, when our species' increase in territory and physical size caused our brains to literally grow. As the climate changed between 800,000 and 200,000 years ago, human brains became even more complex so people could adapt to their new environments. The neocortex in particular expanded during this time, since this region of the brain controls higher-order brain functions including language, motor commands, sensory perception and spatial reasoning.

“Larger brain structures like those observed in our study may reflect improved brain development and improved brain health.”

Yet while these past periods of growth occurred over thousands of years, a recent study in the journal JAMA Neurology reveals that the human brain has in recent years grown considerably on a mere decade-by-decade basis.

It all comes down to the town of Framingham, Mass. Since 1948, scientists have observed more than 5,200 participants across three generations to learn about their cardiovascular health. Over time the so-called Framingham Heart Study yielded a bounty of information about heart-related health matters, ranging from the importance of diet and exercise to the use of medications like aspirin. Yet the researchers behind the new article looked instead at brain-related data, drawing from a cohort of 3,226 participants born between 1925 and 1968. The MRIs of these patients revealed that, as each decade progressed, the comparative brain sizes of the human subjects became larger and larger.

"In summary, our results indicate that [intracranial volume], white matter volume, and hippocampal volume as well as cortical surface area have increased over decades of birth ranging from 1930 to 1970," the authors explain.

While this data may make it seem like humans are simply getting smarter, the news here may actually be even more hopeful. Diseases like Alzheimer's, strokes and other cognitive impairments continue to bedevil doctors seeking a cure. Because research indicates that "early life environmental influences are more likely contributors" than genetics to intracranial volume and brain size, it seems reasonable to assume that improvements in quality of life during the mid-20th century caused the growth in human brains.

These bigger brains are healthier brains — and that, in turn, may offer a clue as to how this research can be used to treat brain diseases.


Want more health and science stories in your inbox? Subscribe to Salon's weekly newsletter Lab Notes.


"Brain volume is very weakly related to any measure of intelligence."

"Life course perspectives emphasize the impact of early life experiences on brain health that also translate into larger brain structures and reduced risk for later-life dementia through improved reserve," the authors write. "Similarly, efforts to improve cardiovascular health during adulthood that occurred over the time duration of this study are associated with reduced incidence of cognitive impairment and dementia, indicating that modifying these factors could also serve to improve resistance to late-life dementia."

Dr. Charles DeCarli, the lead author of the study and a distinguished professor of neurology at the University of California, Davis, explained in a press statement that a bigger brains seem to be less vulnerable to the ravages of neurodegenerative diseases. Salon reached out to DeCarli for comment and did not hear back.

“Larger brain structures like those observed in our study may reflect improved brain development and improved brain health,” DeCarli said. “A larger brain structure represents a larger brain reserve and may buffer the late-life effects of age-related brain diseases like Alzheimer’s and related dementias.”

Jeremy M. DeSilva, an associate professor of anthropology at Dartmouth College who was not involved in the study, told Salon that the new research has important social justice implications.

"This study suggest that a key organ is sensitive to poor environmental conditions, which should motivate us as a society to reduce food insecurity, especially in children," DeSilva said. DeSilva also said that a 2018 study from South Korea in the American Journal of Biological Anthropology had the same findings — brain volume increasing from generation to generation — but expressed skepticism about whether human brains overall have grown by nearly 7%. DeSilva said that "it is well-established that brains shrink as we age" and that "while the authors controlled for age, it is almost certain that the difference in brain size between the different cohorts is because of this phenomenon."

Although he acknowledged that improvements in nutrition could have resulted in brains getting slightly larger, "I’d be surprised if it was as large as the nearly 7% they report in their study."

Even if that is happening, DeSilva said that this would not mean humans are getting smarter.

"Brain volume is very weakly related to any measure of intelligence," DeSilva said. "For example, Einstein’s cranial capacity was 1,291 cc, smaller than the average cohort in this study and he was, well, Einstein. Additionally, Pleistocene humans and Neanderthals had larger brain volumes than humans today but there is no evidence that they were substantially more intelligent than we are."

Instead of suggesting human brains are growing as we become smarter, the study's main contribution to the field of brain science is in offering hope that its findings could one day treat dementia. Indeed, this is the third 2024 study that has offered scientists new ways of understanding how to treat Alzheimer's.

A pair of studies, both published in the journal Nature earlier this year, further illuminated the link between sleep quality and brain health. One study found that brain cell activity while people sleep moves cerebrospinal fluid around the brain, cleaning it of waste products including proteins like amyloid beta and tau, which can build up and cause Alzheimer's disease. This waste is then flushed out of the brain through a "sewage" infrastructure known as the glympathic system. The other study determined that some of the debris produced by the brain's function can be removed — at least, in mice — by stimulating the neural pathways to bring about activity similar to that which occurs during sleep.

“What we found is that when we turn on this sensory stimulation, there is an increase in the [cerebrospinal fluid] movement into the brain,” Mitch Murdock, a doctoral student at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) and lead author of the study, told Salon at the time.

If this trio of 2024 studies is any indication, the scientific world is rapidly discovering that brain health is not predetermined by our genes but very much controllable through human actions. While it will take time to develop the technology necessary to cure Alzheimer's and other brain diseases, the recent research at least improves our collective understanding of these conditions – and, therefore, what people can do to prevent them.

"While such factors as greater educational achievement and medical management of vascular risk factors may explain part of [why dementia rates have declined recently], early life environmental differences also likely contribute," the authors said.

Read more

about neuroscience

Read the full story here.
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Warm Oceans Strengthened Hurricane Francine and Could Power More Fall Storms

Hurricane Francine made landfall Wednesday

Warm ocean water is essential for forming and strengthening hurricanes. Heat helps the water evaporate faster, fueling the storm and producing more rainfall. Mid-September is typically the peak of hurricane season and Francine moved through a part of the ocean that held an exceptional amount of energy. As of Wednesday afternoon, Francine had strengthened to a Category 2 hurricane with sustained winds of nearly 100 mph (161 kph). Hear's how high Gulf of Mexico water temperatures are effecting Francine and the hurricane season:The Gulf of Mexico doesn't need record setting temperatures to form hurricanes this time of year. Still, Francine traveled through water that at the surface, was somewhat hotter than average, but not record setting. The storm passed over a patch that was roughly 86 to 88 degrees (30 to 31 Celsius).What's exceptional is the amount of heat deeper down. Storms churn up the ocean, bringing to the surface cooler water.Recently, however, that deeper layer was record-setting. It held more heat than at any point in the last decade, according to Brian McNoldy, a senior research associate at the University of Miami’s Rosenstiel School of Marine, Atmospheric, and Earth Science. “This past week was pretty exceptional,” he said.And Francine passed over a patch of water, called an eddy, that was especially hot. Near the coast, however, the water is a bit cooler than average, meaning there's less energy to strengthen the storm.“It's window for really intensifying is closed, so that's good news,” he said.Warmer water lower down matters most for large, strong storms that move slowly — that's the recipe for churning up a bunch of deeper water. “On the opposite end of that, a weaker, smaller, quicker moving storm will hardly churn up the ocean at all," said McNoldy. For these storms, the temperature of deeper water matters less.Francine isn't extremely strong, so the energy stored deeper in the Gulf of Mexico didn't matter quite as much, according to McNoldy.Still, conditions were favorable enough for the storm to rapidly intensify. On Tuesday afternoon, Tropical Storm Francine had sustained winds of 65 mph (105 kph). A day later it's nearly 100 mph (161 kph). This type of quick change can make storms more dangerous, fast, surprising those in their path.“Our model projections are telling us this is the type of thing that should become much more common as we go forward into the 21st century, as global warming continues to increase,” according to Gabriel Vecchi, a hurricane researcher at Princeton University who also directs its High Meadows Environmental Institute.But there's other factors reducing Hurricane Francine's power, according to Bob Smerbeck, a senior meteorologist at AccuWeather. Nearby dry air has weakened its growth and as the storm gets closer to the coast, winds will disrupt the shape of the hurricane, further reducing its power.“Once it gets inland, it'll weaken quickly, but it's going to do a lot of damage along the way,” said Smerbeck.WHAT ABOUT LONG-TERM TRENDS?Federal forecasters predicted an intense hurricane season. And a big storm came historically early. Hurricane Beryl formed in late June and reached Category 5. But at the mid-point of the season, activity has been pretty average, with just six named storms this Atlantic Hurricane season. August was especially quiet, according to Robert West, a hurricane and climate researcher with the University of Miami and affiliated with the National Oceanic Atmospheric Administration.But the Atlantic Coast is far from out of the woods.“It seems like the tropics are kind of waking up a little bit,” West said.The warm temperatures in the Gulf of Mexico will help, continuing to provide fuel.There are long-term trends at play, too. Climate change is heating up oceans around the world, although experts say it is difficult to connect specific hurricane seasons or storms to a warming planet, West said.And there are global weather patterns. Federal forecasters this summer said La Nina could develop. That's where parts of the Pacific Ocean have cooler water surface temperatures. When that happens, it can reduce winds that weaken hurricanes. “This could be the beginning of a busy period here,” said Smerbeck. The Associated Press receives support from the Walton Family Foundation for coverage of water and environmental policy. The AP is solely responsible for all content. For all of AP’s environmental coverage, visit https://apnews.com/hub/climate-and-environmentCopyright 2024 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.Photos You Should See - July 2024

How the ‘rebound effect’ could eat away at the green gains from electric vehicles

There’s a risk that the belief that electric vehicles are much greener results in owners driving more often or faster, or using cars instead of public transport.

alexfan32/ShutterstockThe transport sector produces around 19% of Australia’s total greenhouse gas emissions. About 85% of transport emissions come from road vehicles burning fossil fuels. In Australia’s Emissions Projections 2023, transport emissions are expected to rise from 2023 under the baseline scenario, returning to pre-pandemic levels. As the projected uptake of electric vehicles increases from 2030 to 2035, transport emissions are expected to fall. While these projections are promising, the reality is more complex. Our new research has explored often-overlooked factors such as the rebound effect. It’s the phenomenon where energy-efficiency gains, such as those from electric vehicles, can lead to an increase in overall use. We have already seen this effect at work in other nations that led the way in adopting electric vehicles. Fortunately, we also have evidence of how to manage the rebound effect to achieve the expected green gains from electric vehicles. The rebound effect is widespread When something becomes more efficient, cheaper or easier to use, people tend to use more of it. This can partially (and sometimes significantly) offset the expected benefits of greater efficiency. The rebound effect has been well-documented in relation to many large-scale green initiatives, especially home energy-efficiency improvements when homes are retrofitted with better insulation or heating and cooling systems. With lower heating and cooling costs, some households then keep their homes at higher comfort levels for longer. This offsets some of the intended energy savings. In the case of vehicle electrification, as cars become cheaper to own and run, people may end up driving more often or for longer distances. We are already seeing this in some countries. A study from Stockholm, Sweden, during early stages of electric vehicle adoption found drivers made more trips and relied more heavily on their cars than non-EV users. The study participants generally perceived electric vehicles as being more eco-friendly than using public transport. Drivers may also increase their speed and acceleration, knowing their vehicle is more fuel-efficient and driving has become cheaper. One study found a 20.5% rebound effect in journey speed for electric vehicles. This reduced the expected energy savings. How much impact does this effect have? Studies have found that if evaluations of environmental benefits ignore rebound effects, these benefits may be overstated by about 20% for reduced vehicle use and around 7% for reduced electricity use. Other studies have predicted more moderate effects. You might ask, so what if travellers go longer distances? Aren’t electric vehicles still zero-emission? While they produce no tailpipe emissions, longer distances increase their environmental footprint in other ways. More driving uses more electricity. If it comes from fossil fuels, it produces carbon emissions. The manufacturing and disposal of electric vehicle batteries generate significant emissions too. More driving leads to more road congestion and non-exhaust emissions from tyres and brakes. In other words, zero-emission driving isn’t the whole picture. Despite the rebound effect, electric vehicles will still have significant environmental benefits. But just how big these benefits are depends on how the vehicles are used. What is the psychology behind this effect? Understanding rebound behaviours is key to minimising the gap between expected and actual environmental benefits. Research shows that while people may adopt pro-environmental behaviours, such as driving electric vehicles, they don’t always make rational, purely cost-driven decisions. It has been suggested factors like moral licensing — the idea that people feel entitled to behave less sustainably after making a green choice — drive this phenomenon. More recent research has provided evidence that moral licensing is not the whole picture. Instead, environmental attitudes and demographic factors — such as age and gender — play a bigger role in determining subsequent climate-friendly behaviour. Younger men are least likely to behave in a climate-friendly manner. Older people and women are more likely to behave in sustainable ways. Personal and social norms play a role in how people respond to energy-efficient technologies, but not always in expected ways. Pro-environmental values — where individuals genuinely care about their impact — are the most effective in preventing rebound effects. People with these values are more likely to adjust their consumption mindfully. However, social norms can have the opposite effect. In some cases, people may adopt energy-efficient products like electric vehicles to meet societal expectations, but this can lead to what’s called compensatory behaviour. Feeling they’ve “done their bit”, they may justify using the vehicle more often. Or they might switch from public transport to driving. What’s the solution? Incentives and policies to promote electric vehicles are largely effective in cutting carbon emissions but can have unintended consequences. The low running costs of these vehicles, along with incentives like toll or tax exemptions, may encourage more driving. This often happens at the expense of public transport, cycling and walking. Such incentives could also contribute to increases in vehicle ownership or city traffic. Lack of knowledge about the full environmental impact of the choices they make can make people more susceptible to such unintended effects. When consumers are better informed, unintended consequences such as the rebound effect tend to diminish. Raising awareness and providing targeted information could help counter behaviours that undermine the benefits of electric vehicles. In the global push to combat climate change, simply reducing vehicle tailpipe emissions won’t be enough. To truly minimise transport’s impact, we must adopt a holistic approach that addresses the entire life cycle of vehicles—from production and use to disposal. Milad Haghani receives funding from the Australian Research Council. Hadi Ghaderi receives funding from the iMOVE Cooperative Research Centre, Transport for New South Wales, Queensland Department of Transport and Main Roads, Victorian Department of Transport and Planning, Department of Infrastructure, Transport, Regional Development, Communications and the Arts, IVECO Trucks Australia limited, Innovative Manufacturing Cooperative Research Centre, Victoria Department of Education and Training, Australia Post, Bondi Laboratories, Innovative Manufacturing Cooperative Research Centre, Sphere for Good, Australian Meat Processor Corporation,City of Casey, 460degrees and Passel.David A Hensher does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

California’s young voters must participate if we want a livable climate future

Even if young voters are disillusioned with the American democratic process, they need to participate in our elections and support climate change protections and advocates, writes a Eureka teen.

The first-time voter conversation by California Voices features authors voting for the first time this November to help Californians understand why new voters believe in the importance of casting a ballot. Read more voices on voting. Guest Commentary written by Bella Tarlton Bella Tarlton is an incoming freshman at Cal Poly Humboldt University and lives in Eureka. She was the editor-in-chief of her high school’s journalism program. As a young Californian, I’ve already witnessed firsthand the rapid and dreadful environmental changes unfolding around us. From wildfires and floods to rising sea levels and scorching temperatures, it’s clear the home we love is in danger. I’m deeply concerned about the future of our planet, and I plan to cast my first vote in support of candidates and policies that support a livable earth.  This election year it is more crucial than ever for voters to actively support candidates committed to using their leadership positions to protect our imperiled planet. This is a central reason that I am a registered voter: I believe in doing the most in my power as a citizen to make change happen.  According to the Public Policy Institute of California, only 18% of people ages 18-34 are registered and likely voters. As a part of this younger generation, I hope to encourage the people around me to use this opportunity for their voices to be heard and acknowledge that their votes are essential to our future.  My generation must unite and use our collective voices to spotlight the fundamental need for decisive action to prevent further irreversible harm to our planet from human-caused climate change.  I fear for my future and the future of our children and grandchildren. What will this world look like for them? What will it look like during my own life? If my vote can make a difference in that outcome, then I will use it to make the most of my power, as every young voter should. Supporting a candidate running for office, whether for the country, your state or your local area, means supporting what they support, including solutions they propose to safeguard our home against the perils of climate change.  Protecting ecosystems that serve as carbon sinks — while simultaneously curbing emissions of additional carbon into our atmosphere to sustain a livable future environment — is a priority concern of mine. Restoring and preserving natural ecosystems with a focus on wetlands is paramount, and deserves robust support from policymakers and candidates alike. “Wetland protections are now more important than ever at the state level after the U.S. Supreme Court ruling in Sackett v. EPA, which effectively shrunk the jurisdiction of federal wetlands protected by the Clean Water Act at least in half,” said Jennifer Marlow, an assistant professor of environmental law at Cal Poly Humboldt.  Without federal protections, it is our responsibility as voters to elect public officials in California who understand the importance of wetlands as carbon sinks, as well as their role in protecting our communities from flooding events.  This must be done in both local and state elections where our voices matter the most.  Lowering carbon emissions from entering the atmosphere is another important factor in reducing climate impacts to the state. Young voters should support candidates running for office who prioritize funding for research and development of non-fossil fuel and carbon neutral renewable energy infrastructure that can supply all of California’s energy needs.  Voters should also support candidates that have a clear goal of phasing out fossil fuel extraction and usage within the decade. Our state needs to achieve carbon neutrality — and currently, carbon is released at dangerously high rates.  “California sued Big Oil recently, but our state must also stop approving new oil and gas permits,” Marlow told me. “Candidates should support renewed rule-making for regulations that require setbacks — no oil drilling within 3,200 feet of homes, schools, hospitals and other sensitive sites should be permitted.” However we address climate change because the rest of the world is watching. Young voters, especially in California, must serve as role models by voting on how we handle climate policies. If enough young voters make their voices heard, we will collectively set nationwide trends and California will take a leadership role in how we handle the climate crisis.   This starts with supporting candidates who will address climate change without hesitation. Bold and decisive action from our political leaders will ensure California becomes a safe and sustainable home for me and other generations whose future relies on it. It starts with the vote of young Californians like me.

It's almost shameful to want to have children'

Climate Anxiety and the Kid Question' asks: With American society feeling more socially and politically polarized than ever, is it right to bring another person into the world?

Jade S. Sasser is an associate professor in the Department of Gender & Sexuality Studies at UC Riverside. Her research explores the relationships between reproductive justice, women’s health and climate change, and she’s the host of the podcast “Climate Anxiety and the Kid Question.” The following excerpt is from her newest book, “Climate Anxiety and the Kid Question: Deciding Whether to Have Children in an Uncertain Future,” which was published earlier this year. The kid question. It comes up over and over again in the form of family questions and expectations. It arises in conversations with peers, partners and new dates. It appears in the quiet times, sitting in the spaces where our wildest hopes and deepest fears collide.American society feels more socially and politically polarized than ever. Is it right to bring another person into that?In 2021 and 2022, I conducted a series of interviews on this topic with millennials and members of Generation Z, all of them people of color. Some grew up in low-income families and neighborhoods while others were from the middle- or upper-middle class. Some of them identify as queer, or their close family members and friends do, which shapes their sensitivity to discrimination against gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people.These interviewees have more climate change knowledge than most people do. All of them are college-educated; most of them either grew up or have lived for some time in Southern California; and most have taken environmental studies classes, either as undergrads or in graduate school.Their experiences as members of marginalized groups have shaped their experiences with climate emotions like anxiety, fear, and trauma — as well as hope and optimism. Paying closer attention to those emotions and mental health in communities of color, including how they shape reproductive plans, will become an increasingly important component of climate justice in the United States.BobbyBobby, 22, considers himself an environmentalist. He recently graduated from college in Southern California with a degree in sustainability studies. His family is Guatemalan American.Bobby is both confident that he will become a parent one day and also certain that he won’t bring his own biological kids into the world. His thoughts about the environment, the future, and parenting come into sharp relief through his current job at a restaurant, where he is unhappily employed. “There’s so much being wasted that could be returned to the earth.”He connects these waste issues to carbon emissions and how he feels about having children. For Bobby, this is an ethical issue, a reason why he should not have biological children:“I’m worried about what they would have to deal with growing up. I was already a young adult when I started to think about these things, but for them, at a young age they’re going to have to think about the environment and the fears that come along with pollution. Students discard food into a bin as part of a lunch waste composting program at an elementary school. (Associated Press) “This is why I’m leaning more toward a foster kid, and maybe eventually adopting them. Because it wasn’t my choice to have that kid, but I can help guide them to have a better life. … The environment is really the deciding factor for me.”Although he always wanted to have children, his thoughts about fostering arose from taking environmental studies classes. “Going into college was the first time I was exposed to this information firsthand, and I realized for the first time, it’s not all rainbows and sunshine. I had never learned before … about things like food waste and carbon emissions. And that’s when the gears started turning in my head about the future and what I wanted to do.”VictoriaVictoria is the same age as Bobby; she graduated from the same university and is also from an immigrant family, though hers is from Ghana. In Victoria’s house there were four siblings and half a dozen cousins who were always around. As a result, Victoria really cherished the closeness and security of a large family.“I guess in the future, I would love to have children,” she says. “I’d really like to have a big family. I grew up in a big family, so it’s nice.”Victoria is interested in perhaps adopting or fostering, and she also connects the desire for this to her undergraduate education in environmental topics.“I got a degree in sustainability, and I’ve always questioned bringing people into an environment [where] so much is going on politically, socially, health-wise, all of that. I always thought I wanted to give birth, but the more I look at foster care, I realize that I don’t need to physically have children to experience being a mom… . It’s a little selfish on my end to think I’m going to have all these kids when there are already kids in the world who would probably make me a better parent.” Protesters hold a “silent march” against racial inequality and police brutality that was organized by Black Lives Matter Seattle-King County in June 2020. (Associated Press) Victoria’s concerns about biological children are multifaceted: She worries about the future of healthcare access, wealth inequality, and whether her children would receive a low-quality education or be racially tracked in public schools. Ultimately it comes back to how racial inequality interacts with other social challenges to heighten her own sense of vulnerability and that of her potential future children.“If I have children, they will be Black children,” she says. “It isn’t self-hatred. I love being Black, but the things I’ve gone through I wouldn’t wish on other children.”This is a frequent topic of conversation among Victoria and her friends. They talk about whether they want to have children in the future. Most of them do not.That feeling of being traumatized by an awareness of ongoing racial inequality shaped the perspectives of a group of Black women I spoke to. They were different ages, from their 20s to their late 30s, and they ranged from just starting out to having established careers. However, each perceived herself, and the prospect of becoming a mother, through the lens of vulnerability.RosalindRosalind, 38, is a Black woman of Caribbean origin living in Southern California. She has a graduate degree, a job as a scientific researcher, and is settled in a community she likes. Nevertheless, thoughts of the future are a heavy, ever-present burden. When I ask if there is one issue that feels like the primary reason for not having kids, she answers decisively: racism.“With all of the anti-Black violence, and the police violence against us, it just seems so unsafe. And I see so many of my friends who do have children that are constantly stressed because of this, especially the ones who have teenage boys who are taller than average. They send their kids out there and then just spend their time worrying about whether their child is going to be targeted or harassed in some way, or potentially killed. I just don’t think I have the disposition to put up with that kind of stress.”MelanieMelanie, a 26-year-old Native American woman, was raised on the Navajo reservation and in Southern California. She idealizes having a big, happy family, but there are aspects of the world that give her pause, so she struggles with whether it’s morally OK to have children.“ I think I may not have children although I do want them,” she notes. “Just because, with all of the things we see going on in the world, it seems unfair to bring someone into all of this against their will.” Drought last year took a toll on Joshua trees at Joshua Tree National Park. (Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times) Melanie’s feelings about climate change include a general sense of powerlessness and lack of control over other people’s actions, which directly translates into her fears about parenthood: “With climate change, we’re the driving force of things breaking down, but then also, the planet’s going to do what the planet’s going to do. … So … it almost feels, like, kind of shameful to want to have children.”JulianaJuliana, a 23-year-old Mexican American woman, is strongly aware of negative peer pressure from friends. She recently graduated from art school, and her friend circle is mainly composed of queer and transgender, anti-establishment artists. Most of them have no intention of having children of their own, which seeps into conversations with Juliana.Her friends cite environmental and mental health concerns. Their anxiety tells them that they can’t properly take care of themselves, much less a child. They also struggle, as trans and nonbinary people, with the issues of access to fertility centers and the need to use reproductive technologies that feel out of reach.Juliana feels that it may be unfair for her to consider having biological children. She tells me that these feelings are not entirely separate from how she feels about what her child’s racial upbringing would be. The Borel fire devastated Havilah, a historic mining town in Kern County, in late July. (Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times) As a dark-skinned Mexican woman, she regularly experienced racism growing up in Southern California— and given that her husband is white, any child she might birth would be biracial, which raises questions about whether and how they would navigate the world differently than she has. But Juliana is an optimist, and she does plan to have one child.ElenaI spoke to several young women who are addressing the kid question with their dates, potential partners, and long-term boyfriends. Elena, 22, is one of the most certain people I’ve met: She is not having children.She’s from a Salvadoran immigrant family in which she is one of four children, while her mother was one of 12. Her certainty that stems from both life experiences and climate fears:“Me being interested in environmental policy cemented my decision to not have kids, but I do have some personal things that I’ve gone through in life that I wouldn’t want my kids going through, like not having a dad. So I feel like it’s best if I just focus on myself and take care of my mom. ... I can also spend my time and energy focusing on someone that’s already here.”Elena brings this conversation up on every first date with any new guy she sees. Given that most of them expect to have families in the future, Elena feels strongly that she does not want a relationship. This has been discouraging for her, but her mind is made up.Like some of the other people I interviewed, Elena’s feelings about climate change were sparked by environmental studies classes. She says, “[I] started feeling like having kids is definitely not a sustainable thing to do. … I don’t want them to grow up and have to leave their home because of sea level rise. Or be worried because of really weird weather patterns.“I know that things aren’t going to get better. So why would I want to put a child through that? Even when my sister gave birth to my nephew, I was like, Why? They’re gonna go through so much.” A pump station sits idle near homes in Arvin, Calif., where toxic fumes from a nearby well made residents sick and forced evacuations in November 2019. (Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times) VeronicaElena’s close friend Veronica, a 22-year-old from Los Angeles, manages the cultural expectations of a large, immigrant family from Guatemala. “Because of my Hispanic background people are always like, when are you gonna have children, of course you’re having children. It is what it is, right? But now that I’m an adult, I think about it differently. Would my child have a good quality of life? Will they be able to survive?”She wants to have a child, “but I also want to be mindful of that child. Because it’s not just about having it, it’s about raising it. And being able to sustain it as well.”For Veronica the everyday environmental concerns link directly to the larger issues shaping climate change: power, who has it, and who doesn’t. Though seemingly distant, intergenerational power imbalances — and older generations’ legacies of generating the emissions that have caused climate change — make her feel that it is unfair for people her age to have to ask the kid question.She says: “I just think that people in power, whether they believe in climate change or not, it’s not beneficial for them to really do something about it. Because they’re older, it’s not going to affect them the way it affects us. … They have so much money and power it doesn’t affect them the same way. They can buy protection from what the rest of us are going to have to deal with.”Although these interviews focused primarily on the challenges young people face as they approach reproductive questions, many of them still wanted families of their own. For those who were certain about having children, the reasons were emotional: love, joy, happiness, and hope.Bobby was clear that he doesn’t plan on having biological children, but he was happy about the thought of fostering in the future and was particularly excited at the thought of his sister having kids.“I would love to be an uncle,” he said. “Just seeing the next generation, the reason why I’ve been more optimistic about having a foster child of my own, is about being able to see them grow.”Victoria was excited at the prospect of adopting multiple children. This 2019 aerial photo provided by ConocoPhillips shows an exploratory drilling camp at the proposed site of the Willow oil project on Alaska’s North Slope. (Associated Press) “I want to create a space where kids have loving, supportive parents. My parents aren’t perfect, but I know that I grew up in a loving home where they would do anything for my success and protection, and I want to create that for someone else.”Her sentiments were echoed by Melanie, whose experience living in a racially and gender-diverse family inspires her to want to recreate the same.She said: “When I look within my own family, we’re very diverse. We’re Black, we’re white, we’re Native American. We’re straight, we’re queer, we’re nonbinary. And we still have compassion for each other and that kind of spills over into compassion for other people that we don’t know. And I think, like, I don’t want to quit. I don’t want to let the bad things dictate how I make my decisions“The idea of bringing someone into this world and growing them with compassion and love, and making sure they grow up knowing to stand up for other people and stand up for what’s right, that’s a little glimmer of hope.”

To fix climate anxiety (and also climate change), we first have to fix individualism

What, exactly, is climate anxiety? And how should we cope? Environmental reporter Rosanna Xia explores the many dimensions to our existential dread.

How do you cope? I feel the sorrow, the quiet plea for guidance every time someone asks me this question. As an environmental reporter dedicated to helping people make sense of climate change, I know I should have answers. But the truth is, it took me until now to face my own grief.My heart keeps breaking whenever I meet yet another child struggling with asthma amid orange, smoke-filled skies. I, too, am reeling from the whiplash of extreme drought and extreme rain, and I’m still haunted by the thought of a mother having to call each of her daughters to say goodbye as the homes around her cave to fire. Each year, as I reflect on my own reporting on the floods that keep getting worse and the toxic pollution building up in all forms of life, I find myself questioning whether I could ever justify bringing my own children into this world. I agonize over the amount of plastic we can’t avoid using and mourn the monarch butterflies that have vanished. With each new heat record shattered, and each new report declaring a code red for humanity, I can’t help but feel like we’re just counting down the days to our own extinction.“Climate anxiety” is the term we now use to describe these feelings, but I must confess, I was perplexed when I first heard these words a few years ago. Anger, frustration, helplessness, exhaustion — these are the emotions I come across more often when getting to know the communities bracing for, or recovering from, the devastation of what they’ve long considered home.Then a college student asked me about climate anxiety. It came up again on social media, and again in personal essays and polls. This paralyzing dread was suddenly the talk of the town — but it has also, very noticeably, remained absent in some circles.All this has led me to wonder: What, exactly, is climate anxiety? And how should we cope? At first blush, this anxiety seems rooted in a fear that we’ll never go back to normal, that the future we were once promised is now gone. But who this “normal” is even for (and what we’re actually afraid of losing) speaks to a much more complicated question:Is this anxiety pointing to a deeper responsibility that we all must face — and ultimately, is this anxiety something we can transcend?For Jade Sasser, whose research on climate emotions has been grounded by her own experiences as a Black woman, these questions sharpened into focus during a research-methods seminar that she was teaching early last year at UC Riverside.The class — all female, many from low-income immigrant communities — had been a fairly quiet group all quarter, so Sasser was surprised when the room completely erupted after she broached what she thought would be an academic, somewhat dispassionate discussion about climate change and the future.Every student was suddenly talking, even yelling, over one another. Thought after thought tumbled out as they shared that not only does the future feel bleak when it comes to the job market, the housing crisis and whether their generation will ever be able to “settle down with kids” — but all this is many times worse when you’re not white, not documented and not born into a college-educated family.How can they feel hopeful about the future, they asked, when, on top of everything already stacked against them, they also have to worry about wildfires, extreme heat and air pollution getting out of control?“It was literally a collective meltdown unlike anything I had ever experienced,” said Sasser, whose podcast and book, “Climate Anxiety and the Kid Question,” were largely inspired by her students that day. “I understood in that moment that you cannot assume someone does not also experience anxiety simply because their way of talking about it may not be the same as yours.”It doesn’t help, she added, that many people don’t realize what they’re feeling is climate anxiety because the way we talk about it tends to center the experiences of white and more privileged people — people who have been insulated from oppression and have rarely (until now) had to worry about the safety of their own future. “For a lot of people, climate anxiety looks a certain way: It looks very scared, it looks very sad, and it looks like a person who is ready, willing and able to talk about it,” Sasser said. “But for those who are experiencing many compounding forms of vulnerability at the same time, you can’t just pick out one part of it and say, ‘Oh, this is what’s causing me to feel this way.’”A brave first step is to acknowledge privilege — and to support, and perhaps even learn, from those who have had to be resilient long before climate change became so overwhelming.“For me, this work is a matter of survival,” said Kevin J. Patel, who grew up in South L.A. and has been fighting for climate justice since he was 11. He was contemplative, nodding, when I shared what I learned from Sasser, and he gently added that one privilege many communities don’t have is the ability to turn it off. Not everyone can go on a vacation or take a day to recharge, he said. Even having the time to talk about your sadness can be a luxury.Patel learned at a young age that not all communities get the same level of care. Growing up with hazy air, in a neighborhood hemmed in by the 10 and 110 freeways, Patel almost collapsed one day in front of his sixth-grade class when his heart suddenly started pounding at more than 300 beats per minute.His parents, farmers from Gujarat, India, rushed Patel to the emergency room and held his hand while everyone around him thought he was dying. After months of hospital visits and procedures, doctors determined that he had developed a severe heart condition in large part due to the smog. ‘For me, this work is a matter of survival.’ — Kevin J. Patel As he learned to live with an irregular heartbeat, he found joy in his family’s tiny garden and marveled at all the ladybugs that gathered on the tulsi, a special type of basil. He taught his classmates that food came from the ground, not the grocery store, and together, they went on to form an environmental club.Today, Patel speaks with the hardened wisdom of someone who has experienced much more than the typical 23-year-old. He’s constantly doing something — whether it’s supporting a neighbor, getting water bottle refill stations installed at his school, or turning the idea of a Los Angeles County Youth Climate Commission into reality. For years, he has guided other marginalized youth through OneUpAction, a grassroots environmental group that he built from the ground up.Even if he doesn’t call it anxiety, he admits he sometimes has trouble focusing, and there’s a tenseness in his body that can be hard to shake off. But he’s usually able to turn it around by talking to his friends or elders, or by reciting his favorite proverb:They tried to bury us, but they didn’t know we were seeds.“It’s not about what I need, it’s about what my community needs,” he said. “There is joy in caring for one another. There is joy in coming together to fight for a future that we believe in.”When talking about climate anxiety, it’s important to differentiate whether you’re assessing these emotions as a mental health condition, or as a cultural phenomenon.Let’s start with mental health: Polls show climate anxiety is on the rise and that people all around the world are losing sleep over climate change. Organizations like the Climate-Aware Therapist Directory and the American Psychiatric Assn. have put together an increasing number of guides and resources to help more people understand how climate change has affected our emotional well-being. Just knowing that climate change is getting worse can trigger serious psychological responses. And the shock and trauma are all the more great if you’ve already had to live through the kinds of disasters that keep the rest of us up at night.It’s also important to note that social media has magnified our sense of doom. What you see on social media tends to be a particularly intense and cherry-picked version of reality, but studies show that’s exactly how the vast majority of young people are getting their information about climate change: online rather than in school.But you can’t treat climate anxiety like other forms of anxiety, and here’s where the cultural politics come in: The only way to make climate anxiety go away is to make climate change go away, and given the fraught and deeply systemic underpinnings of climate change, we must also consider this context when it comes to our climate emotions. How we feel is just as much a product of the narratives that have shaped the way we perceive and respond to the world.“Climate anxiety can’t be limited to just a clinical setting — we have to take it out of the therapy room and look at it through a lens of privilege, and power, and the economic, historical and social structures that are at the root of the problem,” said Sarah Jaquette Ray, whose book “A Field Guide to Climate Anxiety” is a call to arms to think more expansively about our despair. “Treating a person’s climate anxiety without challenging these systems only addresses the symptoms, not the causes... and if white or more privileged emotions get the most airtime, and if we don’t see how climate is intersecting with all these other problems, that can result in a greater silencing of the people most impacted.” (Kaylynn Kim / For The Times) Ray, an environmental humanist who chairs the environmental studies program at Cal Poly Humboldt, also emphasized that our distress can actually be a catalyst for much-needed change. These emotions are meant to shake us out of complacency, to sound the alarm to the very real crisis before us. But if we don’t openly talk about climate anxiety as something that is not only normal but also expected, we run the risk of further individualizing the problem. We already have a tendency to shut down and feel alone in our sorrows, which traps us into thinking only about ourselves.“One huge reason why climate anxiety feels so awful is this feeling of not being able to do anything about it,” Ray said. “But if you actually saw yourself as part of a collective, as interconnected with all these other movements doing meaningful things, you wouldn’t be feeling this despair and loneliness.”The trick to fixing climate anxiety is to fix individualism, she said. Start small, tap into what you’re already good at, join something bigger than yourself.And by fixing individualism, as many young activists like Patel have already figured out, we just might have a better shot at fixing climate change.Let us consider, for a moment, how the words that we use can also limit the way we think about our vulnerability and despair.Something as simple as the “climate” in “climate anxiety” and how we define “environment” can unintentionally reinforce who we center in the conversation.“In Nigeria, what we call our environment — it’s not just trees and mountains — it’s also about our food, our jobs, the biodiversity that gives us the life support that we need to thrive every day. That’s what we call our environment; it’s about our people,” said Jennifer Uchendu, who founded SustyVibes, a youth-led sustainability group based in her home country, as well as the Eco-Anxiety in Africa Project, which seeks to validate the emotions and experiences of communities often overlooked in climate conversations. “So if people are being oppressed by the system, it is still linked to our idea of the environment.”Many of Uchendu’s elders have expressed a lifetime of feeling frustrated and powerless, for example, but she said they didn’t immediately connect these feelings to climate change because “climate anxiety” sounded to them like a new and elite phenomenon.We hear so often today that climate change is the existential crisis of our time, but that dismisses the trauma and violence to all the people who have been fighting to survive for centuries. Colonization, greed and exploitation are inseparable from climate change, Uchendu said, but we miss these connections when we consider our emotions only through a Western lens.For Jessa Calderon, a Chumash and Tongva songwriter, these disconnects are ever-present in the concrete-hardened rivers snaking through Los Angeles, and the sour taste of industrialization often singeing the air. In her darkest moments, her heart hurts wondering if her son, Honor, will grow up to know clean water.Her voice cracked as she recalled a brown bear that had been struck dead on the freeway near the Cajon Pass. As she watched strangers gawk at the limp body and share videos online, she wished she had been able to put the bear to rest and sing him into the spirit world.“If we don’t see them as our people, then we have no hope for ourselves as a people, because we’re showing that we care about nothing more than ourselves,” she said. “And if we care about nothing more than ourselves, then we’re going to continue to devastate each other and the land.”It is not too late to turn your climate anxiety into climate empathy. Acknowledging the emotional toll on people beyond yourself can be an opportunity to listen and support one another. Embracing our feelings — and then finding others who also want to turn their fear into action — can be the missing spark to much-needed social and environmental healing.There is also wisdom to be learned in the songs and traditions of past movements, when people banded together — for civil rights, for women’s suffrage — and found ways to keep hope alive against all odds. And the more we look to the young people still caring for their elders in Nigeria, and to our Indigenous neighbors who continue to sing and love and tend to every living being, the better we might also comprehend the resilience required of all of us in the warming years ahead.So how should we cope? For Patel, living with his irregular but unwavering heartbeat, he finds strength in the words of adrienne maree brown, who famously wrote in “Emergent Strategy” that in the same way our lives are shaped today by our ancestors, we ourselves are future ancestors. Calderon, who similarly taught her son to leave this Earth better with every passing generation, confided to me that on the days when the sorrow feels too great, she sneaks off to plant native manzanita seeds in neighborhoods stripped of plants and trees.As I’m reminded of all the love we can still sow for the future, I think of Phoenix Armenta, a longtime climate justice organizer in Oakland who has inspired numerous people, including myself, to take heart in all the times we actually got it right. (Remember acid rain? It was a huge problem, but collective action inspired multiple countries to join forces in the 1980s, and we did what needed to be done.)“Imagine what kind of world you actually want to live in and start working to make that happen,” said Armenta, who recently made the switch to government planning to help more communities find their voice and determine their own visions for the future.To grieve the world as we know it is to miss out on opportunities to transform our world for the better. To believe we have nothing left to hope for is a self-fulfilling void. We must find the courage to care, to change, to reimagine the systems that got us into such a devastating crisis in the first place — and we must allow ourselves to dream.“But it can’t just be my dream, or your dream. It has to be our collective dream,” Armenta said. “I’ve known for a very long time that I can’t save the world, but we can save the world together.”

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