In a 6-3 decision on Feb. 20, 2026, the court ruled that Trump’s use of the International Emergency Economic Powers Act of 1977 to unilaterally impose tariffs on other countries was unconstitutional. Since January 2025, Trump has used the act to impose tariffs on nearly every other country.

As a trade economist, I wasn’t particularly surprised by the ruling. In the oral arguments, several justices were openly skeptical about the president’s ability to claim virtually unlimited powers to set tariffs without specific congressional language to authorize them. While the ruling answers some questions about the legality of Trump’s tariffs, it leaves many others unanswered.

What are the tariffs the court ruled against?

The tariffs that the court ruled are illegal include the “reciprocal” tariffs Trump imposed to match the value of trade barriers set by other countries. They ranged from 34% on China to a baseline of 10% for the rest of the world.

They also include a 25% tariff on some goods from Canada, China and Mexico over those countries’ supposed failure to curb the flow of fentanyl into the U.S.

By striking down these tariffs, the Supreme Court will presumably force U.S. tariff schedules to revert to the status quo before they were imposed on April 2, 2025, or “liberation day,” as Trump called it.

Why did the Supreme Court rule against the tariffs?

Most of the tariffs Trump has imposed used the International Emergency Economic Powers Act to provide legal justification. While the law allows the president to respond to economic emergencies with measures such as embargoes and asset seizures, it does not specifically authorize the use of tariffs imposed unilaterally.

This was a major point made in the Supreme Court decision. In every other statute available to the president to use tariffs, there is specific language stating the way in which tariffs can be imposed, language that is absent in the International Emergency Economic Powers Act statute.

The majority decision, in which the court’s liberal justices were joined by three of its conservatives, determined that the president overreached his powers to set tariffs, based on Article 1, Section 8, of the U.S Constitution. Any delegation of tariff-making powers in an emergency to the president must be consistent with this provision.

It is also noteworthy that Trump openly declared that one of the benefits of the tariffs was how much revenue they bring in. But the majority decision noted that this represented an unauthorized presidential power to tax, which is also governed by the Article 1, Section 8, provision that assigns this power exclusively to Congress.

What does this mean for Trump’s trade policy?

Trump used the International Emergency Economic Powers Act tariffs as leverage to negotiate numerous bilateral deals with U.S. trading partners. Now that the tariffs have been declared unconstitutional, many countries may demand that the deals be renegotiated.

The decision does not cover all of the administration’s tariffs, including national security tariffs imposed under Section 232 for specific industries such as autos, steel and aluminum, and Section 301, a statute that allows the president to impose tariffs against individual countries if they have imposed unfair or discriminatory trade actions against the U.S. This covers some of the tariffs on imports from China.

What other options does Trump have to achieve similar results?

Trump has often used or threatened to use International Emergency Economic Powers Act tariffs for political reasons, including against Brazil over its prosecution of a former president, Mexico over immigration and Canada over its plans to sign a trade deal with China, and other reasons.

The Supreme Court decision will make it more difficult for Trump to use tariffs and tariff threats in that way. One outcome is that constitutional limits the justices set on presidential tariff-making powers should constrain the justification of tariffs for political reasons.

The main avenues for new tariffs in response to the Supreme Court decision are sections 232 and 301. The president could potentially try to get Congress to pass new legislation expanding his tariff powers, but that seems unlikely in an election year.

However, it is important to understand that he chose to use the International Emergency Economic Powers Act as the mainspring of his trade policy because he interpreted it as providing him with full discretion in the unlimited power to impose tariffs without further congressional constraints.

In order to impose similar tariffs under Section 232, for example, each tariff order must be focused on a single industry, and the Commerce Department must issue a report documenting the emergency as it applies to that industry. Presumably, Trump will be preparing to use Section 232 for a large numbers of industries in addition to those currently covered by that statute.

For at least some of the countries with which Trump has already negotiated bilateral trade deals, many of their exports would not be covered by Section 232 tariffs, hence the likelihood that those countries will demand a renegotiation.

Will US companies get refunds for the tariffs they’ve already paid?

The Supreme Court decision appears not to address the question of tariff rebates, but many companies have already indicated that they will demand them.

In principle, any U.S. company in possession of tariff receipts documenting their payment of tariffs would be eligible for a refund if the Supreme Court approves this remedy.

What are the political consequences of this decision?

Since public opinion about Trump’s tariffs is already negative, the president will have to deal with a likely backlash against any attempts to replace the rejected tariffs with new ones.

It will be interesting to see how Republicans in Congress react to Trump’s tariff strategy in view of the upcoming midterm elections. For example, Republicans from states that border Canada may push back against further efforts to curb trade with their northern neighbor.

This may impose a further constraint on Trump’s tariff policy.

Please note: This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

But one should surely sit above the rest: why do we keep accepting the human and financial cost of this risk?

While it might be assumed that earthquakes or volcanic eruptions are Aotearoa’s deadliest natural hazards, landslides have claimed more than twice as many lives – approximately 1,800 – as both combined over the past 200 years.

They remain such an insidious and under-appreciated hazard because they cause deaths relatively frequently, but typically only in small numbers. Being one of the most fatal New Zealand landslides since 1846, last month’s tragedy at Mount Maunganui was a stark exception.

A useful analogy is our tolerance for car crashes versus aeroplane crashes. Road deaths in New Zealand kill hundreds of people each year, one by one, with little national reckoning. The 1979 Mount Erebus air disaster, in which 257 people were killed in one afternoon, forever changed aviation policy and remains part of the country’s collective memory.

In natural hazard terms, landslides are car crashes; earthquakes and volcanic eruptions are aeroplane crashes. Yet, with climate change driving heavier rainfall, it’s worth asking whether this is a danger we should be comfortable to continue living with – and paying for.

Since 2010, central government has incurred about NZ$19 billion in costs associated with natural hazards, but 97% of that has gone on response and recovery, with just 3% on reducing risk and building resilience. In practice, New Zealand keeps paying for disasters after they happen, rather than spending to stop them happening in the first place.

A hazard hiding in plain sight

The risk of landslides, specifically, is managed through a complex mix of laws, led by the Resource Management Act (RMA). It largely falls to territorial authorities, which can restrict new developments but, due to land use rights, are more constrained with existing buildings even if at high risk.

There have been some successful attempts to change land use rules, but they have been few and far between. It remains to be seen what effect the latest reforms to the RMA will have.

Recent disasters have also exposed gaps in how local councils, emergency services, central government agencies and insurers respond to events, with unclear responsibilities and slow information flows. This underscores the need for a more joined-up response to events such as floods and landslides, as a high-level inquiry recommended in 2024.

On top of all this is the need to gain a clearer national picture of the hazard. Past landslides indicate where failures are most likely: steep slopes, weak rock, wet soils and sparse vegetation, particularly where forestry was recently cleared. But outcomes also depend on subtler factors such as slope shape and aspect.

We also know landslides come in different shapes and sizes, which determines how far they travel and how much area they can threaten. In New Zealand, the most common type are shallow slides, typically one to two metres deep and involving only the top layer of soil.

Despite their size, these slides can be highly dangerous, carrying hundreds of tonnes of debris at high speed. Their paths are not always straightforward: wet landslide debris can behave like a liquid, following channels in the landscape and travelling for kilometres.

While scientists’ understanding of landslides has improved markedly over recent decades, important gaps remain. Because landslides are highly localised, they demand detailed local knowledge. But New Zealand’s inventories are still patchy, particularly in Northland and the Bay of Plenty, and existing local studies are often hard to access or compare.

This also makes it harder to understand precisely what climate change means for national landslide risk.

Although a warming climate is already driving more intense and frequent storms, emerging research suggests future landslides will mostly increase in areas already prone to them, rather than spread into entirely new regions. Even so, uncertainty in these projections remains high.

The cost of living with risk

To paraphrase New Zealand’s former prime minister Sir Geoffrey Palmer, if you want natural hazards, you’re in the right place in Aotearoa. Managing the ever-present threat from landslides, earthquakes, volcanoes, flooding, tsunamis, liquefaction and wildfire is a daunting responsibility. But it’s a job we expect our authorities to do, all while running other services and keeping our rates and taxes as low as possible.

With the cost of landslides mounting, we might expect that when local authorities identify actions to reduce risk that could save money in the long run, these efforts would be welcomed by central government. Instead, they are often met with a phrase we have become too familiar with: we are in a “fiscally challenging environment”.

That may be. But it is also true that the costs associated with natural hazards are only likely to increase. The cheapest time to invest in resilience is now.

When it comes to landslides, we need to consider whether repeated fatalities from a known and worsening hazard are something we are prepared to tolerate. Aeroplane crashes have always been unacceptable to us, but the 2019 Ministry of Transport Road to Zero strategy suggested deaths in car crashes were becoming intolerable as well.

Perhaps now is the time to take a similar approach to landslides. With an election looming, political parties have a chance to put forward credible plans to reduce natural hazard risk or, better still, to agree on a non-partisan path that builds resilience for the long term.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Some foresters and forest managers support and recommend large-scale industrial thinning of forests, where a proportion of the trees are removed (thinned) with machines to increase the size of the remaining trees. Thinning is commonly used in timber plantations, as it accelerates the development of timber trees.

In its new forest plan, the Victorian government has funded a “healthy forests” program. This will likely entail reducing the number of trees in the forest and increasing the space between trees. This plan could lead to extensive mechanical thinning in the state’s forests. Large-scale mechanical thinning has already been used in native forests in western Victoria.

Plans for mechanical thinning of forests raises important questions: what effect will this have? Could it be harmful? And is it necessary for forest health?

In our new study, we describe how mountain ash forests naturally change over time, from young, dense and uniform forests 15 years after wildfire, to forests with lower densities of large trees (and smaller trees) in older age. Our work suggests human intervention is not needed to reduce the density of trees or create a diversity of tree sizes needed for wildlife.

What we know about thinning

Some research suggests thinning can reduce the risk of severe wildfires in some forests (such as some pine forests in the United States). But in other types of forests, including in some of Australia’s eucalypt forests, thinning either has no effect on fire or can even make fires worse. Indeed, Australian forestry management manuals clearly warn of increased fire risks from thinning.

Thinning has also been shown to increase water yield and drought resilience in some forests (including tall eucalypt forest), but these benefits are short-lived as plants quickly regenerate in the new gaps formed by thinning.

Last October, the Victorian government released its Future of State Forests report. It describes a “healthy forests” program in which widespread mechanical thinning is very likely to be employed. Large-scale mechanical thinning has already been used in native forests in western Victoria, such as the Wombat State Forest, to reduce trunk density and increase space between trees. Current government policy will likely see it applied in the state’s Central Highlands and East Gippsland.

Using mechanical thinning can be counterproductive. For example, thinning with large machines can compact soils, increase the risk of bushfire, degrade habitat for wildlife, and produce carbon emissions. It’s also expensive (in the US, it costs about $US1270 ($A1830) per hectare, with the costs likely to significantly outweigh the short-term benefits.

What many people might not realise is forest trees naturally reduce and “thin” over time. This reduction happens as the size of the remaining trunks increase, a process of natural “self thinning”. In fact, natural self-thinning is a key ecological principle that shapes almost all forests and woodlands globally.

What we found in Victorian forests

In our new study, we describe the process of natural self-thinning in Victorian forests of mountain ash, the tallest flowering plants in the world.

Our work quantifies how these forests naturally reduce the numbers of trees by 50 to 60%, from young forests regenerating from fires in 2009, through to old growth forests (greater than 120 years). This natural self-thinning occurs because less competitive trees lose the race for light and other resources and die.

As mountain ash forests matured, the number of trees declined naturally and markedly. In young forests (15 years old) tree densities were high (7000 trees per hectare), but in old forests (120 years old) tree densities were much lower (1450 trees per hectare). Not all tree species reduced at the same magnitude as others. For example, young forests were dominated by thousands of wattles and eucalypts per hectare. This profile changed significantly in old growth forests to less than 100 eucalypt trees and about 20 wattle trees per hectare on average.

In a mountain ash forest, the number of trees on a given site also varied if it was on a steep slope or flat area, and at different elevations. This variation is likely to be the result of light, moisture and soil properties.

Importantly, as the number of trees in mountain ash forests reduce naturally over time, trees become larger and more varied in size. This is because older forests contain trees of different ages, some shorter and smaller, and others larger and taller. Other studies have shown forests with a diversity of tree sizes are important for animals such as arboreal marsupials and birds.

What forests look like without intervention

Our new study of natural self-thinning is significant for many reasons. First, it sets the benchmark for how large trees will grow in mountain ash forests over time, and what these forests look like without human intervention. This can be used to guide restoration practices. Second, it demonstrates that mechanical thinning is not needed to help these forests develop into older stages.

Getting forest management right is critical — under the current climate, forests face a hotter and more uncertain future. Evidence-based ecological management is essential in forests and we must aim to avoid risky management, such as the use of widespread mechanical thinning in these forests.

Instead, the limited funding available for forest management should be employed to support other restoration activities with a higher chance of success. These could include targeting areas of forest where restoration has failed after past logging operations. Logging has devastated Victoria’s native forests, and new research shows 20% has failed to grow back.

Forest managers and policymakers need to understand mountain ash forests naturally self-thin and interventions like mechanical thinning are not needed. At best, large-scale mechanical thinning operations are essentially a waste of money. At worst, they degrade forests, making them more flammable, eroding habitat, compromising water security and compacting soils.

Please Note: This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

“One of the consequences of ending native forest harvesting has been the loss of skilled and experienced operators,” Steve Dobbyns, chair of Forest and Wood Communities Australia, warned. “We are now seeing that in the bushfire crisis, where multiple pieces of heavy plant — including dozers and harvesting machines — are currently stood down because there are not enough qualified people to operate them.”

Forest communities respond to critical shortages

Now, Wood Central can reveal that experienced contractors — some with decades of firefighting experience — say vital machinery and expertise are sitting idle as fire conditions potentially deteriorate again in the coming weeks:

“It’s the same here in WA,” added Raelene Osboine, noting that the state also banned native forestry in 2023. “Logging roads have grown over to make access harder to fight fires.” Whilst in NSW, others fear the same pattern is emerging on the north coast. “They’ve turned 47,000 hectares of state forest into The Great Koala National Park and closed the timber industry down,” said a local nurse from Coffs Harbour. “Next bushfires will be devastating without the logging companies and their machinery to help fight them. You can already notice the deterioration of the fire trails as they aren’t being maintained anymore.”

“Back in the day when there was logging in native bush (and forests) the companies harvesting would look after the bush tracks and the bush to make sure it was sustainable for future growth, and those cleared patches of bush would be fire breaks and would regenerate back into amazing tmber drawing in carbon from the atmosphere and for future use,” a commenter said.

“It’s an interesting chain of events that’s been happening over decades,” another wrote. “The greenies jump up and down and get some small logging areas shut down, then over the years they get more and more shut down because our city‑centric government win votes.”

“Meanwhile, back at home, they’ve killed off country towns that used to have a sustainable industry, leaving high unemployment and drug problems. Then governments realise they can save budgets by not maintaining bush areas anymore because the city won’t see that, so it won’t cost any votes.”

“They also don’t bother to mention to the cities that severe fires are more likely to break out now because once they killed off the rural towns, there were no operators left who used to maintain any areas they were in as a way of looking after their assets.”

• To learn more about the impact of Victoria’s native forestry ban on timber towns, click here for Wood Central’s special feature from last week.

Rainy seasons in the Benin drylands are becoming shorter and less predictable. Pastures dry out earlier than they used to. Heatwaves are more frequent.

When cows eat less because the grasslands have dried out and when they can’t cool down in the heat, milk production falls. Diseases like mastitis, tick-borne diseases, trypanosomiasis and gastro-intestinal parasitic infections increase. All of these are made worse by the cows’ weakened immunity and poor body condition.

For households that rely heavily on livestock, these changes can quickly translate into food insecurity and income loss.

I research climate-smart livestock systems and agroforestry (growing crops, livestock and trees together).

I was part of a team who monitored 447 dairy cows on 40 smallholder farms in northern Benin’s drylands to see how the cattle fared under climate stress living on traditional farms versus agroforestry systems (growing crops and trees together). In the traditional systems, cattle were raised to graze openly in natural pastures, with very limited on-farm tree cover. Although herders traditionally supplemented cattle diets with tree leaves they collected during the dry season, trees were generally scattered throughout the landscape and not included in the animals’ grazing area.

The agroforestry farms were existing smallholder systems where farmers had intentionally integrated trees with crops and livestock over several years.

This comparison allowed us to assess how long-standing agroforestry practices influence cattle health, milk production and resilience under increasing climate stress. In our recent paper, we set out our findings into how the different ways of farming influenced the amount of milk the cows produced and their success in breeding.

Our study found that silvopastoral farming (where livestock graze under trees) and agrosilvopastoral systems (where trees, crops and livestock are managed together on the same land) are helping farmers adapt to changes in the climate. The trees provide cattle feed, shade and healthier landscapes when grass and water are scarce.

We found that cows raised in tree-based farming systems produced up to nearly three times more milk per day than those kept in conventional open grazing systems. Calf survival rates were also higher, suggesting that improved nutrition and reduced stress have long-term effects on herd productivity.

Policymakers and development finance institutions should use our research results to set up ways of encouraging and financing smallholder dryland dairy farmers to include trees and crops on their farms.

Livestock farming under growing climate pressure

Trees have always played an important role in livestock systems in west Africa. Long before climate adaptation became part of development finance agendas, farmers used native trees and shrubs to feed animals during the dry season. Leaves, pods and fruits from species such as the African mahogany (Khaya senegalensis), African rosewood (Pterocarpus erinaceus) and Afzelia africana (another type of African mahogany tree) were commonly eaten by livestock during drought when grasses disappear.

But as land pressure and agriculture expanded, farming livestock under trees became less possible. Today, what was seen as a traditional or informal practice is recognised as a climate-smart response by farmers to global warming.

The farmers who took part in the research shared that trees and livestock are farmed together in various ways. Some pastoralists depend mainly on natural rangelands, where animals eat from trees and shrubs on their own. Other farmers said they developed systems where they planted crops edible by humans with fodder trees and plants for livestock to forage on.

My research found that the cooler microclimates under tree canopies help cool livestock down. Tree leaves provide cows with protein and minerals that are lacking in dried out grasses. This prevents weight loss and keeps livestock in a good condition for breeding.

Including trees on dairy farms enriches the soil (when fallen leaves, or leaf litter, decompose on the ground). The trees enrich livestock manure, which fertilises fields. Some tree species also provide fruits, firewood, timber or medicinal products, giving farming households a more diverse range of resources.

Cattle herders in northern Benin face drought and feed shortages every dry season and agroforestry families coped better. My research found that smallholder farming families had more reliable animal feed, steadier milk production and additional food and income from trees during the dry season than families who grazed their cows in pastures. They were better able to cope with climate shocks and economic uncertainty.

Tree-livestock integration also contributes to climate change mitigation. Trees store carbon in their biomass and soils, helping to offset greenhouse gas emissions from livestock.

Farmers do not describe their farming practices as a way of reducing their carbon footprints, yet their systems align closely with global sustainability goals. What makes these approaches particularly valuable is that they are locally developed and adapted to specific ecological and social contexts.

What needs to happen next

As climate change intensifies, the experience of livestock farmers in Benin’s drylands offers an important lesson. Adaptation does not always come from new technologies or complex interventions. Sometimes, it comes from valuing and strengthening practices that farmers have refined over generations, where trees, animals and people coexist in resilient farming systems.

Despite their potential, tree-livestock systems remain under-recognised in agricultural policy. Livestock development strategies often focus on improved breeds or external feed inputs, overlooking the role of landscapes and ecosystems.

Farmers need specific support to strengthen these systems. They need secure land tenure, access to tree and crop seedlings and for agriculture extension officers from governments to recognise that local knowledge must be built on and not replaced.

• This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

The cyclone’s unusually high death toll and catastrophic impacts have been attributed to a range of factors, including warming ocean temperatures due to climate change, deforestation and other environmental changes, Aceh’s unique geographical and topographical setting and how rarely cyclones occur near the equator.

What’s missing from the discussion is the root cause of why Aceh was ill-prepared for the hazard. Like many other regions in the Global South, Aceh’s vulnerability can be traced back to colonialism, which created an inequitable distribution of power, wealth and resources. Post-colonial development continues to reinforce it.

The impact of Cyclone Senyar has drawn parallels to the 2004 Aceh tsunami that devastated the province and surrounding areas. Since then, disaster preparedness in Aceh has come a long way. Yet the aftermath of Senyar suggests that disaster preparedness efforts have not tackled Aceh’s underlying vulnerabilities.

Indonesia’s national meteorological agency gave multiple warnings of the hazard well in advance. But neither the national agency responsible for disaster management, the National Agency for Disaster Countermeasure, nor the Aceh Provincial Disaster Management Agency were able to translate warnings into effective action or effectively lead emergency response efforts. Such institutional failures are among the challenges that contribute to vulnerability in Aceh.

In our ongoing research among coastal communities in Aceh, we explore how their livelihoods have been impacted by external shocks, as well as the diverse ways they have adapted to navigate these stresses.

The colonial roots of Aceh’s vulnerability

Starting in the late 16th century, the Dutch colonial government established infrastructure and policies to facilitate resource extraction in Indonesia. The focus of European colonizers was on the eastern part of the archipelago to control the spice trade in the Maluku region. However, it was in Aceh that the Dutch spent the most resources to conquer.

The Dutch East India company opened the port of Kuala Langsa in 1907, in the same area where Cyclone Senyar made landfall. That was followed by large-scale investment in rubber and palm oil plantations. Colonialists supported top-down governance and implemented policies that gave lasting economic and political advantages to those who aligned themselves with the Dutch.

An example is the Ethische politiek (Ethical Policy); among other things, it provided educational opportunities to local elites with the aim of helping the Dutch lead the colony. Local elites were also given land that had previously been communal, to expand agriculture and exploit natural resources, creating divisions within the Acehnese.

Colonial rule also had a lasting impact on the natural environment: highly biodiverse forests were converted to monocrop plantations, ports were expanded to accommodate larger ships and both land and seas were exploited for resources.

Post-independence pressures

Post-independence governments have maintained the top-down institutions put in place by the Dutch. They have also emphasized a continued economic focus on extractive industries, such as pepper, copra and petroleum to fuel Indonesia’s rapid economic growth. These coupled together continue to have devastating impacts on the environment and on the livelihoods of the communities.

In the 1970s, communities in Kuala Langsa, a village in the city of Langsa along Aceh’s east coast, shifted their livelihoods to intensive tiger prawn aquaculture as part of the push to develop marine fisheries under then-president Suharto’s “New Order” political economy regime.

However, a viral disease outbreak led to the collapse of the tiger prawn industry in the early 1990s. Intensive prawn aquaculture significantly degraded the coastal mangrove forests and reduced water quality. That, in turn, undermined the viability of small-scale fisheries that local communities had traditionally relied on.

The conflict between the government and separatists in Aceh from 1976 to 2005 led to an influx of migrants to Kuala Langsa from other parts of the province, putting additional pressures on the environment.

The 2004 tsunami destroyed many mangrove forests along Langsa’s coastline, further negatively affecting the livelihoods of communities that depended on shrimp, crab and fish living in the mangroves.

Policy decisions increase vulnerability

The hazard that struck Langsa and other parts of Aceh did not turn into such a devastating disaster due to climatic and geophysical factors alone. Hazards turn into disasters due to decisions made by those in power that make people vulnerable.

Between 1990 and 2024, almost 160,000 hectares of land was deforested to make way for palm oil monoculture plantations under permits issued by the Ministry of Forestry. Land converted into monoculture plantations loses its capacity to absorb rainwater, turning torrential rain into runoff that can create landslides. The forest on which communities depended for fruits such as durian, mangoes, rambutan and medicinal plants were impacted, affecting local incomes and sources of food, as well as their local knowledge associated with them.

Aceh’s vulnerability stems from environmental degradation from rampant resource extraction, instability and displacement due to armed conflict, top-down, centralized decision-making by the government and weak institutions stemming from poor governance and corruption.

Measures to strengthen disaster preparedness in Aceh have not tackled the region’s underlying vulnerabilities. Oftentimes, projects meant to promote resilience and development do not address the factors and processes that decrease the vulnerability of the most marginalized.

Disaster contingency plans continue to focus on geological hazards instead of taking a multi-hazard approach. These plans have not been successful in strengthening preparedness of institutions responsible for reducing disaster risk.

As the fourth-most flood-prone region in Indonesia, local and provincial authorities in Aceh need to prepare for extreme weather events so future events like Cyclone Senyar do not wreak such havoc.

As climate change increases the frequency and intensity of storms, it is imperative that disaster risk reduction efforts centre on reducing vulnerability and social justice. Equitable distribution of wealth, power and resources can only be realized when local and Indigenous knowledge is acknowledged to help build sustainable communities.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Investigators believe the blaze began when sparklers on champagne bottles were held too close to the ceiling, igniting interior materials. The investigation is ongoing, and it is premature to draw conclusions about individual actions or responsibility. But fires do not need villains to be instructive.

What matters is not the spark itself, but the system into which that spark was introduced.

Fire safety, as history keeps reminding us, is not about eliminating ignition. We will always cook, heat, wire, decorate, celebrate and repair. Fire prevention is about ensuring that when ignition happens, as it inevitably will, it does not propagate.

My research has focused on how disasters are prevented, and how warning signs are missed when systems drift or protections are taken for granted. Fire safety is one area I have examined, and it reveals recurring patterns that are relevant to understanding this tragedy.

Fire as a contagion

For one thing, fire behaves less like an accident and more like a virus. It spreads through available fuel, follows paths of least resistance and accelerates when conditions are favourable. The historian Stephen Pyne describes fire as a “contagion of combustion.”

Like disease prevention, fire safety has never relied on a single safeguard. Instead, it depends on layers of them: materials that resist ignition, detection systems that identify problems early, compartmentalization that limits spread, suppression systems that slow or extinguish flames and trained humans who know how to respond when technology falters. When fires become destructive, it is almost always because multiple layers fail at once.

The Reason Model and fire prevention

The Reason Model, often visualized as slices of Swiss cheese, helps explain why disasters occur even in systems designed to be safe.

Each slice represents a layer of defence. Each slice also contains holes, imperfections, gaps and latent weaknesses. Most of the time, those holes do not line up, but when they do, harm passes through.

Latent conditions for fire exist everywhere: dry materials, electrical wiring, human fatigue, budget constraints, informal workarounds. These conditions are usually harmless until they align. The spark is not the cause of the disaster. It is merely the moment when all the holes line up.

Celebration and risk perception

The New Year’s fire at Le Constellation bar occurred in a celebratory setting. That matters, because celebration changes how we perceive risk.

Celebratory spaces often bring together the very conditions fire exploits: crowds, alcohol, decorations, reduced vigilance, temporary installation and informal rule-bending “just for the night.” When those conditions align with flammable materials or limited escape access, the margin for error shrinks dramatically.

Latent conditions are not evenly distributed across time. They cluster during moments of exception — holidays, renovations, special events when normal routines are suspended.

Notre-Dame: when multiple failures occur

When the Notre-Dame Cathedral nearly collapsed in a fire in April 2019, it shocked the world. The building was not neglected. It had a sophisticated fire detection system with more than 160 sensors. Fire wardens patrolled the attic three times daily. A firefighter was permanently stationed on site. The Paris Fire Brigade had trained for exactly such a scenario.

And yet, the fire still spread.

An alarm triggered at 6:18 p.m., but a misinterpreted code sent a guard to the wrong attic. A fatigued technician, covering a double shift, struggled to escalate the alert. The system detected the fire, but it did not automatically summon the fire department. By the time the correct location was identified, 30 minutes had passed. The roof timbers, made of centuries old dry oak, were already burning uncontrollably.

Notre-Dame did not burn because no one cared. It burned because multiple failures aligned: ambiguous alarm codes, human fatigue, delayed escalation and architectural features that lacked compartmentalization or sprinklers. A fire protection engineer later remarked that the only surprise was that the disaster had not happened sooner.

Rarity breeds complacency

One of the paradoxes of modern fire safety is that it works so well it becomes invisible. Between 1980 and 2024, the rate of reported fires per 1,000 people in the United States fell by more than 60 per cent, according to long-term data compiled by the National Fire Protection Association. Sprinklers, fire doors, smoke detectors, compartmentalization and education campaigns have made large fires rare.

But that rarity can breed complacency.

When a system prevents disaster hundreds of times, it becomes tempting to ignore precautions. Doors are left open. Materials are substituted. Alarms are misunderstood. Redundancies are trimmed.

The holes in the safety system widen quietly. Then, eventually, they all line up.

Learning from tragedies

The Swiss fire had its own specific causes, and those details matter. But the broader lesson is neither new nor obscure. Fires do not escalate only because people are reckless. They escalate because systems drift away from the conditions under which they were safe.

Fire safety is an engineering and organizational project. It requires constant attention to small details, especially when nothing seems wrong. It demands respect for fire and its destructive potential.

We have learned, repeatedly, how to prevent fires from spreading. Every major advance, from fire doors to sprinklers to automatic shutoff systems, came from studying failures where containment broke down.

The tragedy is not that we do not know what works. It is that, over time, we forget to be afraid.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Now, for the first time, our research has uncovered the hidden world of the tiny organisms living in the bark of trees. We discovered they are quietly helping to purify the air we breathe and remove greenhouse gases.

These microbes “eat”, or use, gases like methane and carbon monoxide for energy and survival. Most significantly, they also remove hydrogen, which has a role in super-charging climate change.

What we discovered has changed how we think about trees. Bark was long assumed to be largely biologically inert in relation to climate. But our findings show it hosts active microbial communities that influence key atmospheric gases. This means trees affect the climate in more ways than we previously realised.

Teeming with life

Over the past five years, collaborative research between Southern Cross and Monash universities studied the bark of eight common Australian tree species. These included forest trees such as wetland paperbarks and upland eucalypts. We found the trees in these contrasting ecosystems all shared one thing in common: their bark was teeming with microscopic life.

We estimate a single square metre of bark can hold up to 6 trillion microbial cells. That’s roughly the same number of stars in about 60 Milky Way galaxies, all squeezed onto the surface area of a small table.

To find out what these bark microbes were doing, we first used a technique called metagenomic sequencing. In simple terms, this method reads the DNA of every microorganism in a sample at once. If normal DNA sequencing is like reading one book, metagenomics is like scanning an entire library. We pulled out clues about who lived in the bark and which “tools” or enzymes they might have.

A simple analogy is to imagine a construction site where each tradespeople carries different tools. While some tools overlap, many are specific to their trade. If you see a pipe wrench, you can deduce a plumber is around.

In a similar way, metagenomics showed us the “tools” the microbes were carrying in their DNA – genes that let them eat atmospheric gases like methane, hydrogen or carbon monoxide. This gave us valuable insight into what the bark microbes could do.

But, like a construction site, having tools doesn’t mean the “tradies” are using them for jobs all the time. So we also measured the movement of gases in and out of the bark to see which microbial “jobs” were happening in real time.

Bark microbes eat gases

Many of the microbes living in bark can live off various gases. This is a process recently coined as “aerotrophy”, as in “air eaters”. Some of their favourite gases include methane, hydrogen and carbon monoxide, all of which affect the climate and the quality of the air we breath.

Methane is a potent greenhouse gas, responsible for about one third of human-induced warming. We found most wetland trees contained specialist bacteria called methanotrophs, that eat methane from within the tree.

We also saw abundant microbial enzymes that remove carbon monoxide, a toxic gas for both humans and animals. This suggests tree bark helps clean the air we breathe. This could be particularly useful in urban forests, as cities often have elevated levels of this harmful and odourless gas.

But one finding stood out above all others. Within every tree species examined, in every forest type, and at every stem height, bark microbes consistently removed hydrogen from the air. In other words, trees could be a major, previously unrecognised, global natural system for drawing down hydrogen out of the atmosphere.

Global possibilities

When we scaled up what these microbes were doing across all trees globally, the potential impact became striking. There are about 3 trillion trees on Earth, and together their bark has a huge cumulative surface area, rivalling that of the entire land surface of the planet.

Taking this into account, our calculation suggests that tree-microbes could remove as much as 55 million tonnes of hydrogen from the atmosphere each year.

Why does this matter? Hydrogen affects our atmosphere in ways that influence the lifetime of other greenhouse gases – especially methane. In fact, hydrogen emissions may be “supercharging” the warming impact of methane.

By using a simple model, the annual amount of hydrogen removed by bark microbes may indirectly offset up to 15% of annual methane emissions caused by humans.

In other words, if tree bark microbes weren’t doing this work, there would be more methane in the atmosphere, and our rising methane problem could be even bigger.

This also hints at another exciting possibility: planting trees could expand this microbial atmosphere-cleaning potential, giving microbes more surface area to apply their trade and help remove even more climate-damaging gases from the air.

The ‘barkosphere’

Our research points to many exciting new possibilities and uncertainties around the previously hidden role of a tree’s “barkosphere”.

We want to know which tree species host the most active “gas-eating” microbes, which forests remove the most methane, carbon monoxide or hydrogen, and how climate change may alter these communities and their activities.

This knowledge could help guide future reforestation, conservation, carbon accounting strategies. It may even change the way we try and limit climate change.

Trees have always regulated our climate. But now we know their bark – and the hard working microscopic ecosystems living inside – may be far more important than previously thought.

Luke Jeffrey, Postdoctoral Research Fellow, Southern Cross University; Chris Greening, Professor, Microbiology, Monash University; Damien Maher, Professor in Earth Sciences, Southern Cross University, and Pok Man Leung, Research Fellow in Microbiology, Monash University. This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

For many of us who lived through the fires, it was a traumatic experience that also brought neighborhoods closer together. Neighbors scrambled to help each other as burning embers started spot fires that threatened homes. They helped elderly and disabled residents evacuate.

As the LA region rebuilds a year later, many people are calling for improvements to zoning regulations, building codes, insurance and emergency communications systems. Conversations are underway about whether rebuilding in some locations makes sense at all.

But managing fire risk is about more than construction practices, regulations and rules. It is also about people and neighborliness – the ethos and practice of caring for those in your community, including making choices and taking steps on your own property to help keep the people around you safe.

As LA-area residents and historians who witnessed the fires’ destruction and have been following the recovery closely, we believe building a safer future for fire-risk communities includes increasing neighborliness and building shared knowledge of the past. Much of that starts in the schools.

Neighborliness matters in community fire safety

Being neighborly means recognizing the connectedness of life and addressing the common good, beyond just the individual and family network.

It includes community-wide fire mitigation strategies that can help prevent fires from spreading.

During the Southern California fires, houses, fences, sheds, roofs and dry vegetation served as the fuel for wind-blown fires racing through neighborhoods miles away from forested land. Being neighborly means taking steps to reduce risks on your own property that could put your neighbors at risk. Following fire officials’ recommendations can mean clearing defensible space around homes, replacing fire-prone plants and limiting or removing burnable material, such as wood fencing and sheds.

Neighborliness also recognizes the varying mental health impacts of significant wildfire events on the people who experience them. Being neighborly means listening to survivors and reaching out, particularly to neighbors who may be struggling or need help with recovery, and building community bonds.

Neighbors are often the first people who can help in an emergency before local, state and federal responders arrive. A fast neighborhood response, whether helping put out spot fires on a lawn or ensuring elderly residents or those without vehicles are able to evacuate, can save lives and property in natural disasters.

Fire awareness, neighborliness start in school

Community-based K-12 schools are the perfect places for learning and practicing neighborliness and providing transformative fire education.

Learning about the local history of wildfires, from the ecological impact of beneficial fire to fire disasters and how communities responded, can transform how children and their families think about fires and fire readiness.

However, in our view, fire history and safety is not currently taught nearly enough, even in fire-prone California.

California’s Department of Education Framework and Content Standards for K-12 education offer several opportunities to engage students with innovative lessons about wildfire causes, preparedness and resilience. For example, fourth grade history and social science standards include understanding “how physical environments (e.g., water, landforms, vegetation, climate) affect human activity.” Middle school science standards include mapping the history of natural hazards, though they only mention forest fires when discussing technology.

Schools could, and we believe should, include more fire history, ecological knowledge and understanding of the interconnectedness of neighborhoods and neighbors when it comes to fire safety in those and other classes.

Elementary schools in many states bring in firefighters to talk about fire safety, often through programs run by groups like the California Fire Prevention Organization. These efforts could spend more time looking beyond house fires to discuss how and where wildfires start, how they spread and how to make your own home and neighborhood much safer.

Models such as the U.S. Fire Administration’s collaboration with Sesame Workshop on the Sesame Street Fire Safety Program for preschool kids offer examples, blending catchy phrases with safety and science lessons. https://www.youtube.com/embed/hANTkDK1VSo?wmode=transparent&start=0 The National Fire Protection Association’s Sparky the Fire Dog shares some simple steps that kids can do with their parents and friends to help keep their neighborhood safer from wildfire.

Including knowledge from Indigenous tribal elders, fire management professionals and other community members can provide more robust fire education and understanding of the roles people play in fire risk and risk reduction. Introducing students to future career pathways in fire safety and response can also help students see their roles in fire safety.

As LA recovers from the 2025 fires, fire-prone states can prepare for future fires by expanding education about fire and neighborliness, and helping students take that knowledge home to their families.

Remembering, because it will happen again

Neighborliness also demands a pivot from the reflexive amnesia regarding natural and unnatural disasters to knowing that it will happen here again.

There’s a dangerous, stubborn forgetfulness in the vaunted Land of Sunshine. It is all part of the myth that helped make Southern California such a juggernaut of growth from the late 19th century forward.

The region was, boosters and public officials insisted, special: a civilization growing in the benign embrace of the environment. Anything grew here, the endless Los Angeles Basin could absorb everyone, and if there wasn’t enough water to slake the thirst of metropolitan ambitions, engineers and taxpayers would see to it that water from far away – even very far away – would be brought here.

The Southland is beautiful, but a place can be both beautiful and precarious, particularly in the grip of climate change. These are lessons we believe should be taught in K-12 classrooms as an important step toward lowering disaster risk. Living with fire means remembering and understanding the past. That knowledge, and developing more neighborly behavior, can save your life and the lives of your neighbors.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

The piece I could hear is called Dendrophone by composer Peter Batchelor. It maps sunlight, humidity and carbon dioxide readings into a multichannel sound field in real time. Wetter air sounds “stickier”, drier air “crisper”, bright light introduces a fine hiss. When CO₂ uptake is high, you can hear longer, steadier “breaths”.

This is part of a soundscape installation called Sensing the Forest that has been produced by a cross‑disciplinary team at Queen Mary University of London, De Montfort University and the public agencies, Forest Research and Forestry England. The aim is straightforward: to help people make sense of forests and climate through listening, not screens.

Dendrophone captures three easy‑to‑tell textures from live data. Humidity is heard as a “dry/wet” sound; sunlight energy as a subtle hiss (more juddery when activity is high, smoother when calm); and carbon dioxide uptake as “breathing” that becomes longer and steadier when uptake is higher, shorter and more uneven when uptake is lower.

Played over several speakers around the site in the woods, these sounds blend with birds, wind and visitors’ footsteps so people can hear the forest’s state as it unfolds in real time.

The team also installed two DIY, solar‑powered off‑grid audio streamers (essentially tiny radio stations) that broadcast the forest online and auto‑record at sunrise, midday, sunset and the midpoint between sunset and the next sunrise. Recordings are uploaded and stored online, building a long‑term installation soundscape dataset.

Sounds can also include species cues, the noises that various animals make. Tree Museum, by sound artist Ed Chivers, is another installation in the same exhibition that uses artificial woodpecker drumming to draw attention to the lesser-spotted woodpecker (an endangered species down in numbers by 91% since 1967 in the UK). If a sound disappears, what else do we lose?

The mix of the soundscape changes constantly. Listen at different times and you’ll notice the balance of natural sound, human sound and installation sound shifting. Weeks of rain make everything feel “wetter”; bright days bring out the hiss; busy weekends sound busier. Each is a clue to what the forest is experiencing at that moment.

In the forest, there’s a survey QR code to capture instant reactions, plus a guided walk to make “how to listen, what to notice” clear for everyone.

Sensing the Forest doesn’t claim to fix the climate crisis, but it offers something valuable – a sensory language for data and a not‑so‑distant threat. In a time of ecological strain, technology here is less about control and more about translation; a way to foster ecological empathy.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.