Let's start with the story of a scientist who beat back a powerful global denial movement without any help from social media or modern, sophisticated organizing campaigns.
It took Galileo 359 years to wrangle an apology out of the Vatican for his heretical belief that the Earth revolved around the sun.
I'm glad he didn't take it personally. Science denial is neither new nor purely American—but we sure are finding ways to make it lethal and lasting.
Climate scientists have been dealing with anti-science, largely unnoticed by the general public, for 20 years. Doctors face a growing wave of anti-vaccination zealots. Now a pandemic with a seven-figure global death toll and a stranglehold on the world's economy has opened the doors wide for some multi-front anti-science blowback.
Americans, many refusing to wear masks and ignoring social distancing guidelines, appear to be gathering at frat parties, raves, political rallies, nightclubs and more in defiance of what credentialed experts say are the most vital ways to restrict the spread of COVID-19.
Major sporting events, notably college football, are backing down from previously self-imposed restrictions.
And, lo and behold, positive test rates are going back up in a big way.
Past is deadly prologue
Here are a couple recent, high profile examples of anti-science fervor in the U.S.:
Beginning with the 1998 publication of a now-retracted paper by a now de-licensed doctor, the anti-vaxx movement swept the world. Unfounded claims that MMR vaccines (to prevent measles, mumps and Rubella) can cause autism in children led to a backlash against virtually all vaccines. Today, outbreaks of these once-rare childhood diseases can be traced back to anti-vaxx strongholds.
Tyrone Hayes, a maverick scientist studying the health impacts of the pesticide atrazine, found a more targeted and professional version of anti-science frenzy launching a direct assault on his character and private life. Hayes is just one example of a credentialed scientist whose life's work and his credibility came under intense scrutiny after he published research that threatened a cash cow chemical.
But nothing in science can quite match the decades-long assault on climate science and climate scientists. On the high end, there are PR campaigns backed by fossil fuel money, well-heeled litigation, and unhinged attacks from national pols and pundits. Then, there are the confounding, face-palming antics of the Coal Rollers—pickup truck owners who modify their rides with "Prius Repellent"—thick sooty black smoke intended to make a bizarre anti-science, pro-climate denial statement. Yes, people do this.
Penn State's Michael Mann is arguably the highest-profile climate scientist in the U.S. Let's make a minor leap of faith and say Mann's climate stature is the closest equivalent to Dr. Anthony Fauci's standing on coronavirus.
Right now, Dr. Fauci's main public tormentor is President Trump. Their conflicts are tame compared to the deniers' gang-up on Mann, which has lasted more than a decade and may offer Fauci a few tips on being a scientist in the middle of a political peeing match.
Mann has been sued (he won); filed a defamation suit (pending) when climate-denying journalists likened him to a convicted child molester and generally takes the offensive when attacked. He was pilloried (then cleared) when a few of his poorly-worded emails turned up among the thousands of stolen climate scientists' emails in 2009. In what may be the ordinarily humorless climate deniers' only successful attempt at satire, Mann starred in a funny, if fact-free, music video.
He, like most climate scientists, gets attacked as being motivated solely by the stunning salaries paid out in the climate racket. Penn State lists its mean base salary for Distinguished Professors at $175,000 in the latest available year, 2018. Head football coach at the public university would be a better path to wealth at $4.8 million.
Marc Morano, the Grand Poo-Bah in the denier racket, made $176,366 in base compensation from the Committee for a Constructive Tomorrow that year. So the next time the two get together for dinner, Morano's buying.
Make no mistake, Fauci's a heroic public servant in an awful bind who, as far as I know, may not even be interested in the killer tell-all book that now resides in his head.
But after COVID-19 is finally conquered, Mike Mann and a thousand others will still be getting bashed, and the worst impacts of climate change will still be ahead of us.
Peter Dykstra is our weekend editor and columnist and can be reached at pdykstra@ehn.org or @pdykstra.
His views do not necessarily represent those of Environmental Health News, The Daily Climate or publisher, Environmental Health Sciences.
TV and film productions are significant carbon emitters, especially due to fuel use for transportation and diesel generators.
The Sustainable Entertainment Alliance promotes greener practices like hydrogen and solar power, sustainable set construction, and reducing food waste.
Reality TV shows and documentaries are leading the way in showcasing sustainable practices on-screen and off.
Key quote:
“There are so many benefits to the alternatives to diesel generators — one of them obviously being emissions — but they’re also quieter and less polluting.”
— Sam Read, executive director of the Sustainable Entertainment Alliance
Why this matters:
The entertainment industry’s decarbonization efforts can reduce environmental impacts and set a positive example for millions of viewers. As TV shows incorporate sustainable practices, they help normalize eco-friendly behaviors and inspire change.
CAMERON PARISH, La. — Late into the night, John Allaire watches the facility next to his home shoot 300-foot flares from stacks.
He lives within eyesight of southwest Louisiana’s salty shores, where, for decades, he’s witnessed nearly 200 feet of land between it and his property line disappear into the sea. Two-thirds of the land was rebuilt to aid the oil and gas industry’s LNG expansion. LNG — shorthand for liquified natural gas – is natural gas that's cooled to liquid form for easier storage or transport; it equates to 1/600th the volume of natural gas in a gaseous state. It’s used to generate electricity, or fuel stove tops and home heaters, and in industrial processes like manufacturing fertilizer.
In the U.S., at least 30 new LNG terminal facilities have been constructed or proposed since 2016, according to the
Oil and Gas Watch project. Louisiana and Texas’ Gulf Coast, where five facilities are already operating, will host roughly two-thirds of the new LNG terminals – meaning at least 22 Gulf Coast LNG facilities are currently under construction, were recently approved to break ground or are under further regulatory review.
Although the U.S. didn’t ship LNG until 2016, when a freight tanker left, a few miles from where Cameron Parish’s LNG plants are today, last year the country became the global leader in LNG production and export volume, leapfrogging exporters like Qatar and Australia. The
EIA’s most recent annual outlook estimated that between the current year and 2050, U.S. LNG exports will increase by 152%.
Allaire, 68, watches how saltwater collects where rainwater once fed the area’s diminishing coastal wetlands. “We still come down here with the kids and set out the fishing rods. It's not as nice as it used to be,” he told
Environmental Health News (EHN).
That intimacy with nature drew Allaire to the area when he purchased 311 acres in 1998. An environmental engineer and 30-year oil and gas industry veteran, he helped lead environmental assessments and manage clean-ups, and although retired, he still works part-time as an environmental consultant with major petroleum companies. With a lifetime of oil and gas industry expertise, he’s watched the industry's footprint spread across Louisiana and the Gulf of Mexico’s fragile shores and beyond. Now that the footprints are at the edge of his backyard, Allaire is among a cohort of organizers, residents and fisher-folk in the region mobilizing to stop LNG facility construction. For him, the industry’s expansion usurps the right-or-wrong ethics he carried across his consulting career. For anglers, oil and gas infrastructure has destroyed fishing grounds and prevented smaller vessels from accessing the seafood-rich waters of the Calcasieu River.
From the view of Allaire’s white pickup truck as he drives across his property to the ocean’s shore, he points to where a new LNG facility will replace marshlands. Commonwealth LNG intends to clear the land of trees and then backfill the remaining low-lying field.
“You see what’s happening with the environment,” Allaire said. “When the facts change, I got to change my mind about what we’re doing.”
Community bands together
John Allaire, left, purchased 311 acres in Cameron Parish in 1998, and has watched the oil and gas industry's footprint spread to his property.
Credit: John Allaire
During an Earth Day rally in April, community members gathered in the urban center of Lake Charles to demand local oil and gas industries help deliver a safer, healthier future for all. In between live acts by artists performing south Louisiana’s quintessential zydeco musical style, speakers like James Hiatt, a Calcasieu Parish native with ties to Cameron Parish and a Healthy Gulf organizer, and RISE St. James organizer Sharon Lavigne, who’s fighting against LNG development in rural Plaquemines Parish near the city of New Orleans, asked the nearly 100 in attendance to imagine a day in which the skyline isn’t dotted by oil and gas infrastructure.
Not long ago, it was hard to imagine an Earth Day rally in southwest Louisiana at all. For decades, the area has been decorated with fossil fuel infrastructure. Sunsets on some days are highlighted by the chemicals in the air; at night, thousands of facilities’ lights dot the dark sky.
“It takes a lot of balls for people to start speaking up,” Shreyas Vasudevan, a campaign researcher with the Louisiana Bucket Brigade, told EHN in the days after the rally. In a region with its history and economy intertwined with oil and gas production, “you can get a lot of social criticism – or ostracization, as well – even threats to your life.”
Many are involved in local, regional and national advocacy groups, including the Louisiana Bucket Brigade, Healthy Gulf, the Sierra Club, the Natural Resources Defense Council, the Turtle Island Restoration Network, the Center for Biological Diversity and the National Audubon Society.
“You see what’s happening with the environment,” Allaire said. “When the facts change, I got to change my mind about what we’re doing.” - John Allaire, environmental engineer and 30-year oil and gas industry veteran
But environmental organizers are fighting a multi-billion-dollar industry with federal and state winds at its back. And LNG’s federal support is coupled with existing state initiatives.
Under outgoing Louisiana Gov. John Bel Edwards — a term-limited Democrat — the state pledged a goal of reaching net-zero greenhouse emissions by 2050. Natural gas, which the LNG industry markets as a cleaner-burning alternative, is cited as one of the state’s solutions. Louisiana is the only state that produces a majority of its carbon emissions through fossil fuels refining industries, like LNG, rather than energy production or transportation. Governor Edwards’ office did not return EHN’s request for comment.
This accommodating attitude towards oil and gas industries has resulted in a workforce that’s trained to work in LNG refining facilities across much of the rural Gulf region, said Steven Miles, a lawyer at Baker Botts LLP and a fellow at the Baker Institute’s Center on Energy Studies. Simultaneously, anti-industrialization pushback is lacking. It’s good news for industries like LNG.
“The bad news,” Miles added. “[LNG facilities] are all being jammed in the same areas.”
One rallying cry for opponents is local health. The Environmental Integrity Project found that LNG export terminals emit chemicals like carbon monoxide –potentially deadly– and sulfur dioxide, of which the American Lung Association says long-term exposure can lead to heart disease, cancer, and damage to internal or female reproductive organs.
An analysis of emissions monitoring reports by the advocacy group the Louisiana Bucket Brigade found that Venture Global’s existing Calcasieu Pass facility had more than 2,000 permit violations.That includes exceeding the permit’s authorized air emissions limit to release nitrogen oxides, carbon monoxide, particulate matter and volatile organic compounds 286 out of its first 343 days of operation.
The Marvel Crane, the first liquid natural gas carrier to transport natural gas from the Southwest Louisiana LNG facility, transits a channel in Hackberry, Louisiana, May 28, 2019.
“This is just one facility,” at a time when three more facilities have been proposed in the region and state, Vasudevan said. Venture Global’s operational LNG facility — also known as Calcasieu Pass — “is much smaller than the other facility they’ve proposed.”
In an area that experienced 18 feet of storm surge during Hurricane Laura in 2020 — and just weeks later, struck by Hurricane Delta — Venture Global is planning to build a second export terminal Known as “CP2,” it’s the largest of the roughly two dozen proposed Gulf LNG export terminals, and a key focal point for the region’s local organizing effort.
Residents “don’t really want LNG as much as they want Cameron [Parish] from 1990 back,” Hiatt told EHN of locals’ nostalgia for a community before storms like Rita in 2005 brought up to 15 feet of storm surge, only for Laura to repeat the damage in 2020. Throughout that time, the parish’s population dipped from roughly 10,000 to 5,000. “But the wolf knocking at the door is LNG. Folks in Cameron think that's going to bring back community, bring back the schools, bring back this time before we had all these storms — when Cameron was pretty prosperous.”
“Clearly,” for the oil and gas industry, “the idea is to transform what was once the center of commercial fishing in Louisiana to gas exports,” Cindy Robertson, an environmental activist in southwest Louisiana, told EHN.
Helping fishers’ impacted by LNG is about “actual survival of this unique culture,” Cooke said.
In a measure of organizers’ success, she pointed to a recent permit hearing for Venture Global’s CP2 proposal. Regionally, it’s the only project that’s received an environmental permit, but not its export permit, which remains under federal review. At the meeting, some spoke on the company’s behalf. As an organizer, it was a moment of clarity, Cooke explained. Venture Global officials “had obviously done a lot of coaching and organizing and getting people together in Cameron to speak out on their behalf,” Cooke said. “So, in a way, that was bad. But in another way, it shows that we really had an impact.”
“It also shows that we have a lot to do,” Cooke added.
Environmental organizers like Alyssa Portaro describe a sense of fortitude among activists — she and her husband to the region’s nearby town of Vinton near the Texas-Louisiana border. Since the families’ relocation to their farm, Portaro has worked with Cameron Parish fisher-folk.
“I’ve not witnessed ‘community’ anywhere like there is in Louisiana,” Portaro told EHN. But a New Jersey native, she understands the toll environmental pollution has on low-income communities. “This environment, it’s so at risk — and it’s currently getting sacrificed to big industries.”
“People don’t know what we’d do without oil and gas. It comes at a big price,” she added.
Southwest Louisiana’s Cameron Parish is one of the state’s most rural localities. Marine economies were the area’s economic drivers until natural disasters and LNG facilities began pushing locals out, commercial fishers claim.
Credit: Xander Peters for Environmental Health News
Residents “don’t really want LNG as much as they want Cameron [Parish] from 1990 back,” James Hiatt , a Healthy Gulf organizer, told EHN. "But the wolf knocking at the door is LNG."
Credit: Xander Peters for Environmental Health News
For the most part, Cameron Parish’s life and economy has historically taken place at sea. As new LNG facilities are operational or in planning locally, locals claim the community they once knew is nearly unrecognizable.
Credit: Xander Peters for Environmental Health News
A disappearing parish
The stakes are seemingly higher for a region like southwest Louisiana, which is the epicenter of climate change impacts.
In nearly a century, the state has lost roughly 2,000 square miles of land to coastal erosion. In part driving the state’s erosion crisis is the compounding impacts of Mississippi River infrastructure and oil and gas industry activity, such as dredging canals for shipping purposes, according to a March study published in the journal Nature Sustainability. Louisiana’s Coastal Protection and Restoration Authority said Cameron Parish could lose more land than other coastal parishes over the next 50 years. A recent Climate Central report says the parish will be underwater within that time frame.
On top of erosion and sea level rise impacts, in August, 2023, marshland across southwest Louisiana’s Cameron Parish burned. The fires were among at least 600 across the Bayou State this year. Statewide, roughly 60,000 acres burned — a more than six-fold increase of the state’s average acres burned per year in the past decade alone.
But while the blaze avoided coastal Louisiana communities like Cameron Parish, the fires represented a warning coming from a growing chorus of locals across the region — one that’s echoes by the local commercial fishing population, who claimed to have experienced unusually low yields during the same time, according to a statement from a local environmental group. At the site of the Cameron Parish fires are locations for two proposed LNG expansion projects.
"The idea is to transform what was once the center of commercial fishing in Louisiana to gas exports.” - Cindy Robertson, an environmental activist in southwest Louisiana
It was an unusual occurrence for an area that’s more often itself underwater this time of year due to a storm surge from powerful storms. For LNG expansion’s local opposition, it was a red flag.
As the Louisiana Bucket Brigade has noted prior, the confluence of climate change’s raising of sea levels and the construction of LNG export terminals — some are proposed at the size of nearly 700 football fields — are wiping away the marshland folks like Allaire watched wither. Among their fears is that the future facilities won’t be able to withstand the power of another storm like Laura and its storm surge, which wiped away entire communities in 2020.
Amidst these regional climate impacts, LNG infrastructure has shown potential to exacerbate the accumulation of greenhouse gasses that cause global warming. For the most part, LNG is made up of methane — a greenhouse gas that’s more than 80 times more potent than carbon dioxide in the atmosphere. Among the 22 current LNG facility proposals, the advocacy group Sierra Club described a combined climate pollution output that would roughly equal to that of about 440 coal plants.
The climate impacts prompt some of the LNG industry’s uncertainty going forward. It isn’t clear if Asian countries, key importers of U.S. LNG, will “embrace these energy transition issues,” said David Dismuke, an energy consultant and the former executive director of Louisiana State University’s Center for Energy Studies. Likewise, European nations remain skeptical of embracing LNG as a future staple fuel source.
“They really don't want to have to pull the trigger,” Dismukes added, referring to Europe’s hesitation to commit more resources to exporting LNG from the American market. “They don't want to go down that road.”
While there will be a tapering down of natural gas supply, Miles explained, “we’re going to need natural gas for a long time,” as larger battery storage for renewables is still unavailable.
“I'm not one of these futurists that can tell you where we're going to be, but I just don't see everything being extreme,” Dismukes said. “I don't see what we've already built getting stranded and going away, either.”
For now, LNG seems here to stay. From 2012 to 2022,U.S. natural gas demand — the sum of both domestic consumption and gross exports — rose by a whopping 43%, reported the U.S. Energy Information Administration, or EIA. Meanwhile, in oil and gas hotbeds like Louisiana and Texas, natural gas demand grew by 116%.
Throughout 25 years, Allaire has witnessed southwest Louisiana’s land slowly fade, in part driven by the same industrial spread regionally. Near where the front door of his travel trailer sits underneath the aluminum awning, he points to a chenier ridge located near the end of the property. It’s disappearing, he said.
“See the sand washing over, in here?” Allaire says, as he points towards the stretches of his property. “This pond used to go down for a half mile. This is all that's left of it on this side.”
Google’s data centers and supply chain emissions have increased, leading to a 13% rise in total emissions in 2023, reaching 14.3 million metric tons.
The company’s goal of achieving net zero emissions by 2030 faces significant uncertainty, especially with the unpredictable environmental impact of AI.
Data centers’ electricity consumption could double by 2026, with AI models contributing to 4.5% of global energy usage by 2030.
The biofuel plant, started in 2021, was set to produce 820,000 tonnes of biofuels annually by 2025.
The project faced technical issues, prompting a temporary pause to reassess and optimize construction processes.
This pause is part of Shell's broader shift, reducing its green initiatives in favor of more profitable oil and gas projects.
Key quote:
“Low-carbon fuels form a key part of Shell’s ambitions to provide affordable and sustainable products to our customers.”
— Shell spokesperson.
Why this matters:
The delay in Shell's biodiesel plant reflects broader industry struggles to transition to sustainable energy. Traditional diesel fuels are known contributors to air pollution, which poses significant health risks, including respiratory and cardiovascular diseases. Biodiesel, by contrast, burns cleaner and produces fewer pollutants, offering a healthier alternative for communities around the world.
Research from the University of Utah shows that Pacific Islanders and Hispanics are most affected by dust from the Great Salt Lake's exposed bed, highlighting the environmental justice issue in the region.
The Great Salt Lake’s drying has left 800 square miles of exposed bed, causing harmful dust exposure.
During wind events, PM2.5 levels spike to 26 μg/m3, exceeding the WHO threshold of 15 μg/m3.
Restoring the lake could reduce disparities in dust exposure among racial and ethnic groups.
Key quote:
“People here in Utah are concerned about the lake for a variety of reasons... this study adds environmental justice and the equity implications of the drying lake to the conversation.”
— Sara Grineski, professor of sociology and environmental studies at the University of Utah
Why this matters:
As the Great Salt Lake continues to recede, largely due to prolonged drought and water diversion for agriculture and urban use, vast swaths of the lake bed are left exposed. These areas become significant sources of dust, which can carry harmful pollutants and particulate matter into the air. Pacific Islander and Hispanic populations, often residing in areas closer to these exposed regions, face higher health risks from dust exposure, leading to respiratory issues and other health complications that can worsen existing disparities.
California and Florida, both dealing with rising heat-related deaths, have adopted opposing approaches to worker heat protections, reflecting broader political divides.
California mandates water and air-conditioned areas for workers in temperatures over 82°F, with additional measures at 87°F.
Florida prohibits local governments from requiring employers to provide heat protections, leaving it to employers to decide.
The federal OSHA proposed heat regulations, but they may not be finalized until 2026 and could face challenges.
Key quote:
“You can look at safety standards in each state, whether it’s heat standards or others, and it’ll track with how union-dense those states are.”
— Lorena Gonzalez, head of the California Labor Federation
Why this matters:
Heat-related deaths are climbing due to climate change, highlighting the need for robust worker protections. How should the U.S. balance economic freedoms with the imperative to safeguard public health in the face of a warming planet? As heat waves become more frequent and severe, this question will only grow more urgent, demanding thoughtful and decisive action from policymakers across the spectrum.
Leaked recordings reveal TC Energy's strategies to influence North American governments and foster relationships with security officials to protect its fossil fuel interests.
TC Energy employs former Trump staffers to influence policies and manage geopolitical threats from Washington, D.C.
Recordings detail efforts to alter Canadian legislation to benefit TC Energy's security and intelligence sharing.
The company's strategies include leveraging geopolitical crises and relationships with national security officials.
Key quote:
“Our focus as a team is to look at what exposes us to hostile complex threats such as nation-states using asymmetric tactics, cyber-threats exploiting vulnerabilities, geopolitical uncertainties impacting global markets and supply chains, and evolving regulatory challenges.”
— Michael Evanoff, director of national security policy, geopolitical intelligence and research, TC Energy
Why this matters:
These revelations emphasize the deep ties between major fossil fuel companies and government officials, highlighting how industry influence can shape national policies on energy and security.
As mounds of dredged material from the Houston Ship Channel dot their neighborhoods, residents are left without answers as to what dangers could be lurking.
