Category: The Conversation

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Catherine Baker, Reader in 20th Century History, University of Hull

Digital techniques like projection mapping, holograms and interactive performance now define the Eurovision contest’s production values. But this year’s UK act Look Mum No Computer has a more retro approach to technology.

A musician and YouTuber, Look Mum No Computer builds experimental synths from vintage equipment, sometimes even parts from toys and games consoles. His past projects include synths built into Sega Megadrives and Gibson Les Paul guitars, an orchestra of Star Wars robots, and his most popular YouTube video, a Furby orchestra.

Working for the past two years on our book Designing Eurovision: Performance Scenography on an International Stage, we have had the opportunity to track the history of Eurovision design and its current innovations.

Eurovision’s rules on musical performance and on-stage instruments would not always have accommodated an act like Look Mum No Computer, who tours with his own modular synth. In its early days in the late 1950s and 60s, all entries had to be performed by a live concert orchestra – limiting how far composers could follow transatlantic rock’n’roll trends.

The contest’s rules are determined by the European Broadcasting Union (EBU), which has overseen the annual contest for its member broadcasters since 1956. In 1973, the EBU began allowing prerecorded backing tracks, but insisted all instruments had to appear on stage. This rule allowed bands, like Yugoslavia’s Korni Grupa in 1974, to perform with their guitars and drums or to combine these with orchestral accompaniment like ABBA’s winning 1974 performance.

Electronic dance music was not such an easy fit when it started appearing in the 1990s. In 1996, the requirement for all instruments to be on camera meant Gina G’s UK entry Ooh Aah, Just A Little Bit had to bring PCs on stage.

Phasing out live orchestras altogether after 1998 upset some fans but modernised Eurovision’s sound. This move gave contest producers more space to employ new digital stage technologies, including video walls and LED floors. These made the broadcast more spectacular but dramatically increased its costs and environmental impact. It also caused issues of competitiveness since better-funded nations could invest in high-end digital staging with international creative teams, while those with lower budgets must be much more resourceful to be competitive.

Well before this transformation into a mega-event, however, musical instruments that were likely new to many Eurovision audiences were made focal points in how performances were staged. Switzerland’s 1976 entry by acoustic folk band Peter, Sue and Marc featured a clown playing a barrel organ. The Guadeloupian steel drums on Joëlle Ursull’s 1990 French entry White And Black Blues anticipated the staging of many percussion-driven pop acts that used traditional ethnic instruments in the 2000s.

Since on-stage instruments are played to prerecorded tracks and not wired for sound, Eurovision performances can feel different for instrumentalists than vocalists, who must always sing live – one rule that has endured throughout Eurovision’s history. All backing vocals also had to be live until 2021, when the EBU first allowed recorded backing during COVID.

Instruments on stage today are part of a much more complex scenography, harnessing the latest in lighting and digital design. The Norwegian folk metal band Gåte in 2024 presented a full digital spectacle, including video wall effects of crashing waves, dramatic lighting, and camera angle switches synced to their drum blasts. It also included the physical feat of guitarist Magnus Børmark throwing his instrument two metres into the air.

Eurovision’s “liveness” as a broadcast depends on complex technical programming and weeks of rehearsal to ensure every version of a contest performance is consistent, and meets competition rules. Asking how Look Mum No Computer’s work might translate to the Eurovision stage underlines how the contest’s relationships between musical instruments and digital design can make us reflect on what makes performances live and how technology has helped to visualise sound.

Catherine Baker received funding from the British Council to research the cultural relations and soft power of the Eurovision Song Contest in 2023. This article is based on a separate project and does not represent any previous project partners’ views.

Amy Skinner 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.

– ref. How musical instruments have informed stage design over Eurovision’s history – https://theconversation.com/how-musical-instruments-have-informed-stage-design-over-eurovisions-history-276668

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Laurie Parsons, Reader in Human Geography, Royal Holloway, University of London

What’s the link between the global economy and the climate? Consumption drives extraction and carbon emissions. But there is more.

The inequalities of the global economy don’t just shape what goes into the atmosphere. They affect our understanding of the climate and our perspectives when it comes to possible solutions. The lenses through which we see the world reflect the inequalities within it. The greater the centralisation of power, the greater the control over our knowledge about it.

This was a conclusion that the writer and revolutionary Antonio Gramsci reached, while languishing in prison after a failed revolution against the fascist Italian dictator Benito Mussolini. Unable to understand why ordinary people didn’t rise up against the dictator, despite their clear economic interest in doing so, he coined the term “hegemony”: the conflation of power and knowledge, whereby the views and interests of a political economic elite are adopted by the rest of society as common sense.

This perspective explains a lot about our seeming inability to escape the environmental status quo.

Successive polls indicate overwhelming public support for resolving excessive carbon emissions and the problems this excessive use of fossil fuels is creating for communities around the world.

In the UK, 60% of people support net zero. In Germany, 81% of the population want to expand renewable energy, while 55% cite it as “very important to them”. In Italy, 80% of people support a renewables only energy policy. Even in the US, 57% want the government to do more to address climate change.

With the exception of the US, this majority is greater than that which has elected any political party since the turn of the 20th century. So with a super-majority in favour of decarbonisation, how does the world remain stuck on such a steep upwards trajectory of carbon emissions?

Almost every country has a stated commitment to decarbonisation. Wind and solar energy are the cheapest forms of energy in history.

Yet a record quantity of carbon was pumped into the atmosphere last year. And record amounts of coal, oil and gas are still being extracted from the Earth.

Statistics like this can make even thinking about climate change a demoralising business. This is precisely the problem. Our overwhelming political will is sapped by being locked into a system that obscures the most effective pathways (phasing out fossil fuels, for example), while continually moving us towards less effective ones.

If you’re worried that global garment production is on course to triple in size by 2050, common narratives suggest that simply choosing the “greenest” brand will help fix the problem. Worried about the carbon cost of flying? Never fear: a budget airline’s apocryphal claims to be sustainable can assuage that nagging guilt.

Feeling the heat?

But the politics of climate change isn’t just about what we buy. It’s a full-body experience.

Take heat stress. According to the UN’s International Labour Organization, 70% of workers experience heat stress throughout the year. That figure falls to 29% in Europe and rises to 93% in sub-Saharan Africa.

These two continents have big differences in temperature, but temperature is in fact only a small part of the problem.

The largest determinant on whether a person becomes heat stressed (the point at which their body is pushed beyond its normal thermal limits) is the work that a person does. People working in construction, agriculture and other high-intensity roles – the kind that dominate in developing countries – are at the highest risk. Sedentary service sectors, or office jobs to you and me, are the safest in terms of heat stress.

When it comes to the environment, what you feel depends on what you do.

My new book, Climate Hegemony, highlights how a farmer is almost twice as likely as a garment worker to experience changing rainfall patterns, because everybody’s experience of the environment is filtered through how they spend their life.

That’s the problem. The populations of the developed world, consumers of most fossil fuels globally, may favour climate action. But as long as they continue to benefit from a global economy that reduces their risk through air conditioning and wealth, tackling climate change will remain alongside world peace and eliminating global hunger: moral aspirations, rather than tangible policy.

It is a testament to the persuasive powers of the fossil fuel industry that this hegemony is sustained – even in the face of precipitously falling renewable energy prices. Campaigns outflank arguments for renewable energy through widespread political lobbying and by support for conservative thinktanks and social movements, such as the campaign against net zero.

Individually, these activities might seem nefarious, but together they present as common sense, just as Gramsci complained from his cell in 1929.

As Gramsci found out, it is not easy to change minds. Yet by challenging the deeply embedded norms and assumptions of our current environmental impasse, it is possible to access something many environmentalists have felt starved of in recent years: hope.

The changing climate acts not only through emissions, but through everything we do, make and think. With different assumptions about which climate actions are possible, we arrive at different politics and different outcomes.

So, however much it might feel like it, the climate impasse is far from insurmountable. A world of ways to reshape our relationship to the environment are waiting, if only we can learn to see them.

Laurie Parsons receives funding from The Wellcome Trust and UK Research and Innovation.

– ref. Why climate action stalls, despite widespread popular support – https://theconversation.com/why-climate-action-stalls-despite-widespread-popular-support-282002

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Ali Rahman, Assistant Professor of Civil Engineering, University of Leeds

Potholes are a safety risk, source of vehicle damage and recurring annoyance in the UK. They gain special visibility at times of local elections, given that the vast majority of roads are maintained by local authorities. A survey conducted in April found that road condition was the top local issue for voters throughout Britain ahead of the May 7 elections.

The Asphalt Industry Alliance’s (AIA) 2025 report indicates that 17% of the local road network in England and Wales is in poor condition. It estimates that the backlog of repairs would take a staggering 12 years to clear, costing £16.81 billion.

While it’s easy for politicians to point to numbers of potholes filled as a way to gain votes from frustrated drivers, this does nothing to solve the problem in the long run.

Where do potholes come from?

Potholes are not isolated road surface defects, but rather the end-product of a hidden road deterioration process. In typical asphalt roads, bitumen ages, stiffens and becomes brittle over time. Traffic passage causes the road surface to crack.

Once cracks form, water enters the road structure. The weight of vehicles and freeze-thaw cycles over winter cause these cracks to expand and widen, eventually resulting in a pothole. By the time it appears on the road surface, the structural integrity of the subsurface is already compromised.

In the wake of climate change, the UK’s increasingly wet winters accelerate this process, especially on roads that have reached the end of their structural life.

The UK’s approach to repairing potholes is largely reactive: a short-term, localised patch job after the road has failed. Experimental studies show that while this approach is relatively inexpensive per intervention, it suffers from severe underperformance.

These repair jobs often last for just weeks or months in wet or winter conditions before needing to be done again. This “patch and repeat” cycle leads to escalating costs, network disruption and inconsistent road quality.

A much better approach would be preventative maintenance – intervening before failure occurs. Preventative treatments, including surface dressing and crack sealing, yield superior cost-effectiveness because they substantially reduce the frequency of patch failure and replacement.

It’s important to note that filling potholes, in itself, does not add life to roads, apart from temporarily keeping them safe. It is the construction equivalent of throwing good money after bad.

More ambitious would be to establish a predictive and proactive road management system that spans the road’s entire lifecycle. This includes designing and constructing resilient road structures, conducting frequent monitoring, and applying targeted, timely preventive maintenance.

Emerging technology such as advances in data analytics, AI, automation, digital twins and non-destructive testing may make this approach increasingly feasible.

Economics of potholes

Evidence suggests that preventative maintenance would be longer lasting, and significantly more cost-efficient. Spending £1 today on preventative maintenance leads to £4.20 saved within 10 years.

This payback reflects the current poor condition of the local road network in Britain. More sustainable road maintenance would have a rapid effect.

Similar evidence exists for the climate impact. Traditionally, potholes are fixed again and again using cold-mix or hot-mix asphalt – a mixture of stones and petroleum-based bitumen derived from crude oil. This makes the process incredibly carbon-intensive.

Preventative maintenance reduces the long-term carbon costs because roads stay in good condition for longer. As extreme weather such as floods or heatwaves becomes more frequent, the risk of damage to road surfaces increases, making resilience a crucial factor in highway maintenance.

Put another way, preventative road maintenance could be a key part of local authority’s net zero ambitions – whereas the current approach is a liability to this goal.

The electoral focus on fixing potholes therefore seems odd, since the medium- to long-term solution (from a cost, road quality and carbon perspective) is more preventative maintenance.

Why are Britain’s roads so pothole-plagued?

The simple reason that local authorities can’t fix potholes permanently is a lack of funding. However, like many political issues, it is more nuanced.

Our work with the National Highways & Transport Network has found that the public’s satisfaction with roads is substantially driven by the condition of roads within a one-kilometre radius of where they live.

Politically, potholes are obviously visible – they are also classed as safety defects, so there are legal requirements for local authorities to “fix” them in a timely manner. But underlying road condition, while crucial to the emergence of potholes, is more hidden and does not get as much political bandwidth.

Local authorities receive various funding pots for road maintenance, but this funding can sometimes be reallocated to other authority services, such as adult social care. This seriously constrains funding that is spent on road maintenance, although the UK government has recently announced new rules to stop councils from diverting road maintenance funds.

Taken together, this means that preventative maintenance is crowded out by limited funds and the need to repeatedly fix holes that result from a lack of preventative maintenance.

A review of current local road maintenance budget allocations reveals that reactive maintenance consumes 25% of budgets. But the pothole problem is getting worse, which suggests this figure will rise over time.

The relatively recent extra money for road maintenance (£0.5 billion annually) allocated could help, but it won’t go very far unless put into preventative treatments.

Changing to a longer-term solution requires different approaches to government funding and policymaking. But this demands political will at all levels of government, at a time when local authority budgets are already very constrained.

Professor Phill Wheat receives funding from the NHT CQC Network to which he is affiliated as the academic lead.

Ali Rahman 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.

– ref. Why politicians can’t fix potholes permanently – https://theconversation.com/why-politicians-cant-fix-potholes-permanently-281797

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Ben Mayfield, Lecturer in Law, Lancaster University

Directed by Orban Wallace, Our Land explores the countryside access debate in England and Wales through interviews, pastoral shots, lavish illustrations and a walk in the country where the sun always seems to shine.

One percent of landowners own 50% of English and Welsh land. But the right of open access to land by the public, or the “right to roam”, extends to only 8% of this land.

Our Land follows the path of earlier activists such as Marion Shoard and Tom Stevenson who once advanced the access campaign through their experiences and storytelling. Here, the documentary’s star is naturalist and conservationist Nadia Shaikh.

Shaikh explores the teaching power of the English countryside by leading a group of trespassers on a nature walk. She describes her own complex and deep-felt attachment to the countryside as a place of education and personal identity.

Our Land is a title with two meanings – private land ownership for the landowners v the campaign for shared rights in land. The film explores different attitudes to ownership as well as the physical borders between landowners and, in the words of access campaigner and contributor Guy Shrubsole, “the peasants”.

The documentary was filmed during the Darwall v Dartmoor (2023) legal dispute. Landowner Alexander Darwall successfully challenged and outlawed the longstanding right to wild camp on Dartmoor National Park in the High Court. Later overturned by the Court of Appeal and Supreme Court, the High Court ruling in favour of the landowner caused ripples of protest among walkers and campers. They temporarily lost the right to wild camp in Dartmoor – the only place in England where this was allowed by law.

Hedge fund manager Darwall is the most controversial landowner to feature in Our Land, but he is not interviewed in person. Instead, veteran documentary star Francis Fulford (he’s appeared in nine shows, including one about his estate and family) fills the role of aristocratic landowner and pantomime villain.

Fulford provides an insight into the landowner outlook: proud of his family’s place in English and colonial history as well as its roots on the Great Fulford estate. Fulford describes his family as having owned the estate since “time immemorial” and his love of the English countryside is unquestionable.

Indeed, many of the landowners interviewed have a paternal view of the countryside in which they view themselves as temporary guardians. Where opinions differ is how the countryside is best preserved and the extent to which the public should be allowed access to it.

Access and trespass

Trespass itself is a civil matter rather than a criminal offence, which is just as well because the documentary features trespass aplenty.

For instance, campaigning author Nick Hayes crosses the fences of the Drax estate in Dorset to deliver a copy of his Book of Trespass. He discusses the colonial history of the great estates and the role of wider access as a response to the decolonisation movement.

The documentary explains how the English and Welsh culture of access differs from that of close neighbours like Scotland. The Land Reform (Scotland) Act (2003) is celebrated, and contrasted with the exclusionary laws of England and Wales. Shrubsole stands over the border with one foot trespassing in England, the other “lawfully” in Scotland.

The Land Reform Act provides a much wider right to roam the Scottish countryside than the Countryside and Rights of Way Act in England (2000). It has a presumption in favour of public access and only minor exclusions such as private gardens and some industrial land. By contrast, the English “right to roam” supplements our existing network of footpaths, but extends only to mountain, moor, heath, down and common land. Great swathes of land are left inaccessible to the public.

The law is a central character in the access debate but exists only in the background of this documentary. We learn about the Norman conquest and enclosure of the commons in the 12th to 19th century. It was a process of consolidating, privatising and fencing off shared agricultural land (common land) in Britain, transforming it into individually owned, fenced fields. This change abolished traditional communal rights for grazing and farming.

However, there is less about the mixed success of earlier attempts to open countryside such as the Access to Mountains Act (1939), post-war National Parks Act (1949) or the Countryside and Rights of Way Act. English legislative failures might be able to teach us as much as Scotland’s successes.

Disagreement and concession

As the documentary draws to its conclusions there are some limitations to the format of landowners and campaigners being interviewed separately. We hear from both sides of the access debate but there are few opportunities to see the two sides in conversation.

Fulford is goaded from behind the camera on his views about sharing his land with visitors, but no representatives from either side have the opportunity to join one another in debate.

This leaves some assertions unchallenged, such as those of the affable Hugh Inge-Innes-Lillingston, owner of the Thorpe estate in Staffordshire. On the topic of rewilding, he contends that land cannot be truly rewilded if public access is allowed. But this reductive position ignores the nuanced ways that visitors and wilderness can coexist.

Throughout, many of the featured landowners and access campaigners agree on the artificial nature of landownership, their individual powerlessness to effect change and on the social and legal constructs that trap us all in an uncomfortable standoff.

As the documentary closes with trespassers talking and singing around a fire, I was left wishing that the cast of landowners could have joined them in their conversation.

The climate crisis has a communications problem. How do we tell stories that move people – not just to fear the future, but to imagine and build a better one? This article is part of Climate Storytelling, a series exploring how arts and science can join forces to spark understanding, hope and action.

Ben Mayfield 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.

– ref. Our Land: who owns the countryside? New documentary explores the access divide in England and Wales – https://theconversation.com/our-land-who-owns-the-countryside-new-documentary-explores-the-access-divide-in-england-and-wales-282001

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Edward Forman, PhD Candidate, Climate Tipping Points, University of Southampton

Imagine being tasked with counting every blade of grass in a field, noting every single species as you go. This is not far from the challenge many scientists face when analysing microscopic samples packed with thousands of tiny particles.

Imaging flow cytometry (IFC) solves this by guiding particles single-file past a camera and lasers, capturing detailed images of tens of thousands per second. It records the particles’ size, shape and optical properties, turning what was once painstaking manual work into automated analysis.

IFC has become a staple of biomedical research, with scientists using it to study blood viruses or classify tumour cells. It’s also increasingly used in environmental science – for example, to monitor water quality and detect microplastics.

Now, we’re using this medical tech on ancient mud, peat and lake sediments. It may help us identify exactly when ancient climate tipping points were crossed.

Blood to mud

To predict future climate change, we need to understand how things changed in the past. To do this, scientists use natural archives such as sediment found at the bottom of lakes or oceans, long “cores” drilled into peat or ice, or stalagmites and stalactites found in caves.

These archives effectively work as layered climate logbooks, recording environmental change over hundreds to thousands of years. As researchers dig deeper into sediment, peat or ice, they move further back in time. Each layer captures conditions at the time it was formed, from temperature and precipitation to the strength of ocean currents and wind belts.

Microscopic fossils and climate change

The abundance of certain microscopic fossils can be used to reconstruct these past conditions. For instance, the presence of certain species of pollen in peat or algae in lake sediments reflects changes in the climate system.

Pollen preserved in Amazon rainforest mud today is very different from that in Arctic tundra. In the far future, geologists will be able to tell from the fossilised form of this pollen which region once had tropical trees, and which had cold-weather shrubs.

This approach to reconstruction underpins a large portion of palaeoclimate research. Traditionally, however, it has involved counting thousands of particles by eye under a microscope. Because this is so time-consuming, only a small fraction of the total sample is analysed, while the rest is estimated by scaling up those results.

IFC dramatically speeds up counting, meaning climate reconstructions that previously took months can now be done much faster.

This makes it possible to produce higher-resolution records by analysing more samples, and to quantify rare species. Scientists using this technology can focus on questions that were previously too time-consuming to address, such as exactly when a certain environmental change occurred in the deep past.

Also, IFC digitises each sample, making results easier to share, reproduce and reanalyse, promoting more robust, open science.

Hidden patterns and tipping points

As IFC makes it feasible to count a much larger fraction of any given sample, it allows us to detect subtle changes that would have taken too long to detect manually.

Uncovering these small shifts in the particles found in a given place could provide early warning signals of abrupt climate change. For example, we can trace the migration of wind belts via the abundance of non-native pollen species at particular locations. Such movement of the winds may be responsible for triggering sudden change, perhaps by melting ice sheets or drying out a rainforest.

As a result, we may be able to precisely date the timing of past climate tipping points – and with that, the order in which these thresholds were crossed. This could let us distinguish between cause and consequence, as we can determine which changes happened first.

This approach also has the potential to uncover entirely new data, such as the presence of rare species at particular sites. These new records can then act as novel proxies for climate change – leading to more detailed reconstructions and deeper insights into how the climate works.

A tool designed to scan blood now offers us an exciting opportunity to read Earth’s history in finer detail and decipher hidden mechanisms. It could also help us predict abrupt changes in the near future.

Edward Forman is affiliated with Climate:Change.

Zoë Thomas receives funding from a UKRI Future Leaders Fellowship.

– ref. How a repurposed medical device is helping us investigate ancient climate tipping points – https://theconversation.com/how-a-repurposed-medical-device-is-helping-us-investigate-ancient-climate-tipping-points-281417

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Katryna Niva, Cassar Lab, Duke University

We replaced the stove with plywood, turning the kitchen of the dive boat into an impromptu research lab. Plugging in wires and connecting tubing, we assembled a scientific instrument within the cramped cabin.

Then we cast off into Halifax Harbour, Canada, surveying the turquoise waters for signs of an unusual test: could we use the ocean itself to remove carbon dioxide from the air?

Carbon dioxide (CO₂) is the most important driver of climate change, but it cannot be seen. Its build-up in the atmosphere is gradual. Its worst consequences take time to emerge. Even if emissions fell sharply tomorrow, the CO₂ already released would continue to warm the planet.

That is why scientists and policymakers are increasingly turning to carbon dioxide removal (CDR): taking CO₂ that has already been released back out of the air. So far, most large-scale CDR has focused on land, such as reforestation. But land is finite, competes with food production and biodiversity, and stored carbon can be lost through fire or deforestation. As emissions continue to outpace what these approaches alone can manage, attention has turned toward the ocean.

The overlooked role of the ocean in carbon storage

The ocean covers about 70% of the Earth’s surface and holds roughly 50 times the amount of carbon found in the atmosphere. Before the industrial revolution, carbon moved between air and sea in near balance. As industrial activity increased atmospheric CO₂, more of it dissolved into seawater and the ocean became more acidic.

All that dissolved carbon has resulted in the ocean storing about a third of human CO₂ emissions since the industrial revolution — substantially slowing the pace of climate change. The emerging question is whether we can build on this natural service. The field exploring that possibility is known as marine carbon dioxide removal (mCDR).

All mCDR approaches aim to reduce the amount of dissolved CO₂ at the ocean surface, converting it into more stable forms. When surface CO₂ is reduced, more CO₂ from the atmosphere dissolves into the sea.

Reducing surface CO₂ – so the sea absorbs more

One approach involves adding alkaline minerals – often crushed or processed rocks like limestone or basalt – to seawater. This reduces acidity and increases the capacity of seawater to absorb more carbon and store it for centuries to come. This is the strategy under development by Planetary Technologies in Halifax Harbour, Canada. There, alkaline minerals have been introduced to seawater through the cooling water discharge pipe of a natural gas burning power plant.

Another approach relies on biology. The ocean is filled with microscopic organisms that photosynthesise, using dissolved CO₂ to grow and reproduce. Some of this carbon sinks into deeper waters, through a process known as the “biological carbon pump”. By adding the nutrients that these organisms need to thrive, this effort hopes to increase microorganism populations and, ultimately, strengthening the biological carbon pump.

How do we know it works?

Whether chemical or biological, these approaches face the same questions: how much additional CO₂ is actually being removed from the atmosphere? And what are the ecological consequences?

The processes involved are invisible to the naked eye. The organisms are microscopic. The carbon transformations are chemical. Yet if marine carbon removal is to scale to climate-relevant levels, it will require rigorous measurement, transparency and public trust.

In the Cassar Lab at Duke University, we develop instruments to detect subtle changes in seawater chemistry. They continuously measure dissolved gases and other tracers, allowing us to reconstruct what microorganisms are doing and how carbon is moving through the system.

In August 2025, we deployed one of these tools in the turbulent waters surrounding one of the world’s first coastal ocean alkalinity enhancement projects, off Nova Scotia, Canada. This instrument was a mass spectrometer that extracts and quantifies dissolved gases from seawater. These readings give us insight into the ecosystem’s balance between photosynthesis and respiration – and therein, an understanding of how stressed or healthy the surrounding ecosystem is. Working alongside researchers tracking the chemical changes of the mCDR work underway, we focused on understanding how marine microorganisms were responding.

Another instrument, known as the Gopticas, allows a precise quantification of how much photosynthesis is happening in a seawater sample. The Gopticas was recently exhibited Prototypes for Humanity, an international innovation initiative based in Dubai, highlighting how tools developed for fundamental oceanography can also underpin climate accountability. This allows stronger quantification of ecosystem health as well as carbon influx.

A scalable approach to mCDR monitoring

We are now forming a team that can deploy these tools to directly quantify the amount of CO₂ being converted into longer-lived forms – and to spot early signs of ecological disruption.

This kind of monitoring is crucial. It allows us to distinguish between carbon that is briefly cycled near the surface and carbon converted into forms likely to remain stored for centuries. It also provides early warning if an intervention begins to disrupt marine biology. The work in Halifax marked the first application of our instruments to mCDR initiatives, but we look forward to applying these same approaches across regions and mCDR approaches.

Developing robust methods to quantify both carbon removal and ecological impact before large-scale deployment is essential. Without credible verification, claims of carbon removal risk outpacing evidence. And without clear evidence of environmental safety, public support will falter.

If marine carbon dioxide removal is to make a meaningful contribution to climate mitigation, it must rest on precise measurement and accountability. Governments, regulators and investors will need confidence that reported carbon removal is real and durable – and that marine ecosystems are protected.

Standing on the deck of the dive boat, staring out at the plume of alkaline waters emerging from the pipe, it’s easy to be struck by a feeling of awe. This experiment is tiny compared to global climate change – a drop in the ocean. But it offers a glimpse into a more optimistic future.

This article was commissioned in conjunction with Prototypes for Humanity, a global initiative that showcases and accelerates academic innovation to solve social and environmental challenges. The Conversation was a media partner of Prototypes for Humanity 2025.

Katryna Niva works for Duke University. Her research is also supported in part by the Carbon to Sea Initiative.

This article was commissioned in conjunction with Prototypes for Humanity, a global initiative that showcases and accelerates academic innovation to solve social and environmental challenges. The Conversation was a media partner of Prototypes for Humanity 2025

Alireza Merikhi 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.

– ref. The ocean is fighting climate change and we’re trying to help it – here’s how – https://theconversation.com/the-ocean-is-fighting-climate-change-and-were-trying-to-help-it-heres-how-271554