Tenzin Gyatso, the 14th Dalai Lama, turns 90 this week – a milestone that’s reigniting speculation over his eventual successor.
While the Dalai Lama is the face of Buddhism to many people across the world, he is actually the head of just one tradition within Tibetan Buddhism known as the Gelug school.
Tibetans believe the Dalai Lama to be the manifestation of Avalokiteśvara, the bodhisattva of compassion, and the “one who hears the cries of the world”.
In Buddhism, a bodhisattva is a person, or a mythic representation of a person, who denies themselves enlightenment until all beings can achieve enlightenment. Avalokiteśvara appears to living beings in whatever form could best save them.
Although Avalokiteśvara originated in India as a man, they can be depicted as either a man, woman, or non-binary being. This gender fluidity has led to them being revered as a trans icon in the West.
I have spent the past five years investigating the lives of queer Buddhists in Australia. As part of this research, I have surveyed and interviewed 109 LGBTQIA+ Buddhist Australians.
The words of these individuals, and my own experience as a genderqueer Buddhist person, reveal how the Dalai Lama emerges an an unlikely inspiration for individuals sharing a trans and Buddhist identity.
The Big Buddha is a large bronze sculpture located near the Po Lin Monastery on Lantau Island, Hong Kong. Joshua J. Cotten/Unsplash
Letting go of binaries
Through my work I have found LGBTQIA+ Buddhist Australians are generally reluctant to disclose their queer identities to their Buddhist communities, and may be told to remain silent about their identities.
For some, Avalokiteśvara’s gender fluidity has been important for reaffirming both their queer and Buddhist selves.
One Buddhist trans woman, Annie*, told me Guanyin had special significance for her. Annie spoke about Avalokiteśvara travelling from India to China as a male, before “transitioning” to the mainly female presentation of Guanyin over centuries. Annie said:
I pray to her regularly and often find I get a response. Of course the enlightened state is beyond all manner of worldly binaries, including gender, and is immensely important in letting go of binaries in my journey towards enlightenment.
Walter* has had a long fascination with depictions of Avalokiteśvara that “showed ‘him’ looking effeminate and handsome, with a cute moustache […] A little bit homoerotic, a little bit provocatively gender fluid, as seen through my eyes”.
Walter adds:
A great many people in different cultures, across history, worship these figures. Clever how this figure can morph into a radical trans! We all want to feel comforted, safe and saved from suffering.
As queer Buddhists, we turn to to Avalokitesvara to feel “comforted, safe and saved”.
Another interviewee, Brian*, told me about a Tibetan invocation practice he did with a senior Tibetan monk, in which he encountered Guanyin:
[She] took my right hand and passed some sort of power into it. She never spoke to me but just returned the way she had come. I was given some sort of gift, that’s all I know.
Since this experience, Brian has “always felt a strong connection to the feminine through her”. He has a special Guanyin altar on his farm.
You can’t be what you can’t see
Some Buddhists deny Avalokiteśvara’s queerness.
Asher*, a genderqueer Buddhist I interviewed, told me about a teacher who said to them, “there was absolutely no way a gay person could be enlightened”.
Asher retorted:
What about Kanzeon, the bodhisattva of compassion, who has manifested as both male and female and, in the stories from Japan, has had erotic relationships with monks?
The teacher dismissed this, replying, “those are just stories”.
A black statue of Avalokiteśvara outside a Japanese temple. Wikimedia, CC BY
In her 1996 book Transgender Warriors, trans activist Leslie Feinberg writes: “I couldn’t find myself in history. No one like me seemed to have ever existed.”
Similarly, Annie evoked the statement: “You can’t be what you can’t see.”
I, too, experience this need to see myself as a genderqueer, non-binary practitioner of Zen Buddhism. It was only through doing these interviews with other queer Buddhists that I came to realise Guanyin, a trans icon, is a statuette which adorns the altar of the Buddhist group I belong to.
Knowing Avalokitesvara may be depicted as a man, woman, or non-binary being lets us queer Buddhists know we exist – and have always existed – within Buddhism.
Despite being a cisgender man who has been somewhatinconsistent in his support of queer people, the Dalai Lama, as the manifestation of the bodhisattva of compassion, is a possible spiritual link between today’s queer Buddhists and centuries-long traditions of gender transition and fluidity.
*Names have been changed.
Stephen Kerry 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.
While he likes to provoke opponents with the possibility of serving a third term, Donald Trump faces a more immediate historical burden that has plagued so many presidents: the “second term curse”.
Twenty-one US presidents have served second terms, but none has reached the same level of success they achieved in their first.
Second term performances have ranged from the lacklustre and uninspiring to the disastrous and deadly. Voter dissatisfaction and frustration, presidential fatigue and a lack of sustainable vision for the future are all explanations.
But Trump doesn’t quite fit the mould. Only one other president, Grover Cleveland in the late 19th century, has served a second nonconsecutive term, making Trump 2.0 difficult to measure against other second-term leaders.
Trump will certainly be hoping history doesn’t repeat Cleveland’s second-term curse. Shortly after taking office he imposed 50% tariffs, triggering global market volatility that culminated in the “Panic of 1893”.
At the time, this was the worst depression in US history: 19% unemployment, a run on gold from the US Treasury, a stock market crash and widespread poverty.
More than a century on, Trump’s “move fast and break things” approach in a nonconsecutive second term might appeal to voters demanding action above all else. But he risks being drawn into areas he campaigned against.
So far, he has gone from fighting a trade war and a culture war to contemplating a shooting war in the Middle East. His “big beautiful bill” will add trillions to the national debt and potentially force poorer voters – including many Republicans – off Medicaid.
Whether his radical approach will defy or conform to the second term curse seems very much an open question.
No kings
The two-term limit was enacted by the 22nd Amendment to the Constitution in 1951. Without a maximum term, it was feared, an authoritarian could try to take control for life – like a king (hence the recent “No Kings” protests in the US).
George Washington, James Madison and Thomas Jefferson all declined to serve a third term. Jefferson was suspicious of any president who would try to be re-elected a third time, writing:
should a President consent to be a candidate for a 3d. election, I trust he would be rejected on this demonstration of ambitious views.
There is a myth that after Franklin Delano Roosevelt broke the de facto limit of two terms set by the early presidents, the ghost of George Washington placed a curse on anyone serving more than four years.
At best, second-term presidencies have been tepid compared to the achievements in the previous four years. After the second world war, some two-term presidents (Eisenhower, Reagan and Obama) started out strong but faltered after reelection.
Eisenhower extricated the US from the Korean War in his first term, but faced domestic backlash and race riots in his second. He had to send 500 paratroopers to escort nine Black high school students in Little Rock, Arkansas, to enforce a federal desegregation order.
Reagan made significant tax and spending cuts, and saw the Soviet Union crumble in term one. But the Iran-Contra scandal and watered down tax reform defined term two.
Truly disastrous examples of second term presidencies include Abraham Lincoln (assassination), Woodrow Wilson (first world war, failure of the League of Nations, a stroke), Richard Nixon (Watergate, impeachment and resignation), and Bill Clinton (Lewinsky scandal and impeachment).
Room for one more? Trump has joked about being added to Mount Rushmore. Shutterstock
Monumental honours
It may be too early to predict how Trump will feature in this pantheon of less-than-greatness. But his approval ratings recently hit an all-time low as Americans reacted to the bombing of Iran and deployment of troops in Los Angeles.
A recent YouGov poll showed voters giving negative approval ratings for his handling of inflation, jobs, immigration, national security and foreign policy. While there has been plenty of action, it may be the levels of uncertainty, drastic change and market volatility are more extreme than some bargained for.
An uncooperative Congress or opposition from the judiciary can be obstacles to successful second terms. But Trump has used executive orders, on the grounds of confronting “national emergencies”, to bypass normal checks and balances.
As well, favourable rulings by the Supreme Court have edged closer to expanding the boundaries of executive power. But they have not yet supported Trump’s claim from his first term that “I have an Article 2, where I have the right to do whatever I want as President”.
Some supporters say Trump deserves a Nobel Peace Prize. And he was only half joking when he asked if there is room for one more face on Mount Rushmore. But such monumental honours may only amount to speculation unless Trump’s radical approach and redefinition of executive power defy the second-term curse.
Garritt C. Van Dyk has received funding from the Getty Research Institute.
Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Brittany Ferdinands, Lecturer in Digital Content Creation, Discipline of Media and Communications, University of Sydney
Emojis, as well as memes and other forms of short-form content, have become central to how we express ourselves and connect online. Yet as meanings shift across different contexts, so too does the potential for misunderstanding.
A senior colleague of mine recently encountered some commentary about the “slightly smiling” face emoji: 🙂
They approached me, asking whether it represented joy, as they had assumed, or if it had a more ominous meaning.
As a chronically-online millennial, who unironically identifies as a gen Z, I bore the news that I, along with most younger internet users, only ever use it sarcastically.
“It doesn’t actually signify happiness – more so fake happiness, or dry humour,” I explained.
I also told them how the thumbs up emoji is often interpreted as passive aggressive, and that the only time I’d use the laughing-crying (“face with tears of joy”) emoji is under duress.
Despite seeming like a universal language – and sometimes they do function that way – emojis can be at once more vague, and more specific, than words. That’s because you can’t separate the meaning of a smiley from the person who sent it, nor from the person receiving it.
Markers of age and identity
While emojis were originally developed in the late 1990s by Japanese artist Shigetaka Kurita to add emotional nuance to text-based messaging, their function has since evolved.
Today, emojis are not just emotional cues; they also operate as cultural symbols and markers of identity.
Research published last year highlights how these symbols can create subtle communication barriers across age groups. For instance, a study of Chinese-speaking WeChat users found younger and older people differed not only in how frequently they used emojis, but in how they interpreted and aesthetically preferred them.
One emoji that’s increasingly becoming a distinct marker of age is the previously mentioned laughing-crying emoji (😂). Despite being named Oxford Dictionary’s 2015 word of the year, and frequently topping the most-used emoji charts, this smiley is on the decline among gen Z – who decided in 2020 that it wasn’tcoolanymore.
Instead, they prefer the skull emoji (💀), which is shorthand for the gen Z catch phrase “I’m dead”. This means something is funny (not that they’re literally deceased).
Such shifts may understandably be perplexing for older generations who are unfamiliar with evolving norms and slang.
A digital body language
Emojis can also take on distinct meanings on different platforms. They are embedded within “platform vernaculars”: the ever-evolving styles of communication that are unique to specific digital spaces.
For example, a thumbs up emoji (👍) from your boss at work is seemingly more acceptable, and less anxiety inducing, than from a romantic interest you’ve just sent a risky text to.
This dilemma was echoed in a recent viral TikTok by user @kaitlynghull, which prompted thousands to comment about their shared confusion over emoji use in the workplace.
This reaction highlights a deeper communication issue.
A survey of 10,000 workers across the US, France, Germany, India and Australia, conducted by YouGov and software company Atlassian, found 65% of workers used emojis to convey tone in the workplace. But while 88% of gen Z workers thought emojis were helpful, this dropped to 49% for baby boomers and gen X.
The survey concluded some emojis can be interpreted in multiple ways, and these double meanings aren’t always safe for work.
In with the ‘it’ crowd
Another example of platform-specific emoji use comes from social media content creators who deploy emojis to curate a certain aesthetic.
Under the Tiktok tag #emojicombo, you’ll find thousands of videos showcasing emoji combinations that provide aesthetic “inspo”. These combinations are used to represent different online identities or subcultures, such as “that girl”, “clean girl” or “old money”.
Users may include the combinations in their captions or videos to signal their personal style, or to express the mood or vibe of their online persona. In this way, the emojis help shape how they present themselves on the platform.
This example of emoji use is also a display of symbolic capital. It signals social alignment, in an environment where a user’s visibility (and popularity) is determined by their platform fluency.
Emojis, then, aren’t just tools for expression. They are badges of identity that index where a user stands in the online cultural hierarchy.
There’s a fragmentation in how we relate
A single emoji might communicate irony, sincerity or sarcasm, depending on who is using it, what platform they’re using it on, and what generation they belong to.
This gap points to deeper questions around online access and participation, and the systems that shape online cultures.
And when the meaning of an emoji is platform-dependent and socially stratified, it can become as much about fitting in with a cultural in-group than conveying emotion.
Brittany Ferdinands 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.
The number of tourists heading to Antarctica has been skyrocketing. From fewer than 8,000 a year about three decades ago, nearly 125,000 tourists flocked to the icy continent in 2023–24. The trend is likely to continue in the long term.
Unchecked tourism growth in Antarctica risks undermining the very environment that draws visitors. This would be bad for operators and tourists. It would also be bad for Antarctica – and the planet.
Over the past two weeks, the nations that decide what human activities are permitted in Antarctica have convened in Italy. The meeting incorporates discussions by a special working group that aims to address tourism issues.
It’s not easy to manage tourist visitors to a continent beyond any one country’s control. So, how do we stop Antarctica being loved to death? The answer may lie in economics.
Future visitor trends
We recently modelled future visitor trends in Antarctica. A conservative scenario shows by 2033–34, visitor numbers could reach around 285,000. Under the least conservative scenario, numbers could reach 450,000 – however, this figure incorporates pent-up demand from COVID shutdowns that will likely diminish.
The vast majority of the Antarctic tourism industry comprises cruise-ship tourism in the Antarctic Peninsula. A small percentage of visitors travel to the Ross Sea region and parts of the continent’s interior.
Antarctic tourism is managed by an international set of agreements together known as the Antarctic Treaty System, as well as the International Association of Antarctica Tour Operators (IAATO).
The Treaty System is notoriously slow-moving and riven by geopolitics, and IAATO does not have the power to cap visitor numbers.
Even when cruise ships don’t dock, they can cause problems such as air, water and noise pollution – as well as anchoring that can damage the seabed.
Then there’s carbon emissions. Each cruise ship traveller to Antarctica typically produces between 3.2 and 4.1 tonnes of carbon, not including travel to the port of departure. This is similar to the carbon emissions an average person produces in a year.
Global warming caused by carbon emissions is damaging Antarctica. At the Peninsula region, glaciers and ice shelves are retreating and sea ice is shrinking, affecting wildlife and vegetation.
Of course, Antarctic tourism represents only a tiny fraction of overall emissions. However, the industry has a moral obligation to protect the place that maintains it. And tourism in Antarctica can compound damage from climate change, tipping delicate ecosystems into decline.
Market-based tools – such as taxes, cap-and-trade schemes and certification – have been used in environmental management around the world. Research shows these tools could also prevent Antarctic tourist numbers from getting out of control.
One option is requiring visitors to pay a tourism tax. This would help raise revenue to support environmental monitoring and enforcement in Antarctica, as well as fund research.
Such a tax already exists in the small South Asian nation of Bhutan, where each tourist pays a tax of US$100 (A$152) a night. But while a tax might deter the budget-conscious, it probably wouldn’t deter high income, experience-driven tourists.
Alternatively, a cap-and-trade system would create a limited number of Antarctica visitor permits for a fixed period. The initial distribution of permits could be among tourism operators or countries, via negotiation, auction or lottery. Unused permits could then be sold, making them quite valuable.
Caps have been successful at managing tourism impacts elsewhere, such as Lord Howe Island, although there are no trades allowed in that system.
Any cap on tourist numbers in Antarctica, and rules for trading, must be based on evidence about what the environment can handle. But there is a lack of precise data on Antarctica’s carrying capacity. And permit allocations amongst the operators and nations would need to be fair and inclusive.
Alternatively, existing industry standards could be augmented with independent schemes certifying particular practices – for example, reducing carbon footprints. This could be backed by robust monitoring and enforcement to avoid greenwashing.
Looking ahead
Given the complexities of Antarctic governance, our research finds that the most workable solution is a combination of these market-based options, alongside other regulatory measures.
So far, parties to the Antarctic treaty have made very few binding rules for the tourism industry. And some market-based levers will be more acceptable to the parties than others. But doing nothing is not a solution.
The authors would like to acknowledge Valeria Senigaglia, Natalie Stoeckl and Jing Tian and the rest of the team for their contributions to the research upon which this article was based.
Darla Hatton MacDonald receives funding from the Australian Research Council, the Australian Forest and Wood Innovations Centre, the Department of Climate Change, Energy, the Environment and Water, and the Soils CRC. She has received in-kind support from Antarctic tour operator HX.
Elizabeth Leane receives funding from the Australian Research Council, the Dutch Research Council, and DFAT. She also receives in-kind support and occasional funding from Antarctic tourism operator HX and in-kind support from other tour operators.
Some 252 million years ago, almost all life on Earth disappeared.
Known as the Permian–Triassic mass extinction – or the Great Dying – this was the most catastrophic of the five mass extinction events recognised in the past 539 million years of our planet’s history.
Up to 94% of marine species and 70% of terrestrial vertebrate families were wiped out. Tropical forests – which served, as they do today, as important carbon sinks that helped regulate the planet’s temperature – also experienced massive declines.
Scientists have long agreed this event was triggered by a sudden surge in greenhouse gases which resulted in an intense and rapid warming of Earth. But what has remained a mystery is why these extremely hot conditions persisted for millions of years.
Our new paper, published today in Nature Communications, provides an answer. The decline of tropical forests locked Earth in a hothouse state, confirming scientists’ suspicion that when our planet’s climate crosses certain “tipping points”, truly catastrophic ecological collapse can follow.
A massive eruption
The trigger for the Permian–Triassic mass extinction event was the eruption of massive amounts of molten rock in modern day Siberia, named the Siberian Traps. This molten rock erupted in a sedimentary basin, rich in organic matter.
The molten rock was hot enough to melt the surrounding rocks and release massive amounts of carbon dioxide into Earth’s atmosphere over a period as short as 50,000 years but possibly as long as 500,000 years. This rapid increase in carbon dioxide in Earth’s atmosphere and the resulting temperature increase is thought to be the primary kill mechanism for much of life at the time.
On land it is thought surface temperatures increased by as much as 6°C to 10°C – too rapid for many life forms to evolve and adapt. In other similar eruptions, the climate system usually returns to its previous state within 100,000 to a million years.
We looked at the fossil record of a wide range of land plant biomes, such as arid, tropical, subtropical, temperate and scrub. We analysed how the biomes changed from just before the mass extinction event, until about eight million years after.
We hypothesised that Earth warmed too rapidly, leading to the dying out of low- to mid-latitude vegetation, especially the rainforests. As a result the efficiency of the organic carbon cycle was greatly reduced immediately after the volcanic eruptions.
Plants, because they are unable to simply get up and move, were very strongly affected by the changing conditions.
Before the event, many peat bogs and tropical and subtropical forests existed around the equator and soaked up carbon
Enclaves of larger plants remained towards the poles, in coastal and in slightly mountainous regions where the temperature was slightly cooler. After about five million years they had mostly recolonised Earth. However these types of plants were also less efficient at fixing carbon in the organic carbon cycle.
This is analogous in some ways to considering the impact of replacing all rainforests at present day with the mallee-scrub and spinifex flora that we might expect to see in the Australian outback.
Post-extinction lycopod fossils. Zhen Xu
Finally, the forests return
Using evidence from the present day, we estimated the rate at which plants take atmospheric carbon dioxide and store it as organic matter of each different biome (or its “net primary productivity”) that was suggested in the fossil record.
We then used a recently developed carbon cycle model called SCION to test our hypothesis numerically. When we analysed our model results we found that the initial increase in temperature from the Siberian Traps was preserved for five to six million years after the event because of the reduction in net primary productivity.
It was only as plants re-established themselves and the organic carbon cycle restarted that Earth slowly started to ease out of the super greenhouse conditions.
Maintaining a climate equilibrium
It’s always difficult to draw analogies between past climate change in the geological record and what we’re experiencing today. That’s because the extent of past changes is usually measured over tens to hundreds of thousands of years while at present day we are experiencing change over decades to centuries.
A key implication of our work, however, is that life on Earth, while resilient, is unable to respond to massive changes on short time scales without drastic rewirings of the biotic landscape.
In the case of the Permian–Triassic mass extinction, plants were unable to respond on as rapid a time scale as 1,000 to 10,000 years. This resulted in a large extinction event.
Overall, our results underline how important tropical and subtropical plant biomes and environments are to maintaining a climate equilibrium. In turn, they show how the loss of these biomes can contribute to additional climate warming – and serve as a devastating climate tipping point.
Zhen Xu was the lead author of the study, which was part of her PhD work.
Andrew Merdith receives funding from the Australian Research Council as part of the Discovery Early Career Researcher Award.
Benjamin J. W. Mills receives funding from UK Research and Innovation.
Zhen Xu receives funding from UK Research and Innovation and the National Natural Science Foundation of China.
Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Cameron Dodd, PhD Student in Evolutionary Biology and Taxonomy, The University of Western Australia
The long-eared kultarr (_A. auritus_) is the middle child in terms of body size, but it has by far the biggest ears.Ken Johnson
Australia is home to more than 60 species of carnivorous marsupials in the family Dasyuridae. Almost a quarter of those have only been scientifically recognised in the past 25 years.
Other than the iconic Tasmanian devil, chances are most of these small, fascinating species have slipped under your radar. One of the rarest and most elusive is the kultarr (Antechinomys laniger), a feisty insect-eater found in very low numbers across much of the outback.
To the untrained eye, the kultarr looks very much like a hopping mouse, with long legs, a long tail and a tendency to rest on its hind legs. However, it runs much like a greyhound – but its tiny size and high speed makes it look like it’s hopping.
Kultarr or kultarrs?
Until now, the kultarr was thought to be a single widespread species, ranging from central New South Wales to the Carnarvon Basin on Australia’s west coast. However, a genetic study in 2023 suggested there could be more than one species.
With backing from the Australian Biological Resources Study, our team of researchers from the University of Western Australia, Western Australian Museum and Queensland University of Technology set out to investigate.
We travelled to museums in Adelaide, Brisbane, Darwin, Melbourne, Sydney and Perth to look at every kultarr that had been collected by scientists over the past century. By combining detailed genetic data with body and skull measurements, we discovered the kultarr isn’t one widespread species, but three distinct species.
Three species of kultarrs
The eastern kultarr (A. laniger) is the smallest of the three, with an average body length of about 7.5cm. It’s darker in colour than its relatives, and while its ears are still big, they are nowhere near as big as those of the other two species.
The eastern kultarr is now found on hard clay soils around Cobar in central NSW and north to around Charleville in southern Queensland.
The eastern kultarr (A. laniger) is the smallest of the three species. Pat Woolley
The gibber kultarr (A. spenceri) is the largest and stockiest, with an average body length of around 9cm. They are noticeably chunkier than the other two more dainty species, with big heads, thick legs and much longer hindfeet.
As its name suggests, the gibber kultarr is restricted to the extensive stony deserts or “gibber plains” in southwest Queensland and northeast South Australia.
The gibber kultarr (A. spenceri) is largest and stockiest. Ken Johnson
The long-eared kultarr (A. auritus) is the middle child in terms of body size, but its ears set it apart. They’re nearly as long as its head.
It’s found in patchy populations in the central and western sandy deserts, living on isolated stony plains.
The long-eared kultarr (A. auritus) is the middle child in terms of body size, but it has by far the biggest ears. Ken Johnson
Are they threatened?
All three species of kultarr are hard to find, making it difficult to confidently estimate population sizes and evaluate extinction risk. The long-eared and gibber kultarrs don’t appear to be in immediate danger, but land clearing and invasive predators such as cats and foxes have likely affected their numbers.
The three species of kultarr seem to now inhabit smaller areas than in the past. Cameron Dodd
The eastern kultarr, however, is more of a concern. By looking at museum specimens going back all the way to the 1890s, we found it was once much more widespread.
Historic records suggest the eastern kultarr used to occur across the entirety of arid NSW and even spread north through central Queensland and into the Northern Territory. We now think this species may be extinct in the NT and parts of northwest Queensland.
What’s next?
To protect kultarrs into the future, we need targeted surveys to confirm where each species still survives, especially the eastern kultarr, whose current range may be just a shadow of its former extent. With better knowledge, we can prioritise conservation actions where they’re most needed, and ensure these remarkable, long-legged hunters don’t disappear before we truly get to know them.
Australia still has many small mammal species that haven’t been formally described. Unless we identify and name them, they remain invisible in conservation policy.
Taxonomic research like this is essential – we can’t protect what we don’t yet know exists. And without action, some species may disappear before they’re ever officially recognised.
The authors wish to acknowledge the important contributions of Adjunct Professor Mike Westerman at La Trobe University to the research discussed in this article.
Cameron Dodd receives funding from the Australian Biological Resources Study and Society of Australian Systematic Biologists.
Andrew M. Baker receives funding from the Federal Government, State Governments, Australian Biological Resources Study and various Industry sources.
Kenny Travouillon receives funding from Australian Biological Resources Study.
Linette Umbrello receives funding from the Australian Biological Resources Study (ABRS) National Taxonomy Research Grant Program (NTRGP)
Renee Catullo 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.
“✏️Describe the vibe” goes the demand to commenters underneath the YouTube video for Lorde’s latest single, “Hammer”. Fans form a flow; a “vibe check” in Zillenial parlance:
The pure rawness … (@lynmariegm)
A more raw true-to-self form … (@m3lodr4matic)
This is pure art … (@anishm-g1r)
Lorde’s 2013 debut album was titled Pure Heroine. But, she tells us – and fans and critics agree – Virgin is the first album which “does not lie”. Pure pop. Not lying is not necessarily synonymous with truth, however. Rather, not lying in the present cultural moment is more akin to the careful articulation of a whole vibe.
For women in particular, truth, authenticity – dare I say realness – mean modulating their feelings, but also a particular calibration and presentation of their bodies in media.
Such a balancing act is captured in that YouTube imperative which moves between the pencil (“✏️”) – the demand to describe – and the “vibe”, the very thing we often find too hard to write down or put into words.
Pop music is often at the nexus of these two seemingly opposite moves. Think about going to a gig and afterwards being asked “how was it?”, and all you can say is “you had to be there”.
Of course it is not so simple. We are always putting our feeling into words – describing all manner of bodily responses. Lorde herself sings in “Broken Glass” about how her eating disordered body was marked by language: the “arithmetic” of calorie counting. Elsewhere, she lists other social signifiers in which she is enmeshed: daughter (“Favourite Daughter”), siren, saint (“Shapeshifter”).
Words and the body
Nonetheless, the repeated theme in press interviews is that Virgin moves beyond language, towards a pure woman’s body, free of the mark of sexuality. At the same time, the album is also “ravenously horny” according to one review. She is both as pure as a newborn (a “Virgin”), but marked by her sexuality.
The song “Current Affairs” most clearly demonstrates proximity between the sexed body and its description in lyrics. Lorde collapses into her lover’s body (“He spit in my mouth”). But when he breaks her heart, she cannot put into language the hurt. Rather she blames her anguish on the news: “current affairs”.
Pop music and pop culture thrives off the market exchange and saleability of sex, particularly young women’s sex. When I first wrote about Lorde 11 years ago, I pitted her against Miley Cyrus, noting the outrage at Miley’s “growing up” (from Hannah Montana to adulthood), which mapped onto her perceived new working class, tasteless identity.
Against the crass vulgarity of Miley, I argued then, we had the middle-class intellectualism of Lorde. The argument stands. Virgin certainly adds a heightened sexiness to Lorde, but it is far from crude. She is branded, not just by the market (the cost of tour tickets and merchandise), but also by her identity as a tasteful and hip woman.
More fleshy (“wide hips/soft lips” she sings in “GRWM”) than the teen “Royal” of 2012, but still on Universal Music Group’s repertoire and still circulated as an “alt” option for pop fans.
We can also think of Lorde’s collaboration with her current working class alter, and last year’s popstar commodity, Charli XCX. In Lorde’s verse in “Girl, so confusing” she notes Charli is, essentially, a “Chav” – “still a young girl from Essex”. But in the same verse, Lorde shows her awareness of both women’s function on the market:
People say we’re alike
They say we’ve got the same hair
It’s you and me on the coin
The industry loves to spend
This knowing wink to how women move within the pop-culture marketplace produces a different kind of purity, one based on an intimacy between the popstar and her listeners. We all know Lorde’s difference from Charli is about image: the “poet” versus the party girl.
Intimacy as purity is part of what cultural theorist Anna Kornbluh recently dubbed the pressure of “immediacy”, characterised by an apparently ceaseless flow and demand to constantly share images and video of our bodies, afforded by the scroll of social media.
While the depiction of our bodies and selves on screens is fundamental to this moment, according to Kornbluh, we contradictorily lose sight of this screening. Feeling as though we are #NoFilter – present and real. Key to this is the exhibition of our feelings and emotions.
For all women, but particularly those in the public eye, the sharing of these feelings materialise into “coin”. Vulnerability, pleasure, all-the-feels-all-the-time – especially for women – make “bank”.
Intimacy and knowingness
Vulnerability has been a catch-cry in media characterisations of Virgin. Critics and fans equate Lorde’s lyrical confessions and press tour patter with a market-valuable “purity”, equated with immediate access (to quote the YouTube fan above) to a “true-to-self” Lorde.
One of her more amusing (but fitting) press engagements was on Bella Freud’s Fashion Neurosis podcast. On the couch, we hear Lorde, wearing a Yohji Yamamoto blazer, musing about vulnerability, gender and her mother – with the great granddaughter of Sigmund Freud.
Fashion Neurosis: Lorde on the psychiatrist’s couch.
While the Charli XCX track shows Lorde’s intimacy through her knowingness about her role as “coin” for the music industry, the music videos from Virgin offer a more embodied intimacy. The clip for the album’s first single, “What Was That?”, features an extreme closeup inside her mouth. The album cover itself is an X-ray showing her hips and her IUD.
Kornbluh suggests this emphasis on often literal bodily interiors – people’s “insides” – produces an ersatz sense of closeness and sociality, as our relationships become more and more beholden to the alienating circuits of “social” media.
Virgin does not lie. It traces a truth of our times – a paradoxical truth – that we are at our most intimate, our most pure, when we are unmediated, all the while bearing out the imperative to “✏️Describe the vibe” – to mediate and expose ourselves onscreen.
My own vibe check? I love the album. It is pop at its purest – performative, playful and certainly worth paying attention to.
Rosemary Overell 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.
The scientists who precisely measure the position of Earth are in a bit of trouble. Their measurements are essential for the satellites we use for navigation, communication and Earth observation every day.
But you might be surprised to learn that making these measurements – using the science of geodesy – depends on tracking the locations of black holes in distant galaxies.
The problem is, the scientists need to use specific frequency lanes on the radio spectrum highway to track those black holes.
Satellites and the services they provide have become essential for modern life. From precision navigation in our pockets to measuring climate change, running global supply chains and making power grids and online banking possible, our civilisation cannot function without its orbiting companions.
To use satellites, we need to know exactly where they are at any given time. Precise satellite positioning relies on the so-called “global geodesy supply chain”.
This supply chain starts by establishing a reliable reference frame as a basis for all other measurements. Because satellites are constantly moving around Earth, Earth is constantly moving around the Sun, and the Sun is constantly moving through the galaxy, this reference frame needs to be carefully calibrated via some relatively fixed external objects.
These black holes are the most distant and stable objects we know. Using a technique called very long baseline interferometry, we can use a network of radio telescopes to lock onto the black hole signals and disentangle Earth’s own rotation and wobble in space from the satellites’ movement.
Different lanes on the radio highway
We use radio telescopes because we want to detect the radio waves coming from the black holes. Radio waves pass cleanly through the atmosphere and we can receive them during day and night and in all weather conditions.
Radio waves are also used for communication on Earth – including things such as wifi and mobile phones. The use of different radio frequencies – different lanes on the radio highway – is closely regulated, and a few narrow lanes are reserved for radio astronomy.
However, in previous decades the radio highway had relatively little traffic. Scientists commonly strayed from the radio astronomy lanes to receive the black hole signals.
To reach the very high precision needed for modern technology, geodesy today relies on more than just the lanes exclusively reserved for astronomy.
Radio traffic on the rise
In recent years, human-made electromagnetic pollution has vastly increased. When wifi and mobile phone services emerged, scientists reacted by moving to higher frequencies.
However, they are running out of lanes. Six generations of mobile phone services (each occupying a new lane) are crowding the spectrum, not to mention internet connections directly sent by a fleet of thousands of satellites.
Today, the multitude of signals are often too strong for geodetic observatories to see through them to the very weak signals emitted by black holes. This puts many satellite services at risk.
What can be done?
To keep working into the future – to maintain the services on which we all depend – geodesy needs some more lanes on the radio highway. When the spectrum is divided up via international treaties at world radio conferences, geodesists need a seat at the table.
Other potential fixes might include radio quiet zones around our essential radio telescopes. Work is also underway with satellite providers to avoid pointing radio emissions directly at radio telescopes.
Any solution has to be global. For our geodetic measurements, we link radio telescopes together from all over the world, allowing us to mimic a telescope the size of Earth. The radio spectrum is primarily regulated by each nation individually, making this a huge challenge.
But perhaps the first step is increasing awareness. If we want satellite navigation to work, our supermarkets to be stocked and our online money transfers arriving safely, we need to make sure we have a clear view of those black holes in distant galaxies – and that means clearing up the radio highway.
Lucia McCallum 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.
Source: The Conversation – Indonesia – By Maud Hetzel, Chercheuse associée au Centre Georg Simmel, EHESS, École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales (EHESS)
Trois ouvrages viennent de paraitre sur la sociologie de l’environnementThe Conversation, CC BY
Les auteurs et autrices de trois ouvrages parus récemment et consacrés à la sociologie de l’environnement (Sociologie de l’environnement, de Yoann Demoli et René Llored, la Sociologie de l’environnement, de Stéphanie Barral, Gabrielle Bouleau et Fanny Guillet, et Introduction à la sociologie de l’environnement, de Maud Hetzel et Fanny Hugues) expliquent comment leur discipline s’est emparée de ce sujet, et pourquoi l’éclairage sociologique est fondamental pour penser les enjeux écologiques.
Pollution, effondrement de la biodiversité, réchauffement climatique… Alors que les enjeux environnementaux se multiplient, divers acteurs sont régulièrement consultés pour mieux les comprendre et répondre à ces problèmes globaux. Dans les sphères expertes, politiques et institutionnelles, certaines disciplines scientifiques sont particulièrement mobilisées, notamment les sciences du climat et de la biologie. D’autres apparaissent moins souvent, à l’instar de la sociologie.
La relative discrétion de cette discipline est d’autant plus surprenante que les problèmes en jeu sont liés aux activités humaines. C’est donc le fonctionnement de nos sociétés, objet premier de la sociologie, qui est avant tout responsable des pollutions et des dégradations des milieux biophysiques.
Utiliser les outils de la sociologie pour interroger les enjeux environnementaux apparaît donc primordial. On constate d’ailleurs une multiplication des événements scientifiques, des enquêtes et des publications en sociologie de l’environnement.
Ces travaux apportent des éléments inédits et originaux pour penser la question environnementale. Ils mettent au jour les logiques sociales inhérentes à la crise écologique, les inégalités face à celles-ci et la manière dont les pouvoirs publics la gouvernent.
Ils ont en commun de dépasser la seule analyse des dégâts environnementaux – sur le climat, sur la biodiversité – et de mettre au centre de l’analyse une diversité d’entrées thématiques, telles que les politiques publiques, les mobilisations, les modes de vie, les valeurs et les croyances face aux enjeux écologiques.
Ils portent également un regard critique sur l’ordre économique et social responsable de la crise écologique, ce qui n’est sans doute pas sans relation avec le peu de visibilité accordée à ces recherches.
Pour prendre la pleine mesure de ce que la sociologie peut apporter à notre compréhension des enjeux environnementaux contemporains, penchons-nous sur trois apports centraux de cette discipline en plein essor.
Quand l’environnement est pris en charge par les institutions
Depuis les années 1970, les États ont intégré la question environnementale dans leurs structures administratives, marquant l’émergence d’une responsabilité nouvelle, qui engage à la fois la puissance publique et les sociétés civiles.
Cette institutionnalisation repose sur un double mouvement : d’un côté, la montée en puissance des mobilisations sociales face à des dégradations de plus en plus visibles et fréquentes ; de l’autre, l’injonction internationale à se doter d’outils de régulation adaptés à l’urgence écologique.
Cette évolution a donné lieu à la création de ministères, d’agences, d’organismes de surveillance ou d’évaluation, autant de dispositifs visant à produire un savoir environnemental légitime et à organiser l’action publique. Pourtant, l’écologisation de l’État est loin de constituer un processus linéaire et consensuel.
Ces institutions sont prises dans des rapports de force permanents, où s’opposent visions du monde, intérêts économiques et impératifs écologiques. La protection de l’environnement devient ainsi un champ de lutte, où l’État joue un rôle ambivalent, tantôt garant de la régulation écologique, tantôt relais d’intérêts productivistes.
Dans ce contexte, les agences en charge des questions environnementales sont régulièrement déstabilisées, mises en cause, voire attaquées. Leurs marges de manœuvre se rétractent sous l’effet de critiques politiques, d’injonctions contradictoires et de campagnes de discrédit, sans que l’appareil d’État n’en assure systématiquement la défense. Leur fragilité institutionnelle n’est pas sans conséquence : elle affaiblit la capacité à faire face aux risques, à produire des normes, à contrôler les pratiques.
Cette institutionnalisation des enjeux environnementaux ne concerne pas seulement les administrations publiques : elle donne aussi naissance à de nouveaux marchés. Les politiques environnementales, en se déployant à travers des mécanismes de quotas, de subventions, de certifications, participent à la formation d’un véritable capitalisme vert. Ainsi, l’environnement devient un objet d’investissement, un domaine d’expertise, une opportunité économique. Ce faisant, la régulation écologique se trouve de plus en plus enchâssée dans des logiques de marché, qui peuvent certes produire de la norme, mais aussi déplacer les objectifs initiaux de la protection environnementale. À ce titre, le marché n’est jamais une simple solution technique : il est un instrument socialement construit, porteur d’intérêts et de hiérarchies.
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Des inégalités écologiques renforcées par les politiques publiques
Cette prise en charge publique des enjeux environnementaux peut également renforcer les inégalités sociales.
Alors que l’on constate une incitation grandissante des pouvoirs publics à modérer les pratiques quotidiennes consommatrices d’énergie et de ressources des citoyens et citoyennes par des « petits gestes » qui responsabilisent uniformément les individus, la sociologie de l’environnement démontre que les styles de vie sont inégalement polluants.
Trois caractéristiques sociales, qui se cumulent, font varier les émissions qui leur sont associées : le revenu, le genre et l’âge. Par exemple, toutes choses égales par ailleurs, les modes de vie des hommes sont plus polluants que ceux des femmes. Ces disparités tiennent par exemple à des pratiques alimentaires hétérogènes : les femmes consomment moins de viande que les hommes, sont plus attirées par les écolabels et les produits biologiques, et portent davantage attention à la santé de leur corps ainsi qu’à celle de leurs proches.
Ces mêmes politiques publiques valorisent également les styles de vie des ménages les plus aisés, associées à la « consommation durable » de biens onéreux, par exemple les voitures électriques. Elles moralisent du même coup ceux des classes populaires au nom de pratiques supposément plus polluantes, comme la possession de voitures diesel pourtant achetées d’occasion et peu utilisées.
À rebours de ce cadrage individualisant de la crise écologique, les styles de vie des classes populaires, plus économes en ressources et dont les marges de manœuvre sont plus contraintes, peuvent néanmoins être envisagés comme des écologies populaires en pratique, fondées sur la récupération, la réutilisation et l’attention aux dépenses.
Un exemple de campagne encourageant aux petits gestes de l’ADEME.
À l’échelle planétaire, la sociologie constate que les conséquences des dégâts environnementaux sont inégalement réparties. Les populations pauvres vivant dans les pays des Suds, et plus encore les femmes, sont les plus concernées par les catastrophes et les dégradations environnementales causées par les activités humaines, et par le prélèvement de ressources naturelles.
En France, ce sont les groupes sociaux les plus défavorisés – pauvres et racisés – qui vivent à proximité de lieux pollués et/ou polluants. Leur accès aux espaces verts, aux parcs, aux zones de loisirs et aux ressources naturelles est également limité, à l’instar du Parc national de Calanques.
Alors que le Parc est situé à proximité des quartiers populaires du nord de Marseille où vivent beaucoup de descendantes d’anciennes colonies françaises, ces habitants ont très peu de poids pour infléchir les politiques publiques en la matière. Leurs usages de ces espaces sont délégitimés, à l’instar de leur pratique du vélo tout terrain et de leurs sociabilités autour de feux de camp dans le cas du Parc National des Calanques.
Face à ces inégalités environnementales, certaines populations revendiquent une justice environnementale, c’est-à-dire défendent l’idée que chaque individu a le droit de vivre dans un environnement sain, sans discrimination ni inégalité dans l’accès aux ressources naturelles et aux bénéfices environnementaux.
Des critiques qui transforment le gouvernement de l’environnement ?
L’écologie est également un fait sociologique parce que la production et la mise en œuvre des politiques environnementales ne sont pas qu’une affaire d’État : elles visent à transformer les conduites d’acteurs et d’organisations économiques.
Les mesures écologiques prises par les gouvernements montrent une faible effectivité notamment parce qu’elles se heurtent à d’autres politiques publiques qui poursuivent des objectifs différents (énergie, agriculture, transports, logement, etc.) et qui contribuent à l’artificialisation des espaces naturels, à la consommation des ressources et l’émission de pollutions.
Ces politiques sont structurées par des grands compromis socio-politiques qui définissent les experts pertinents et les porte-parole légitimes de leurs publics cibles. Par exemple, les politiques agricoles prennent en compte la voix d’acteurs comme la FNSEA, syndicat majoritaire et productiviste, et s’appuient sur les réseaux territoriaux agricoles historiques pour les appliquer. Ces acteurs ont souvent des parcours individuels et institutionnels qui les conduisent à privilégier le statu quo social, économique et politique en négligeant la crise écologique et climatique. Ils cherchent aussi à préserver des intérêts électoraux ou de groupes socio-professionnels et des marges de manœuvre. Ceci tend à favoriser un « verdissement conservateur » qui opère souvent par dérogation et participe à notre mal-adaptation collective en renforçant la vulnérabilité des individus, des organisations et de la collectivité toute entière.
Ce statu quo conservateur suscite des contestations. La mise en œuvre de la réglementation environnementale repose depuis les années 1970 sur la mobilisation d’associations d’usagers ou de victimes ou d’associations de protection de la nature qui exercent un militantisme de contre-expertise et de dossiers, pour faire progresser la cause environnementale devant les tribunaux, même si encore très peu d’infractions environnementales sont effectivement repérées et encore moins sanctionnées. Les luttes pour la protection de l’environnement prennent aussi la forme de désobéissance civile, d’occupation de lieux et des marches pour contester l’accaparement des terres comme la lutte emblématique du Larzac dans les années 1970 et celle récente contre le projet d’autoroute A69 entre Toulouse et Castres, ou pour faire entendre des éléments de controverse sur des risques comme ceux liés à l’exploitation du gaz de schiste.
Toutes les critiques ne vont pas toutes dans le sens d’une meilleure prise en compte de l’environnement. Face aux mobilisations environnementalistes, des contre-mobilisations s’organisent aussi de la part de groupes sociaux concernés par les contraintes engendrées par les décisions environnementales (on pense par exemple aux récentes mobilisations agricoles), pouvant prendre diverses formes comme des manifestations ou des opérations d’intimidation, un travail de réseau et de constitution de communautés favorisé par le développement des réseaux sociaux.
Le lobbying politique est aussi une voie de mobilisations anti-environnementales. Il porte généralement une critique libérale qui tend à euphémiser les crises environnementales et à disqualifier toute contrainte sur les activités de production. Cette pensée libérale est très influente sur les politiques environnementales et conduit à privilégier des instruments de marché (quotas échangeables, labels, marchés de compensation) pour gouverner les impacts sur l’environnement, ce qui offre une plus grande souplesse aux acteurs économiques.
Les auteurs ne travaillent pas, ne conseillent pas, ne possèdent pas de parts, ne reçoivent pas de fonds d’une organisation qui pourrait tirer profit de cet article, et n’ont déclaré aucune autre affiliation que leur organisme de recherche.
Selon le Forum économique mondial, plus de la moitié du PIB mondial repose, directement ou indirectement, sur des services rendus par la nature. Une nouvelle étude tâche de proposer des outils pour évaluer la dépendance à la biodiversité des différents secteurs de l’économie et des régions en prenant comme exemple l’Afrique du Sud
« Protéger la nature, c’est bien pour les amoureux des oiseaux et des fleurs, mais l’économie a d’autres priorités… ». Qui n’a jamais entendu une idée reçue de ce type ? Dans les débats publics, la défense de la biodiversité passe souvent pour le dada d’écologistes passionnés, éloignés des préoccupations « sérieuses » de la croissance économique ou de la finance. Cette vision est non seulement fausse, mais dangereuse car la santé des écosystèmes est le socle de notre prospérité économique, financière et sociale, partout sur la planète.
La nature, le « fournisseur invisible » de l’économie mondiale
Forêts, sols, océans, insectes… fournissent une multitude de services écosystémiques – c’est-à-dire les bénéfices gratuits que nous rend la nature – indispensables à nos activités. Ces services vont de la pollinisation des cultures par les abeilles, à la purification de l’eau par les zones humides, en passant par la fertilité des sols, la régulation du climat ou la protection des côtes contre les tempêtes. Autrement dit, la nature est comme un fournisseur caché d’eau, d’air pur, de sols fertiles et de matières premières dans les chaînes d’approvisionnement de l’économie. Et aucune entreprise humaine ne saurait s’y substituer totalement.
Cette dépendance économique à la biodiversité n’a rien d’anecdotique. Selon le Forum économique mondial, plus de la moitié du PIB mondial repose, directement ou indirectement, sur des services rendus par la nature. L’agriculture et l’agroalimentaire bien sûr, mais aussi la pêche, la sylviculture, le tourisme, la construction, et même des industries comme l’automobile ou l’électronique, qui dépendent de ressources minières et d’eau pour leur production, toutes ont besoin d’un écosystème fonctionnel. Un rapport de la Banque de France évoque ainsi un possible « Silent Spring » financier, en référence au printemps silencieux provoqué par le DDT qui anéantissait les oiseaux décrit par la biologiste américaine Rachel Carson dans les années 1960. En décimant les espèces et les services écologiques, on fait peser un risque de choc majeur sur nos systèmes financiers quipourrait entraîner une réaction en chaîne sur l’ensemble de l’économie, en affectant l’emploi, le commerce, les prix, les recettes fiscales de l’État – exactement comme une crise économique classique, sauf que son déclencheur serait écologique.
Pour mieux comprendre, imaginons une réaction en domino : la disparition massive des pollinisateurs fait chuter les rendements agricoles ; moins de récoltes, c’est une pénurie de certaines denrées et une envolée des prix alimentaires ; les industries agroalimentaires tournent au ralenti, entraînant licenciements et baisse des revenus et du pouvoir d’achat des agriculteurs comme des ouvriers ; le pays doit importer à prix fort pour nourrir la population tandis que les rentrées fiscales diminuent… Le point de départ de ce scénario noir ? Quelques espèces d’insectes qu’on avait sous-estimées, et qui assuraient discrètement la pollinisation de nos cultures. La nouveauté c’est que ce principe de l’effet papillon – où l’altération d’un écosystème local finit par affecter l’ensemble de l’économie – est rendu explicite par de récents articles scientifiques.
En Afrique du Sud, 80 % des exportations dépendent de l’eau… et donc de la nature
Pour saisir concrètement l’ampleur du risque, penchons-nous sur un exemple parlant : celui de l’Afrique du Sud. Ce pays dispose d’une économie diversifiée (mines, agriculture, industrie) et d’écosystèmes riches mais sous pression. Pour une étudepubliée récemment, nous avons appliqué un nouvel outil de traçabilité des risques liés à la nature, afin de cartographier les secteurs économiques, les régions géographiques et les variables financières les plus vulnérables aux risques environnementaux.
Nos analyses révèlent que 80 % des exportations nettes de l’Afrique du Sud proviennent de secteurs fortement dépendants de l’approvisionnement en eau. Autrement dit, la quasi-totalité des biens que le pays vend au reste du monde – des métaux aux produits agricoles – nécessitent de l’eau à un moment ou un autre de leur production. Or l’eau ne tombe pas du ciel en quantité infinie : il faut des rivières alimentées par des pluies régulières, des sols qui retiennent cette eau, des forêts qui régulent son cycle… bref, un écosystème en bonne santé. Le hic, c’est que cette ressource vitale est déjà menacée. Un produit exporté sur quatre est issue d’une activité très dépendante de l’eau localisée dans une municipalité confrontée à un stress hydrique sérieux (sécheresse, pénurie d’eau potable, etc.). En 2018, la ville du Cap et ses près de 4 millions d’habitants frôlait la coupure d’eau générale. C’est ce genre de choc qui pourrait frapper durablement l’économie sud-africaine si rien n’est fait pour préserver la capacité des écosystèmes à réguler l’approvisionnement en eau.
Pénurie d’eau : le Cap se prépare au « jour zéro »
Et ce n’est pas tout. Notre étude met aussi en lumière l’importance des risques indirects. En Afrique du Sud, près d’un quart des salaires du pays dépendent directement de secteurs exposés à la dégradation des écosystèmes (par exemple l’industrie manufacturière ou le secteur immobilier qui consomment beaucoup d’eau). En tenant compte des liens en amont et en aval (les fournisseurs, les clients, les sous-traitants), ce sont plus de la moitié des rémunérations qui deviennent menacées.
Autre mesure édifiante : certains secteurs économiques créent eux-mêmes les conditions de leur fragilité future. Prenons le secteur minier, pilier des exportations sud-africaines. Il exerce une pression énorme sur les écosystèmes (pollution des sols et des eaux, destruction de la végétation, etc.). Or, nous montrons que la moitié des exportations minières sont issues de municipalités où se trouvent un certain nombre des écosystèmes les plus menacés du pays en raison justement des pressions exercées par l’activité minière elle-même.
Ce paradoxe – l’industrie sciant la branche écologique sur laquelle elle est assise – illustre un risque de transition. Si le gouvernement décide de protéger une zone naturelle critique en y limitant les extractions, les mines situées là devront réduire la voilure ou investir massivement pour atténuer leurs impacts, avec un coût financier immédiat. Autre cas possible, si des acheteurs ou des pays importateurs décident de réduire leurs achats de produits miniers parce qu’ils contribuent à la destruction de la biodiversité, les mines exerçant le plus de pression sur les écosystèmes critiques devront aussi s’adapter à grand coût. Dans les deux cas, l’anticipation est clé : identifier ces points sensibles permet d’agir avant la crise, plutôt que de la subir.
Suivre à la trace les risques écologiques pour mieux décider
Face à ces constats, la bonne nouvelle est qu’on dispose de nouvelles méthodes pour éclairer les décisions publiques et privées. En Afrique du Sud, nous avons expérimenté une approche innovante de traçabilité des risques liés à la nature. L’idée est de relier les données écologiques aux données économiques pour voir précisément quels acteurs dépendent de quels aspects de la nature dans quelle partie d’un pays donné.
Concrètement, cette méthode permet de simuler des chocs et d’en suivre les répercussions. Par exemple, que se passerait-il si tel service écosystémique venait à disparaître dans telle région ? On peut estimer la perte de production locale, puis voir comment cette perte se transmet le long des chaînes de valeur jusqu’à impacter le PIB national, l’emploi, les revenus fiscaux, les exportations ou les prix. L’outil intègre aussi l’autre versant du problème : le risque de transition, c’est-à-dire les conséquences économiques des actions envisagées pour éviter la dégradation écologique.
La méthode ne vise pas à identifier des secteurs économiques à « fermer » à cause de leurs pressions sur la nature ou une dépendance à des services écosystémiques dégradés. Elle vise plutôt à aider les décideurs politiques et les acteurs économiques à prioriser leurs actions (d’investissement ou de restriction) tout en tenant compte de l’importance socio-économique des secteurs sources de pressions ou dépendants de services écosystémiques dégradés.
En Afrique du Sud par exemple, l’institut national de la biodiversité et des chercheurs locaux ont utilisé les résultats montrant la forte dépendance de certains secteurs économiques à l’approvisionnement en eau pour animer des séminaires de mise en débat des résultats et rédiger des notes de recommandation de politiques publiques.
Au-delà de la COP16 : un enjeu global, une opportunité partagée
Loin d’opposer Nord et Sud, écologie et économie, la question de la biodiversité est désormais une opportunité pour chacun de contribuer à un enjeu transversal planétaire. Aucune économie n’est à l’abri. Un effondrement des pollinisateurs expose aussi bien les vergers de Californie que les champs de café en Éthiopie. La surpêche appauvrira aussi bien les communautés côtières d’Asie du Sud-Est que les consommateurs de poisson en Europe.
Biodiversité en berne signifie instabilité économique pour tous, du nord au sud. Malgré les tensions financières entre pays riches et pays en développement sur la répartition de l’effort, profitons du succès du nouveau round de négociations internationales de la convention biodiversité qui s’est tenu à Rome du 25 au 27 février dernier pour agir. A cette occasion, les membres de la convention biodiversité ont trouvé un accord sur une nouvelle stratégie de « mobilisation des ressources », visant à allouer 200 milliards de dollars par an à la conservation de la biodiversité « toutes sources confondues » d’ici à 2030. Désormais, le défi pour ces pays va être de se mettre d’accord sur les priorités d’allocation des fonds et d’évaluer comment la mise en œuvre de la convention est compatible avec leur propre endettement.
La méthode d’analyse des risques liés à la nature dans les décisions économiques et financières peut aider les décideurs à faire ces choix de manière éclairée. Elle peut aider à « réorienter les flux financiers » en faveur de la nature comme demandé par le nouveau cadre international de la biodiversité (Accord Kunming-Montréal adopté fin 2022). Elle peut aussi aider les entreprises à mesurer et divulguer leur dépendance aux écosystèmes comme recommandé par le groupe de travail privé de la Taskforce on Nature-related Financial Disclosures (TNFD). C’est le moment d’agir. Chaque gouvernement, chaque banque, chaque grande entreprise devrait dès maintenant se doter d’outils et de données pour évaluer son exposition aux risques écologiques et agir en conséquence grâce aux dernières avancées scientifiques.
Antoine Godin est membre de l’unité de recherche ACT de l’université Sorbonne Paris-Nord
Andrew Skowno, Julien Calas et Paul Hadji-Lazaro ne travaillent pas, ne conseillent pas, ne possèdent pas de parts, ne reçoivent pas de fonds d’une organisation qui pourrait tirer profit de cet article, et n’ont déclaré aucune autre affiliation que leur poste universitaire.
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