Flood damage in Te Matau-a-Māui – Hawke’s Bay. Image by Rebekah Parsons-King, NIWA.

By Liz Kivi, © Carbon News

New Zealand authorities have declared a record 17 weather-related states of emergency so far this year, with insurance payments for climate-related disasters already topping $3.5 billion.

This is Aotearoa’s worst year ever for climate-related disasters, with more than twice the number of states of emergency than any other year, and insurance payouts totalling more than the combined total of the previous 14 years.

Declaring a state of emergency is a critical part of New Zealand’s response to disasters, giving authorities extraordinary powers designed to deliver a swift and effective response.

Eight of the emergency declarations were owing to Cyclone Gabrielle in February, with local emergencies declared in multiple regions, until a national state of emergency lasting 28 days was declared.

The South Island has seen only two states of emergency so far this year, with heavy rainfall and flooding in Gore and Queenstown in September, while the North Island has borne the brunt of multiple extreme weather events.

Northland, Auckland, Waikato, Bay of Plenty, Tairāwhiti and Hawke’s Bay were hit the hardest by Cyclone Gabrielle, and Auckland, Tairāwhiti, and Waikato have also forced into states of emergency because of other severe weather events.

Scientists are in no doubt that the events were exacerbated by rising temperatures caused by climate change, with a rapid attribution study concluding “with certainty” that human-induced climate change was the main driver making Cyclone Gabrielle’s extreme rainfall more likely.

Robert McLachlan, Massey University distinguished professor in Applied Mathematics, says 2023 has been exceptional in terms of global temperature rise.

The global temperature anomaly for 2002-2016 averaged +0.95ºC above the 1880-1910 baseline, while for 2017-2022 it was +1.18ºC. However, for the first nine months of 2023 that was much higher, with the global temperature anomaly +1.39ºC above the baseline.

“So 2023 is highly exceptional and may indicate what a ‘normal’ year looks like in 10 or 15 years’ time.”

McLachlan’s analysis drives home the relentless rise in payouts for climate-related disasters. “The 2004 floods in the lower North Island were exceptionally bad. So bad that the insured damage for the entire year was not exceeded until 2017, McLachlan says. “Since then it has been exceeded every year. The total for 2023 exceeds that for the previous 14 years.”

Going back further, the single most expensive previous event in the Insurance Council’s records was the Wahine storm. “That cost $13.5m in 1968, equivalent to $300m today,” McLachlan says.

The previous government had planned to introduce a Climate Adaptation Bill as part of their package of Resource Management Act reforms, but this was delayed. “Questions of climate adaptation and its financing and risk sharing will now pass to the new government,” McLachlan says.

Jonathan Boston, Victoria University of Wellington emeritus professor and climate adaptation expert, says that 2023 had a “highly unusual” number of extreme weather events. While stressing that he is not a meteorologist, Boston says the weather events were partly driven by the end of three years of a La Niña weather pattern in the Pacific and high ocean temperatures.

“In all likelihood there will not be as many severe weather events over the next year or two, with an El Niño weather pattern in the tropical Pacific. This will likely shift the focus of severe weather away from those parts of New Zealand that were badly affected this year.”

However, over time the costs and disruption from severe weather events will increase, Boston says. “This will be exacerbated by sea level rise, which will intensify coastal erosion and coastal inundation, and the damage caused by storms.”

The incoming government will need to make the right decisions to put Aotearoa in the best position to face challenging times ahead. “It should follow the advice in the recent report of the Expert Working Group on Managed Retreat, of which I was a member,” Boston says.

by James Bradley, in conversation wth Kim Stanley Robinson

There is no question Kim Stanley Robinson is one of the most important writers working today. Across almost four decades and more than twenty novels, his scrupulously imagined fiction has consistently explored questions of social justice, political and environmental economy, and utopian possibility.

Robinson is probably best known for his Mars trilogy, which envisions the settlement and transformation of Mars over several centuries, and the ethical and political challenges of building a new society. Yet it is possible his most significant legacy will turn out to be the remarkable sequence of novels that began with 2312. Published across less than a decade, these six books reimagine both our past and our future in startlingly new ways, emphasizing the indivisibility of ecological and economic systems and placing the climate emergency center stage.

The most recent, The Ministry for the Future, published in 2020, is a work of extraordinary scale and ambition. Simultaneously a deeply confronting vision of the true scale of the climate crisis, a future history of the next fifty years, and a manifesto outlining the revolutionary change that will be necessary to avert catastrophe, it is by turns terrifying, exhilarating, and finally, perhaps surprisingly, guardedly hopeful. It is also one of the most important books published in recent years.

This interview was conducted between January and March 2021, beginning in the immediate aftermath of the attack on the United States Capitol and the inauguration of President Biden, and ending as a second wave of the COVID pandemic began to gather pace in many countries around the world. As we bounced questions back and forth across the Pacific, a drumbeat of impending disaster grew louder by the day: atmospheric carbon dioxide reached 417 ppm, a level 50 percent higher than preindustrial levels; a study showed the current system responsible for the relative warmth of the Northern Hemisphere—the Atlantic meridional overturning circulation—at its weakest level in a thousand years; and Kyoto’s cherry blossoms bloomed earlier than they have at any time since records began in the ninth century CE.

JB: In several of your recent novels, you’ve characterized the first few decades of the twenty-first century as a time of inaction and indecision—in 2312, for instance, you called them “the Dithering”—but in The Ministry for the Future, you talk about the 2030s as “the zombie years,” a moment when “civilisation had been killed but it kept walking the Earth, staggering toward some fate even worse than death.” I wonder whether you could talk a little bit about that idea. What’s brought us to this point? And what does it mean for a civilization to be dead?

KSR: I’m thinking now that my sense of our global civilization dithering, and also trying to operate on old ideas and systems that are clearly inadequate to the present crisis, has been radically impacted by the COVID pandemic, which I think has been somewhat of a wake-up call for everyone—showing that we are indeed in a global civilization in every important sense (food supply, for instance), and also that we are utterly dependent on science and technology to keep eight billion people alive.

So 2312 was written in 2010. In that novel, I provided a timeline of sorts, looking backward from 2312, that was notional and intended to shock, also to fill the many decades it takes to make three centuries, and in a way that got my story in place the way I wanted it. In other words, it was a literary device, not a prediction. But it’s interesting now to look back and see me describing “the Dithering” as lasting so long. These are all affect states, not chronological predictions; I think it’s very important to emphasize science fiction’s double action, as both prophecy and metaphor for our present. As prophecy, SF is always wrong; as metaphor, it is always right, being an expression of the feeling of the time of writing.

So following that, The Ministry for the Future was written in 2019, before the pandemic. It expresses both fears and hopes specific to 2019—and now, because of the shock of the pandemic, it can serve as an image of “how it felt before.” It’s already a historical artifact. That’s fine, and I think it might be possible that the book can be read better now than it could have been in January 2020 when I finished it.

Now I don’t think there will be a period of “zombie years,” and certainly not the 2030s. The pandemic as a shock has sped up civilization’s awareness of the existential dangers of climate change. Now, post COVID, a fictional future history might speak of the “Trembling Twenties” as it’s described in The Ministry for the Future, but it also seems it will be a period of galvanized, spasmodic, intense struggle for control over history, starting right now. With that new feeing, the 2030s seem very far off and impossible to predict at all.

JB: In The Ministry for the Future, the thing that finally triggers change is the catastrophic heat wave that opens the book. It’s a profoundly upsetting and very powerful piece of writing, partly because an event of the sort it depicts is likely to be a reality within a decade or so. But as somebody whose country has already experienced catastrophic climate disaster in the form of fire and flood and seen little or no change in our political discourse, I found myself wondering whether the idea such a disaster would trigger change mightn’t be too optimistic. Do you think it will take catastrophe to create real change? Or will the impetus come from elsewhere?

KSR: People are good at imagining the catastrophe will always happen somewhere else and to other people. Thus in Australia, people will tend to think, “But it never could happen in Sydney, in Melbourne, in Perth.” Even though it could.

So it won’t be catastrophe per se that changes people’s politics and their votes. The impetus comes from ideology, from one’s invented imaginary relationship to the real situation. Here the discursive battle is paramount. The stories we tell each other will make the difference. The scientific community keeps telling us a story: that if we continue burning carbon into the atmosphere, and otherwise wrecking the biosphere, we will crash as a species. This story is making headway; I’ve seen the headway, everyone has, in the last two decades. A tipping point will arrive soon where it is the obvious story that everyone accepts as real; it will become hegemonic. And the sooner the better.

The radically cold temperatures hitting the US as I write this are located in many of the “red states” that voted for Trump, especially Texas. Voting Republican now is in effect a vote against science, a denial of science. So as I write, everyone in those regions without electrical power has to contemplate that in fact they depend completely on science and technology to stay alive. Will that change their thinking and their votes? Probably not—not all of them, and not immediately. But repeated shocks from reality will soon change the window of acceptable discourse, and then the hegemonic space. We are utterly dependent on the science and technology that is both civilization’s invention and its enabling device. This story needs to be insisted on. One way I try to do this is to remind everyone that when you’re sick and scared for your life, you run to a scientist, which is to say your doctor. That’s proof of what you really believe, more than your vote or your words.

In Australia, I can only say I’m mystified. Thirty million is a small population to include so many science deniers. An advanced, developed, rich nation, but also an island that can feel separate from the rest of the world—who knows? No one can understand other political entities from the outside. Even inside them, they are mysterious. But I’d have expected your science deniers and coal burners to be defeated at the polls by now. Maybe that will happen. Maybe electing an idiot like Trump helped to speed the process here.

JB: Part of the process of change has to be about rethinking our relationship with the past and the future. The idea of how we reimagine our relationship with the future is one you return to often: in The Ministry for the Future, your characters discuss the way economists discount the value of future lives when making decisions now, and the entire plot of Aurora is driven by the failure of people in the present to consider the effect of their actions on the lives of their descendants. But in an odd way, aren’t these questions about the future the easy ones? Because it’s the poisonous legacies of the past, of racism, slavery, colonialism, and extractivism, and their human and environmental costs, that are really intractable. Can we solve those questions of the future without solving the problems of the past? Or is that a false dichotomy?

KSR: This question reminds me of a slogan one sees in Marx, also Tolkien: we have to deal with the historical situation we’ve been given. Things could have been different, but they’re not—so on we go, free to act, and obliged to act, but not in a situation of our choosing.

That’s not to suggest we ignore history. Studying it teaches a lot (maybe everything) about where we are now. Seeing how we got to this moment—which is to say arguing about how we got to this moment—is part of the discursive battle about what to do now.

So there are indeed poisonous legacies of the past, inscribed into current practices, hegemonic beliefs, structures of feeling, and laws. The dead hand of the past, trying to strangle the new baby future that we, in the present, midwife. What I often feel that one can see very clearly is two major strands, braided together although often in direct conflict. I call it science versus capitalism. It’s like Australian economist Dick Bryan once said to me about finance and the state: they are hand in hand, but they’re arm-wrestling for control.

So the project becomes to strengthen the strand that is working for justice and a sustainable balance with the biosphere—I call that science, though it has to be admitted that this is a signaling word for a whole strand of history, which includes in it democracy, justice, progress, etcetera. Then, against that, there’s capitalism, again a signal word for feudalism, patriarchy, and all the older power systems of the few over the many, most of which emerged with agriculture about ten thousand years ago. That power system has an ancient lineage and is hard to beat.

Into this mythic dualism, lots of elements of history can be slotted, but it is a view from space, or a sock puppet play, very Manichean, and maybe often unhelpful. Maybe it’s my own false dichotomy, but I still feel it has some explanatory power. So it’s not the future over the past, except as a version of this: it’s science over capitalism.

JB: I’m interested by your decision to define the conflict as science versus capitalism, because it forces us to think about a lot of these questions differently and to recognize that many things we don’t usually think of as technologies— economic policy, finance, social justice, education, and all the other drivers of social change—can be usefully treated as precisely that. But doesn’t it also demand we recognize the real challenge isn’t electrifying the grid or rolling out solar panels, it’s a much more fundamental realignment of political power?

KSR: Yes, I think that’s right. Technology can be thought of as machinery only, but here computers are really helpful as an analogy; they have to have both hardware and software. In civilization as a technology, as with computers, the software is crucial; otherwise it’s just an inert hunk of metal and plastic. So in this case, we need to focus on software technologies like finance, economics, law, and politics. Then justice becomes a technology, and language itself. This blows up questions like, “Can there be a technological solution without political reform?” Maybe people are there asking, “Could we just make new machines that would overcome the disastrous effects of our unjust and unsustainable political economy, which is to say neoliberal capitalism?”

I think the answer to that is no. We need to change our political economy so that a single index, profit, isn’t our measure of doing well. We need to figure out a financial system that pays us for doing things good for the biosphere, including all its citizens, human and not—this would be safest, and indeed it’s necessary for humans—rather than rewarding activities that hurt people and biosphere, which profit-seeking will do.

Capital gets invested at the highest rate of return. That’s the law, often literally the law. Repairing the biosphere and creating justice among humans is not the highest rate of return now. So it won’t happen. End of story.

Or beginning of new chapter. This is what we’re seeing in new terms like Modern Monetary Theory, full employment, carbon quantitative easing, the social cost of carbon, universal basic income and services, Half Earth plans, and wage parity. Also in the return of older terms like socialism, or social security. All these ideas or systems or software technologies are being proposed to get out of the death spiral of neoliberal capitalism. What I find interesting and really encouraging is that these ideas are being discussed by people in the central banks and the national governments and the international diplomatic community. Even among economists, who for the most part have devoted all their work to an analysis of capitalism. These are no longer marginal or science fictional ideas; they are on the table as potential legislation.

JB: Those ideas and that sense a new world is being brought into being around us is very much a part of The Ministry for the Future, which, despite the grief and anger that make it so wrenching to read, shares the essentially utopian vision of your work in general. But it’s often not easy to see how much change is afoot, if only because, as Mark Fisher put it, capitalism occupies the horizons of the thinkable. Do you think this difficulty contributes to the sense of despair and powerlessness so many people feel at the moment?

KSR: Yes. I think of it in terms known to many now: ideology, hegemony, structure of feeling, capitalist realism: “There is no alternative.” And so on. It’s been forty years of a dominant political economy, following a couple of centuries of expanding capitalist power over world history, so it’s hard to imagine how that could change. Thus the famous Jameson/Zizek slogan: “Easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism.”

But I think now there’s also a widespread feeling that it can’t go on. And what can’t go on won’t go on. Capitalism is breaking the system, meaning people’s lives and the biosphere. We’re on the brink of causing a mass extinction event that will hammer humans, too; it’s not just climate change, which can be imagined as a matter of turning down the thermostat, but a much wider habitat collapse—our only habitat.

Given that feeling, people are looking for a way out of the current system and also for some ideas as to what that next system might look like. Even at the heart of the capitalist order—which is to say the central banks, the big corporations and investment firms, and in governments from local to nation-state level—there is talk of change. Of course, very often many of those speaking are hoping to manage change while retaining power. But some very interesting changes are part of that discussion. So I think the feeling of a massive immovable system has begun to creak, shift, crack, and let in new light.

JB: There’s a question here about how the change takes place, though, isn’t there? Especially given the power of the interests that oppose it. In New York 2140, you imagine a kind of Velvet Revolution, a peaceful reorganization of society and the economy, but in The Ministry for the Future you quote Keynes’s line about the euthanasia of the rentiers. Do you think we’ll see an acceleration of violent resistance as the climate crisis intensifies? And how should we think about that?

KSR: I’m not sure about this. In The Ministry for the Future, I described all kinds of political violence and also sabotage against fossil fuel or antihuman infrastructures. The novel was an attempt to describe the next three decades in terms that were antidystopian, but also plausible given the world of stark disagreements that we live in. If people see their families die as a result of climate change impacts, then the slow violence of capitalism will spark the fast violence of spasmodic revolt. Very often these violent acts of resistance do little good; the resistance fighters are killed or jailed, and the oppressive system doubles down in its oppression.

So I am among many who are trying to imagine ways of gaining the good results of a revolution without going through the trauma of old-style violent revolutions, which very often backfire anyway. Some better way to a better situation, which can be imagined in the realms of the discursive battle (Can we get more persuasive?); the political battle (Can we win a working majority?); the legislative battle (Can we pass laws that will help?);and then, also, sabotage of life-destroying machinery, mass civil disobedience, and alternative systems of governance that are simply lived outside the current nation-state system—and so on. The list could be extended.

My objections to violent resistance are both moral and tactical: First, it isn’t right to hurt other human beings, if not being attacked by them and defending oneself. Then, tactically, violence often seems to backfire and increase the misery being resisted. This is either because the state monopoly on violence is jealously held (and possibly a good thing) or because even if you seem to succeed by violence, you fail in the long run because the effort has used bad means, and the most violent among the revolutionaries tend to seize power and then use that same violence against any dissent of any kind.

This isn’t the whole story of history, obviously, but it’s the way it feels to me now, in our current situation. So a very rapid, stepwise, legal reformist revolution seems to me the best thing to try now. Later, if we get into the 2030s without meaningful progress on the various justice and sustainability fronts, I think more violent forms of resistance are more likely and maybe more justified. We’re in a closing window of opportunity for peaceful tactics to work.

JB: That closing window of opportunity means some very radical ideas are now on the table, some of which—such as proposals to dim the sun or seed the oceans with iron—are likely to have significant side effects. The idea humans might terraform or reengineer the environment in this way is central to your Mars trilogy and plays a big role in 2312, Green Earth, and The Ministry for the Future. Do you think we’re now at a point where some of these sorts of schemes have to be seriously entertained? And to what extent should we see them as a symptom of the failure of democratic means?

KSR: We’re in an all-hands-on-deck situation, so all these radical ideas need to be explored to see if they might help in safe ways. Geoengineering has been defined in advance as “doing dangerous things to save capitalism,” so naturally people tend to be wary of it. But everything humans do at scale has planetary effects and could be called geoengineering in some literal sense. Maximizing women’s education and political power worldwide could be called geoengineering because it would slow the population rise as a result of increased human agency, and this would have biosphere effects we could measure. As it’s a good and needed thing in and of itself, its ancillary benefits to the biosphere make it a double good.

So at that point the term geoengineering is exploded, and if you wanted to discuss it further it should be on a case-by-case basis. Deflecting some sunlight away by casting dust into the atmosphere (solar radiation management), if the dust were not volcanic but chosen for its inertness (like limestone dust), would reduce temperatures slightly for a few years—then the dust would fall to Earth, and the results of the act could be evaluated. If it was done by international agreement, then it would be the result of representative governments. It would be an experiment. Seeding the ocean with iron dust to create algal blooms, which would then die and fall to the sea floor, taking their carbon with them—well, the oceans are already sick because of our carbon burn, plastic pollution, bottom dragging, and overfishing. Doing more to it seems stupid to me, but on the other hand, a single experiment wouldn’t change much and might teach us some things. On this particular tactic, I’m like most people in thinking there’s got to be a better, safer way.

But this discussion is part of what it means to be in the Anthropocene— we’ve damaged the biosphere so badly that we now have to work at repairing it, without knowing enough to be sure how to do that well. Still, some actions are obvious. Stop emitting carbon dioxide into the atmosphere. Stop destroying habitat. Invent regenerative agriculture. End poverty and extend equal rights and education to all. These good acts will all have positive biosphere effects. The various emergency actions being discussed are marginal to these big, obvious things we need to do. You asked if I thought we were already at the point where we will need to do these things; I don’t think so. But we’re close. And if millions die in a wet bulb 35°C heat wave, then the nation-state where that happens may take matters into their own hands. No one in the developed world will have any right to object to that.

JB: The vision of our future you articulate in The Ministry for the Future is deeply confronting, but also, ultimately, hopeful in that it runs counter to the growing belief in the developed world that collapse is inevitable. Do you see hope as an imperative?

KSR: Yes, I do. Also, it’s very natural and biological; life hopes, hunger is a hope. Again, it’s too big a word to help much. Is it good to be alive? Do you hope to go on living therefore? That kind of hope is very persistent.

But then also there is fear. And there are reasons for fear. Is there a growing belief in the developed world that collapse is inevitable? I’m not so sure. And what would collapse mean? That you have to live like people in the Global South live now? Or that three-quarters of all humans will suddenly die in a spasm of civilizational incompetence? These are very different kinds of collapse. So hopes and fears, we always have them in a great overflow.

What I like about science is the way it tries to get particular. Is enough food being grown to feed everyone on Earth? Yes. Is it automatic that that continues? No. Is wilderness a good idea or a bad one? (This is one I’m thinking about now.) Well, scientists involved would ask which of the eight or ten definitions of wilderness you’re talking about. I like that kind of specificity.

But I think with this question you’re inquiring about our culture’s structure of feeling, the vibe, how the young feel, what the internet is saying if you just link around reading, and so on. There, in the realm of the general intellect or the feeling of our time, we’re inside a ringing bell. There is a great roaring, a cacophony. You can pull out the sounds you want to hear and call it an accidental symphony of sorts, and then get on with what needs doing. Your hopes and fears will still keep you awake at night. Meanwhile, the work goes on. People want their children to have a good life. Capitalism isn’t working, and what can’t go on won’t go on. So we’ll be experimenting our way into a different political economy. Hopefully we’ll dodge a mass extinction event, and then all kinds of good possibilities will open up. I think it really is a crux moment in history. The 2020s are going to be wild.

 © James Bradley and Kim Stanley Robinson, 2022. First published in Jonathan Strahan (ed), Tomorrow’s Parties: Life in the Anthropocene, MIT Press, 2022. Republished with permission. Kim Stanley Robinson updated his views (now less pessimistic!) in an interview with Kim Hill on Radio New Zealand on 7 October 2023.

By Robert McLachlan

The 2016 Paris Agreement contains a built-in feedback mechanism to help ensure that its goals are met: the Global Stocktake. Every five years all pledges and progress are assessed and compared to the targets on warming, adaptation, and financing. A “ratchet” mechanism is intended to prevent backsliding. (“Each Party’s successive nationally determined contribution will represent a progression beyond the Party’s then current nationally determined contribution…”)

The technical reporting on the first Global Stocktake is now out, and the results will be discussed at COP28 in December 2023. There has been some progress. In 2010 the expected global warming was 3.7–4.8ºC – basically toast. The initial Paris Agreement pledges in 2016 were assessed at limiting warming to 3.0-3.2ºC, and the call in 2020 for updated Nationally Determined Contributions (NDCs) resulted in the forecast being lowered to 2.4–2.6ºC.

But a key figure in the new report still shows a significant gap:

For the “well below 2ºC” target, emissions must fall 21% between 2019 and 2030; for “1.5ºC”, they must fall 43%. Current NDCs add up to between –8% and +3%.

The report offers a lot of now-familiar suggestions on how to do better. (Phasing out internal combustion engines, shifting to walking and public transport, disinvesting from emissions-intensive activities.) But there is less on how to actually accomplish these in the face of opposition (“creativity and innovation in policymaking and international cooperation are needed”).

What I wanted to know was how countries are performing on actually achieve their targets. On that, the report is mostly silent, so I turned to the NGO Climate Action Tracker, which publishes independent periodic assessments of NDCs and associated progress.

Here are the results for the world’s top 10 emitters (plus New Zealand).

	GHG MtCO2e	CO2e/cap	consistent with…	Is NDC sufficient for a 1.5 ºC world?	2030 target (vs 2019)	2030 (predicted)
China	12700	9	< 3 ºC	insufficient	+0%	+0%
USA	6000	18	<2 ºC	almost sufficient	-41%	-23%
India	3400	2.5	>4 ºC	critically insufficient	+45%	+30%
EU	3400	7	<2 ºC	almost sufficient	-36%	-42%
Russia	2500	13	<4 ºC	highly insufficient	+17%	+9%
Japan	1200	9	<2 ºC	almost sufficient	-33%	-22%
Brazil	1100	7	<2 ºC	almost sufficient	-11%	+7%
Indonesia	1000	7	>4 ºC	critically insufficient	+70%	+20%
Iran	900	10	>4 ºC	critically insufficient	+82%	+12%
Canada	700	21	<2 ºC	almost sufficient	-40%	-15%
New Zealand	80	16	<2 ºC	almost sufficient	-36%	-9%

Five of the ten have adequate targets and are reducing emissions, but only one (the EU) is on track to meet or exceed its target.

Four of the ten have woefully insufficient targets, but are on track to exceed them.

The last one is China, on track to meet its (still insufficient) target.

If all ten achieved the best of either their target or their actual progress, emissions would fall 10% by 2030. The total effort would still need to be doubled even from this benchmark.

New Zealand is a bit of a special case. We have a reasonable target, even though it doesn’t meet the 1.5ºC condition written into the Zero Carbon Act. But there is almost nothing going on nationally towards working out how to meet it. Most attention is paid to meeting the domestic carbon budgets, which are on track for 2022-2025 but need more work for 2026-2030. However, the domestic carbon budgets still fall short of meeting the NDC, by about 100 million tonnes of CO2e or nearly two years of net emissions.

The original idea was to source this from overseas. We could pay for emissions reductions in another country, although they wouldn’t then be able to count it towards their own target. And if that country – Indonesia, say – has a weaker target than our own, we would then have weakened our own overall effort as well. Christina Hood has addressed this issue in a number of articles.

How is the government managing delivery of the NDC?

We don’t know. No policy has been announced for how much extra domestic effort will be targeted and how this would be delivered, how & when international cooperation will start, or how the extra investment in emissions reductions (domestically and internationally) will be funded. The projected cost of closing the gap – whether by domestic or international action – is not currently reflected in the Crown accounts. There is even no provision to cover excess emissions that have already occurred.

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/what-take-deliver-new-zealands-paris-agreement-ndc-christina-hood

The National Party have said they would meet the NDC, but at the same time their climate spokesperson Simon Watts said in an election debate that his party would not be “writing cheques to offshore entities”. Their fossil fuel mining, domestic emissions reductions, and adaptation plans are scary too. Over at The Spinoff, Nadine Anne Hura managed to find not one but at least a dozen analogies with the movie Titanic, such as this one:

Act and National are promising a swathe of policies that will get New Zealand “back on track”. These sentiments seem to echo Mr Ismay’s insistence that the “ship can’t sink,” and should speed up rather than slow down. In this iconic scene, Mr Andrews, the ship’s builder, replies to Mr Ismay with all the gravity of the International Panel on Climate Change: “She’s made of iron, sir. I assure you she can sink, and she will. It’s a mathematical certainty.”

by Paul Callister, Ian Mason, and Robert McLachlan

It may have been largely overlooked in the election debates, but New Zealand’s greenhouse gas emissions are finally on the way down.

Annual emissions of carbon dioxide from the burning of fossil fuels are the lowest since 1999 and the 12-month renewable share of electricity is back above 90% for the first time since 1981. The Ministry for the Environment has advised New Zealand is on track to meet the first (2022-2025) carbon budget.

All this can be attributed to a range of factors, including fossil gas running low, full hydro lakes, high petrol prices and working from home. But climate policies such as the Emissions Trading Scheme (NZ ETS), the clean car discount and the Climate Emergency Response Fund (CERF) have made a significant contribution to the turnaround.

Current decarbonisation policies have and will continue to deliver real emissions cuts, provided they remain in place.

It is therefore disconcerting that the National Party plans to take $2.3 billion from the CERF (almost two-thirds of the fund’s mid-2022 balance) to pay for tax cuts. The argument that individual households will use tax cuts to make their own decarbonisation decisions is unsupported by evidence and lacks credibility.

The Labour Party has also dipped into this fund, taking $236 million to pay for rebates for household installations of solar panels and batteries, and community energy schemes. These may produce some as yet unquantified emissions cuts.

Government funding is working

Allocations from the Government Investment in Decarbonising Industry (GIDI) fund to NZ Steel and Fonterra show direct and measurable avoidance of emissions. The installation of an electric furnace at NZ Steel to utilise scrap will save 1% (800,000 tonnes of CO₂-equivalent emissions, or tCO₂e) of New Zealand’s 2021 gross emissions. Support for Fonterra to convert coal-fired boilers at six plants to renewables will save 1.4% (1.1 MtCO₂e).

The Act Party has pledged to disestablish this fund.

The State Sector Decarbonisation Fund, valued at $215 million and used to reduce emissions in government organisations including hospitals and universities, is on track to deliver emissions savings of nearly a million tonnes over ten years (0.1% per year).

Since the introduction of the clean car discount in July 2021, sales of electric vehicles have quintupled and now have a 12% market share. The market share of all low-emission vehicles rose from 20% to 60%, easily surpassing emissions targets of the clean car standard which came into force this year.

---

While these rates of increase may look impressive, the actual number of EVs remains very low. Nonetheless, emissions cuts already run into hundreds of thousands of tonnes per year, a significant part of which is due to the clean car discount.

Need for more investment

New Zealand is not yet on track to meet its international pledge (known as Nationally Determined Contribution, or NDC, and covering all emissions from 2021 to 2030) or the second and third carbon budgets.

Many important policy matters are either unresolved or stuck in review: how to meet the NDC, whether and how to prioritise gross emissions reductions over tree planting, how to reduce agricultural emissions.

In its pre-election fiscal and economic update, Treasury warned of the risks these uncertainties entail:

The actual cost of achieving emissions reduction targets and addressing risks from climate change will likely exceed the overall size of the Climate Emergency Response Fund.

Lack of an integrated plan

In the year to June 2023, oil was responsible for nearly three-quarters of fossil fuel emissions. Two-thirds of this came from transport. But transport emissions are supposed to fall 41% by 2035 – a massive task that will involve pressing hard on all three parts of the avoid/shift/improve transport framework.

Unfortunately, the framework is looking shaky.

Regarding avoidance, even the draft local plans for avoiding car travel are not yet ready. Labour and National are competing as to who can offer the most extravagant motorway plans, known to encourage driving.

When it comes to shifting modes of transport, there has been some expansion of urban cycleways. But Auckland’s city rail link will not open until 2026. And a great deal has to happen to meet the Climate Change Commission’s draft advice to “complete cycleway networks by 2030 and take steps to complete rapid transport networks by 2035”.

The National Party plans to cut public transport funding and increase fares.

As for improvement, the National Party plans to cancel the clean car discount and weaken the clean car standard. The current plan requires 30% of the entire light-vehicle fleet to be zero emission by 2035 (currently at 1.4%), which is ambitious but doable under the existing framework.

New Zealand still doesn’t have any kind of fuel-efficiency standard or coordinated policy on heavy-vehicle emissions.

Renewable energy

New Zealand’s renewable share for all energy (not just electricity) has been stuck below 30% for decades. It is supposed to reach 50% by 2035 and then continue to increase until use of fossil fuels is almost entirely eliminated.

New Zealand has untapped resources of renewable energy, wind, solar and geothermal. An even bigger supply of offshore wind is now being explored.

At the recent New Zealand wind energy conference, many massive possible projects were mooted. But delegates said they needed to be sure the electricity demand would be there before making final investment decisions.

The fate of the Climate Emergency Response Fund is of great importance, as international evidence shows:

It is the use of revenues from carbon prices, not the carbon prices themselves, which trigger change.

Depleting this fund will slow electrification and demand for renewable energy.

New Zealand’s current emissions reduction plan, which runs to 2025, is a package. Its parts support each other and attempt to balance many people’s needs. If one part is weakened, the difference has to be made up elsewhere.

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

By Paul Callister and Robert McLachlan

The islands of Aotearoa New Zealand were the last large land mass in the world to be settled by humans. Skilled sailors and navigators, Māori arrived around 1300 AD. For millions of years previously the only mammals living on the islands were bats and, offshore, some marine species. As we know, it was a land of birds, many of which had evolved to become flightless.

This year our largest and best-known environmental organisation is celebrating 100 years of existence. As part of these celebrations, their popular Bird of the Year competition is being replaced by Bird of the Century. (75 species to choose from, of which 17 are ‘Doing OK’, 53 are ‘in trouble’, and 5 are extinct.)

These are all terrific birds, no doubt about it. But we would like to nominate our own bird: the jet aircraft.

Prior to Covid, domestic and international aviation contributed 12% of total CO2 emissions, and ever-longer international flights had been growing particularly fast, with emissions up 49% in just four years. And now international flights are now ramping up quickly again. The two largest international flows are incoming tourists and outgoing New Zealanders taking holidays and visiting friends and family. And because we have such poor long distance buses and trains, flying internally is also popular. So popular that the chief executives of three of our most important environmental organisations commute to work by plane. (Whatever happened to the old slogan, ‘The personal is the political’?)

And somehow, despite daily news about the climate crisis, we stand on the verge of an unprecedented expansion of airport capacity. Aviation stands out as the only sector of the economy that is actively planning to increase emissions.

Our largest airport, Auckland, has plans to increase passenger traffic from 20 million per year to 40 million by 2044. Wellington wants to go from 6 million per year to 12 million by 2040. At the other end of the country, the masterplan released by Queenstown airport in May 2023 suggests passenger numbers will increase by one third from 2023 to 2033. (Their CEO commented that “Airlines will fly where people want to go. The ability to leave work on a Friday in Sydney… and be in [Queenstown] for dinner, on the ski field the next day, ski all day and be on the plane the next day, there is high appeal in that.”) Nelson airport also plans to double passenger numbers by 2050. There is also a large new international airport proposed at Tarras in Central Otago, which would be New Zealand’s third airport for wide-body jets.

At Forest & Bird’s Centennial conference, Kiri Hannifin, Chief Sustainability Officer at Air New Zealand, talked about its decarbonisation plans.  In an honest assessment, Hannifin told the conference, “We can’t keep going with the status quo given the harm that we’re seeing now in a 1.2 ºC world which, as you can see in Europe, is intolerable.” And that offsets are not the answer: “You cannot plant enough trees to offset your flight.”

Air New Zealand is being guided by the Science-Based Targets Initiative. This aims to provide climate-safe benchmarks for corporates. Consistent with the IPCC pathways and IEA NZE, the SBTi cross-sector pathway reduces gross emissions by at least 42% by 2030. Air New Zealand’s target is to reduce emissions intensity 28.9% by 2030. It is not at all clear how this will be achieved: electric planes and sustainable aviation fuel are discussed, even if not potentially available at scale for many years. Air New Zealand is also committed to not knowingly using biofuels from crops or palm oil. But Hannifin suggested airlines cannot do this on their own.

“We’ve done the roadmap, the board’s signed it off, we need a lot of people to help us, governments in particular, we need to be regulated, we need to be regulated, so that’s good when businesses are asking to be regulated, right?”

So how do we get this regulation?

Strengthening the Zero Carbon Act and the Emissions Reduction Plan is our best bet. The Climate Change Commission is preparing to advise on bringing international aviation into this framework, and the government has signed several international agreements pledging ambitious action.

While many new technologies will be tried, including new aircraft and sustainable aviation fuels, they will not be easy, quick, or cheap; we are doubtful that they can be delivered in time, or that all airlines will bring them in voluntarily. Rock solid regulation is needed, including an end to air travel’s current tax-exempt status and a strictly falling cap on emissions. And until that is in place, there must be a moratorium on airport expansions.

Forest & Bird is right to be alarmed that so many New Zealand birds are threatened. Climate change threatens almost every bird, plant, human and life form in New Zealand. To help them, stop making the problem worse.

Adapting to New Zealand conditions, the kiwi became flightless. Perhaps instead of the kiwi, New Zealanders should look to the pūkeko for inspiration. Having self-introduced from Australia a few hundred years ago, pūkeko certainly know how to fly. But they prefer to walk.

Share this:

• X
• Facebook
• Tumblr