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‘We're really worried’: 4 grey whales found dead off B.C. coast in 10 days | CBC News

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A recent surge of grey whale deaths off the B.C. coast has researchers concerned.

The Department of Fisheries and Oceans (DFO) responded to four dead whales off the west coast of Vancouver Island in 10 days.

DFO marine mammals co-ordinator Paul Cottrell said three necropsies were performed with the help of Huu-ay-aht, Kyuquot/Cheklesaht, and W̱SÁNEĆ First Nations.

"Two are severely emaciated. They’re basically a bag of bones, really sad to see that kind of body condition," Cottrell said.

A grey whale found near Sidney, B.C., was towed by DFO on April 17 so a necropsy could be done. (DFO)

On April 8, a grey whale was found dead near Barkley Sound and a second dead grey whale was discovered on April 9 near Kyuquot. The next day another grey whale was found floating in Barkley Sound. The fourth grey whale was discovered off Sidney on April 17.

"Some of the worst animals I've ever seen," Cottrell said.

A total of five grey whales have been found dead in B.C. waters this year, and researchers believe a dramatic decline in available prey in their Arctic feeding grounds is to blame for the deaths.

"Last year, feeding in the Bering and Chukchi Seas was really not a great year for grey whales," Cottrell said.

Stephen Raverty with B.C.'s Ministry of Agriculture and Food led a necropsy on a whale that was found dead off of Sidney on Vancouver Island. (Stephen Raverty)

John Calambokidis, a research biologist at Cascadia Research Collective, said 13 dead grey whales have been found dead this year off Washington state.

Calambokidis said dead whales are being found "at a rate that has surprised us."

The Marine Mammal Center and the California Academy of Sciences confirmed eight grey whale deaths in the San Francisco Bay Area so far this year.

"Never have they come at this pace this early, so we're really worried about where this is headed," Calambokidis said.

A grey whale was spotted in the San Francisco Bay by the Marine Mammal Center’s Cetacean Conservation Biology team on Feb. 26. The centre's data has shown individual grey whales are spending longer periods of time in the bay where many are actively foraging, heightening the risk of vessel strikes. (Darrin Allen/The Marine Mammal Center)

Grey whales primarily feed on benthic amphipods, small crustaceans found in the bottom sediment.

"There has been documentation of declines in those benthic amphipod populations, but all of that is also complicated by the fact that the most dramatic changes in the Arctic ecosystem have been this progressive overall loss in ice cover," Calambokidis said.

Declining grey whale population 'alarming,' says researcher

The grey whale population has been dwindling, estimated at just under 13,000.

"That was less than half what it had been 10 years previous, so a greater than 50 per cent decline in 10 years is alarming," Calambokidis said.

Back in 2019, there was a significant spike with 216 grey whales found dead.

"It was declared an unusual mortality event. We actually declared that over in 2023," Calambokidis said.

A skinny grey whale is photographed on April 17 in Barkley Sound off Vancouver Island. (Wendy Szaniszlo/DFO)

This year could surpass the worst year in B.C. when 11 dead grey whales were discovered in 2019, according to Cottrell.

"We could be in for a worse year than the worst year that we've had," Cottrell said.

There are also concerns about the calf production rate as the females are not healthy enough to have babies, he said.

"[It’s] the lowest calf production on record, in recent history, so that doesn't bode well," Cottrell said.

Last year, 158 grey whales were found dead, four of them in Canadian waters.

A grey whale seen swimming in the waters off Vancouver in March. (Alex Cole)

Both Cottrell and Calambokidis expect the number of deaths to continue rising as the whales migrate through to June.

"We're only a very small portion of the way through that," Calambokidis said.

More research needed

Wendy Szaniszlo, a DFO marine mammal technician on Vancouver Island, saw a group of grey whales off Barkley Sound on April 17.

"It looked like almost two-thirds of them were very skinny," Szaniszlo said. "Their scapula or shoulder blades were protruding."

She thinks more research would help the population as "there is very little known about grey whales in B.C."

Wendy Szaniszlo says she saw 20 grey whales feeding off Vancouver Island and said almost two-thirds of them were very skinny. (Wendy Szaniszlo/DFO)

"Without knowing what prey types are important to them and what habitat is important to them, it's going to make it really hard to try to protect," Szaniszlo said.

She encourages anyone on the water to give grey whales lots of space and report any dying whales to DFO immediately.

Cottrell said necropsies are important to find out exactly what is going on and rule out pathogens.

"It's important to really pay attention when we have this migrating species that covers great distances and feeds on small critters, it can be a real indication of things to come," Cottrell said.

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Commentary: Internal medicine at the crossroads of long COVID diagnosis and management

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When psychologizing Long COVID causes harm

We read with attention the article by Ranque and Cogan (1) entitled “Internal medicine at the crossroads of Long COVID diagnosis and management.” While the authors raise questions regarding the interplay between persistent symptoms, psychological factors, and illness perception in Long COVID (LC), key aspects of their interpretation do not reflect substantial biomedical evidence, thereby affecting the conclusions drawn. In addition, little attention is paid to the epistemic and clinical implications of uncertainty, including the harm it has caused patients.1 This commentary offers a constructive critique and proposes a more comprehensive perspective of LC with direct impact on patient care.

1 Analytical framework

1.1 Methodological considerations and conceptual clarity

The authors adopt a narrative review approach rather than a systematic evaluation of evidence strength. In the absence of meta-analytic synthesis, risk-of-bias assessment, or standardized quality appraisal, causal inferences remain limited and prone to extrapolations (2, 3).

The article relies on broad and heterogeneous definitions of LC, conflating self-reported prolonged symptoms with clinically confirmed cases, while not consistently applying standardized criteria proposed by WHO, NASEM, or ISARIC (4, 5). Such criteria are essential for conceptual coherence, etiological interpretations, and the avoidance of overgeneralization (6). Similarly, their survey relies on a non-random, voluntary sample confined to a single national context, thereby limiting representativeness and introducing potential bias.

The discussion emphasizes that psychological factors drive and perpetuate LC symptoms through the theoretical and clinically applied construct of “Functional Somatic Disorder (FSD),” promoted as a replacement for earlier notions such as somatoform disorders or medically unexplained symptoms (7, 8). However, the existing literature is limited by selection bias and reliance on self-report screening tools, risking conflating primary pathology with psychological symptoms and obscuring causality. It has also not yielded mechanistic insight or objective outcomes and lacks longitudinal follow-up. Moreover, FSD has been criticized for its lack of conceptual and clinical robustness, including poor differentiation between overlapping patient groups, blurred diagnostic boundaries, and overly inclusive criteria, thereby functioning as a broad residual category rather than a clearly delineated disease entity (912). Without longitudinal or causal-modeling analyses, assigning primary etiological significance to psychological factors likely overlooks reverse causality and overstates their role (13, 14). In particular, citing the failure of biomedical interventions in clinical trials to support psychological explanations seems unwarranted, given that trial authors themselves acknowledged a lack of biomarkers as a key limitation (15). By contrast, no analogous conclusion is drawn from the limited evidence base for “cognitive behavioral therapy” and “gradual physical activity” (16, 17).

1.2 Scope and selection of evidence

Of further concern is the selective emphasis on functional or psychosomatic explanations, as reflected in three biomedical evidentiary gaps, constraining mechanistic interpretation and, in turn, the conclusions drawn:

(i) Immunological uncertainty

Claims that there is no consensus on immunological mechanisms are not well-supported when grounded in a restricted citation base rather than in a comprehensive appraisal of the literature (18), a standard not applied consistently to other post-acute infection syndromes (PAIS) such as Guillain-Barré (19).

(ii) Pre- and post-pandemic multisystem mechanisms

The authors do not consider pre-pandemic evidence linking human coronaviruses to prolonged symptoms (2024), nor key post-pandemic research increasingly pointing to associations with viral persistence, immune dysregulation, neuro-inflammation, endothelial/microvascular and skeletal muscle damage, mitochondrial dysfunction, blood–brain barrier disruption, autonomic impairment, post-exertional malaise and broader multi-system injury (2550). Emerging evidence of causal mechanisms further supports biologically grounded hypotheses and motivates mechanistic and interventional research (51).

(iii) Neuroimaging, biomarkers, and replicated signals

Advanced neuroimaging has reported neural and metabolic alterations, interpreted as consistent with diffuse gliosis, distinct from primary psychiatric disease, and aligned with LC patients' symptoms (5255). In addition, candidate biomarkers provide converging support for the hypothesis of viral persistence replicated across different cohorts (5658).

2 Impact of functional diagnoses on Long COVID patient wellbeing

LC is a complex condition whose persistent uncertainty places patients in a position of heightened vulnerability and clinicians in an epistemic bind. Sociological research in healthcare shows that clinical uncertainty is not merely epistemic but also relational and emotional, with “not knowing” itself being burdensome (59, 60). When clinicians fail to engage in reflexivity (e.g., acknowledging their own limitations, knowledge gaps, and the relational impact of uncertainty) and instead advance judgments, or at least suggestive assertions, that frame illness primarily or disproportionately as psychosomatic/psychosocial, patients may further experience avoidable distress, self-doubt, diminished agency, isolation, and further psychological burden (6064).

Conversely, reflexive practice enables clinicians to acknowledge patients' embodied uncertainty, support shared decision-making, and strengthen the therapeutic alliance. Paradoxically, such reflexive practice—presumably central to FSD-oriented care—is absent from frameworks often described as “functional,” “holistic,” or “biopsychosocial” (65). As a result, FSD may engender stigma, adversely affecting patient wellbeing, healthcare experiences, and clinical outcomes (66), consistent with LC patients' testimonies, which highlight that limited clinical reflexivity and epistemic humility can turn uncertainty itself into a source of harm (67) (Figure 1).

3 Discussion

LC is heterogeneous both clinically and biomedically, encompassing multiple symptom clusters, trajectories, and levels of impairment that likely reflect partially distinct underlying mechanisms and care needs, thereby underscoring the need for biomedical subclassification. Notably, LC is now widely described as a PAIS (6873), supported by comprehensive biomedical frameworks that integrate replicated findings across geographically distinct cohorts (7480) and by emerging interventions targeting underlying pathophysiological mechanisms (51, 81). In this regard, we suggest the article overemphasizes psychosomatic/psychosocial explanations by drawing primarily on a narrow subset of the literature over the broader biomedical and medico-sociological record; evidence from chronic disease research indicates that psychological responses typically reflect the consequences of prolonged illness rather than its primary cause—a pattern also observed in LC (8286).

Moreover, this subset is then viewed through the lens of FSD. As highlighted in 2.1, FSD's conceptual rationale as well as its application in clinical practice–both solely defined and applied at the symptom level–by design suffer from the limitation of vast heterogeneity, and by implication from a lack of representativeness, translational validity and causal attribution. Subsequently conceptual and practical critique to FSD and similar frameworks like somatic symptom disorder (SSD) are frequently abated through what resembles a motte-and-bailey pattern (87): shifting from strong claims of functional or psychological etiology to broader, more readily defensible “multifactorial,” “biopsychosocial,” or “stress-related” formulations when challenged (88, 89). Thus, the limited biological components of these diagnoses are overemphasized, while insufficient consideration is given to their lack of specificity, predictive value, and underlying validity, instead centering on non-specific symptoms such as “fatigue.”

These concerns extend to everyday diagnostic and treatment practice, as illustrated by the diagnostic criteria for SSD (90). While criterion A allows for virtually any biopsychosocial factor to account for symptom onset or persistence, the appropriate application of criterion B depends heavily on the clinician's knowledge, reflexivity, and epistemic humility. As a result, ostensibly patient-related observations, such as “excessive thoughts, feelings or behaviors” and “an ongoing high level of anxiety about health or symptoms,” may instead reflect clinician bias or countertransference.2 Accordingly, the scientific and clinical use of FSD-like concepts may contribute to diagnostic creep, patient stigmatization, and psychological and physical harm. This need for humility also applies to integrative biopsychosocial or holistic models, which may have value in PAIS if their current scientific and clinical limitations beyond the symptom level are acknowledged and if they are held to the same standards of scrutiny as biomedical evidence, rather than being used as etiological or therapeutic shortcuts in the absence of biomarkers or effective treatments. Acknowledging the vast and growing body of evidence for the biological underpinnings of LC and PAIS, together with their overlap with—and implications for—other diseases (80, 9193), does neither discount the relevance of psychological or social factors in symptom experience—as in any chronic illness—nor diminish the need for psychological/social support as well as for long-term health outcome monitoring (69, 94, 95). Rather, it reinforces the need for integrative, flexible, and relational care grounded in epistemic humility (67), while acknowledging the history and actuality of iatrogenesis in PAIS (65).

A multifaceted, interdisciplinary clinical approach prioritizing targeted biomedical perspectives should include:

  • partnership with patient experts living with emerging illnesses to enhance conceptual clarity,

  • rigorous causal inference before mechanistic attribution,

  • integration of biomedical data, conceptualizing subclassification and targeted therapies,

  • cultivation of reflexivity and epistemic humility (e.g., explicit uncertainty communication, shared decision-making, and iterative reassessment).

4 Conclusion

We hope this commentary contributes to a balanced and evidence-based interpretation and management of LC, helping bridge translational gaps, and highlighting the need of biomedical priorities in the sustained collaboration between researchers, clinicians, and patients to advance understanding, diagnosis, and treatment of this evolving condition and other PAIS (96).

Statements

Author contributions

MS: Conceptualization, Investigation, Writing – original draft. TM: Investigation, Supervision, Validation, Writing – review & editing. TA: Writing – review & editing. EB: Writing – review & editing. FH: Writing – review & editing. NS: Writing – review & editing. PO: Validation, Writing – review & editing. PT: Validation, Writing – review & editing. J-BN: Validation, Writing – review & editing. ND: Validation, Writing – review & editing. CN: Validation, Writing – review & editing. JV: Validation, Writing – review & editing. MJ: Supervision, Validation, Writing – review & editing.

Funding

The author(s) declared that financial support was received for this work and/or its publication. ND is a clinical researcher of the F.R.S-FNRS.

Acknowledgments

The authors are grateful to patients living with Long COVID for their testimonies, which were invaluable in preparing this commentary. The authors thank Alain Trautmann (Institut Cochin, Inserm U1016, CNRS UMR8104, Université Paris-Cité, Paris, France), Pr. Eric Guedj (Aix-Marseille Université; Service de médecine nucléaire, Hôpital de la Timone (AP-HM), Marseille, France; Institut Fresnel, CNRS, École Centrale de Marseille, Marseille, France), and Dr. Liesbeth Denef (KU Leuven, Belgium) for helpful discussion and careful reading of our manuscript.

Conflict of interest

MJ receives an unconditional fee as a consultant for GENCLIS A, Vandoeuvre Les Nancy, France. EB is an employee of AMC Bio, Strasbourg, France. FH receives a fee as a consultant for AMC Bio, Strasbourg, France. Some authors are involved in patient advocacy networks, and all except one have a background in biology or biomedical sciences.

Generative AI statement

The author(s) declared that generative AI was not used in the creation of this manuscript.

Any alternative text (alt text) provided alongside figures in this article has been generated by Frontiers with the support of artificial intelligence and reasonable efforts have been made to ensure accuracy, including review by the authors wherever possible. If you identify any issues, please contact us.

Publisher’s note

All claims expressed in this article are solely those of the authors and do not necessarily represent those of their affiliated organizations, or those of the publisher, the editors and the reviewers. Any product that may be evaluated in this article, or claim that may be made by its manufacturer, is not guaranteed or endorsed by the publisher.

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Keywords

biomedical evidence, clinical uncertainty, epistemic humility, long Covid, patient harm, post-acute infection syndromes, psychologization, reflexivity

Citation

Spanoghe M, Molmans THJ, Antonacci T, Burel E, Herschke F, Schneider N, Oustric P, Thielemans P, Nicolas J-B, Dauby N, Nicaise C, Van Weyenbergh J and Jamoulle M (2026) Commentary: Internal medicine at the crossroads of long COVID diagnosis and management. Front. Med. 13:1798119. doi: 10.3389/fmed.2026.1798119

Received

28 January 2026

Revised

16 March 2026

Accepted

17 March 2026

Published

15 April 2026

Volume

13 - 2026

Edited by

Shisan Bao, The University of Sydney, Australia

Reviewed by

Niken Setyaningrum, STIKES Surya Global, Indonesia

Updates

Copyright

© 2026 Spanoghe, Molmans, Antonacci, Burel, Herschke, Schneider, Oustric, Thielemans, Nicolas, Dauby, Nicaise, Van Weyenbergh and Jamoulle.

This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License (CC BY). The use, distribution or reproduction in other forums is permitted, provided the original author(s) and the copyright owner(s) are credited and that the original publication in this journal is cited, in accordance with accepted academic practice. No use, distribution or reproduction is permitted which does not comply with these terms.

*Correspondence: Martin Spanoghe, martin.spanoghe@condorcet.be

These authors have contributed equally to this work

Disclaimer

All claims expressed in this article are solely those of the authors and do not necessarily represent those of their affiliated organizations, or those of the publisher, the editors and the reviewers. Any product that may be evaluated in this article or claim that may be made by its manufacturer is not guaranteed or endorsed by the publisher.

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Annabelle Chairlegs – Waking Up

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Video: Annabelle Chairlegs – “Concrete Trees”

Directed by Pooneh Ghana. From Waking Up, out now on Todo.

I have no idea who these people are. I’ve been in the Austin music scene since the 70s and used to go out all the damn time, but this town, my god, there’s so much music. For example, a friend was in town in the late 80s when I was very active in “the scene” and we set out to hit a few bars one night and catch random music as I showed him around town. We saw 10 different bands that night that I had never heard of, and I didn’t even see a musician I recognized. Now I’m slowing down and evenings like that don’t happen anymore.

This is a problem with being An Old: you try to keep up, really, but the weight of a million new releases every day, and dang, I really should get out and see some new bands, and sometimes I’m not even really looking for new music at all, because the backlog, man – it’s…backloggy. But still, things just turn up that turn my head.

I picked up an Austin Chronicle recently, specifically because I trust their political endorsements, and wanted to to see what they had to say about the primaries, and after I got done with that, I saw a review of an album by a band. The name sounded like a woman’s name, and there was a woman in the band, but it wasn’t her name, and I got confused, then I got curious, and I looked them up online after finishing a generally glowing review. I found their music and listened to it, and liked it a lot more than I expected to. I still can’t tell you if they’re on tour with Led Zeppelin as their opening act, or if they’re packing out Tuesday nights in a fern bar, but I can only assume they’re popular…popular enough to get a feature in The Chronicle, anyway.

It turns out that Annabelle Chairlegs is the pseudonym of Lindsey Mackin, who does all the writing and singing here, with a supporting cast of touring and studio musicians.

I hesitate these days when presented with new music that’s not EDM, or computer-generated, and maybe this is a moral failing, but I’ve been blindsided too many times by manic pixie dream girls, stomp clap hey!, or bearded hipsters in sweater-vests who’re afraid to hit the drum because they might hurt it. I’m happy to report none of that’s the case here.

There’s a lot going on here musically. The albums starts out a cappella with hard-panned tracks playfully bouncing off one another, then in the middle the band drops in with a pretty righteous funky groove, and then it swings into “Concrete Trees,” the most rocking song of the set. The lyrics are strong, the arrangements thoughtful and the players all turn in choice performances. I’ve been mentally searching for the DNA here, and while there seems to be a nod to The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, The Pixies, and perhaps Sonic youth, there are bits that seem to come from a deeper well, like the 13th Floor Elevators and 60s garage bands, with its dry and no-frills aesthetic.

Maybe I can get out of my house long enough to catch this band before it’s too late, if it’s not already, because it’s a fun album, and I bet it’s fun live, too.

Video: Annabelle Chairlegs – “Ice Cream on the Beach”

Directed by Pooneh Ghana. From Waking Up, out now on Todo.

Video: Annabelle Chairlegs – “Heavy Sleeper”

Directed by Colin Shields. From Waking Up, out now on Todo.

Video: Annabelle Chairlegs – “Patty Get Your Get”

Visualizer by Colin Shields. From Waking Up, out now on Todo.

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Suddenly, the US manufactures a ton of grid batteries

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Big batteries have begun reshaping the U.S. grid. Now, the country has made surprising strides in making those energy storage systems itself, rather than depending on imports from China.

Batteries were always crucial for the effort to scale up renewable energy production, but they have taken on even more significance as AI leaders look for quick-to-build power sources to supply their headlong data center expansion.

That’s why batteries will account for some 28% of new U.S. power plant capacity built this year. For the first time, the country will be able to produce enough grid batteries to meet that surging demand on its own, according to new data from the U.S. Energy Storage Coalition, an industry group.

The onshoring began in earnest when President Joe Biden signed the Inflation Reduction Act in 2022, creating incentives both for domestic battery producers and for storage developers who use made-in-America products.

Already, the U.S. has enough capacity to meet demand for finished grid battery enclosures. That involves connecting battery cells to power electronics, controls, and safety equipment in weatherproof steel containers that are ready to install. By the end of this year, the U.S. will also achieve self-sufficiency in a higher-value part of the supply chain: the battery cells themselves. It’s a major industrial coup that is bringing thousands of high-tech manufacturing jobs to communities across the country.

For the first time, the United States now has the capacity to supply 100% of domestic energy storage project demand with American-built systems,” said Noah Roberts, executive director of the U.S. Energy Storage Coalition, on a Wednesday press call. That is a fundamental shift from where we were just a year and a half ago, when the majority of battery storage systems were imported.”

This success outstrips the country’s considerable progress in solar panel manufacturing, too. The U.S. is self-sufficient in assembling solar modules, but that finished product still often depends on high-value components imported from far away — namely, solar cells. U.S. solar cell production remains a tiny fraction of its solar panel capacity.

By the end of 2025, U.S. factories had mustered the capacity to produce about 70 gigawatt-hours of finished grid storage systems each year, according to the coalition’s survey. Roberts expects that number to rise to 145 gigawatt-hours by year’s end. U.S. storage developers are likely to install about 60 gigawatt-hours annually this year and next, he noted, so the country will actually have a sizable surplus in manufacturing capacity.

As for the underlying cells, it’s a similar story with a slight delay. By the end of 2025, 20 gigawatt-hours of dedicated storage cell lines had opened, and the industry is on pace to hit 96 gigawatt-hours by the end of this year.

Now, the question the industry faces is not whether it can keep up with domestic demand — but whether it can export enough batteries to maintain that mismatch between manufacturing potential and domestic installations.

A gigawatt-scale growth spurt

The development of U.S. grid-battery manufacturing has happened at a dizzying pace. Roberts called it one of the fastest industrial scale-ups in recent American history.”

At the close of 2024, the U.S. had effectively zero” factory capacity for battery cells designed for grid usage, which have different specifications than those in electric vehicles and which typically use the lithium iron phosphate chemistry.

LG Energy Solution Vertech, the grid-storage subsidiary of the Korean industrial giant, started turning things around last summer when it completed a dedicated cell production line for grid storage in Holland, Michigan. The company originally envisioned 4 gigawatt-hours of production, but quickly expanded that to 16.5 gigawatt-hours, said Chief Product Officer Tristan Doherty. Now LG plans to hit 50 gigawatt-hours of cell production capacity across North America this year.

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To Keep Climate Science Alive, Researchers Are Speaking in Code - TPM – Talking Points Memo

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This story was originally published by Grist. Sign up for Grist’s weekly newsletter here.

At the Department of Agriculture’s research division, everyone knows there’s one word they should never say, according to Ethan Roberts. “The forbidden C-word” — climate.

Roberts, union president at the National Center for Agricultural Utilization Research in Peoria, Illinois, has worked for the federal government for nearly a decade. In that time, the physical science technician has weathered several political administrations, including President Donald Trump’s first term. None compare to what’s happening now. 

The sweeping transformation became apparent last March, after a memo from upper management at the USDA Agricultural Research Service instructed staffers to avoid submitting agreements and other contracts that used any of 100-plus newly banned words and phrases. Roughly a third directly related to climate change, including “global warming,” “climate science,” and “carbon sequestration.” 

Roberts met with his union to figure out how to respond to the memo. They concluded that the best course of action was just to avoid the terms and try to get their research published by working around them. Throughout the federal agency, “climate change” was swapped for softer synonyms: “elevated temperatures,” “soil health,” and “extreme weather.”

It’s part of a bigger trend. Across federal agencies and academic institutions, scientists are avoiding words they once used without hesitation. When Trump took office last year — calling coal “clean” and “beautiful” while deriding plans to tackle climate change as a “green scam” — a so-called “climate hushing” took hold of the United States, as businesses, politicians, and even the news media got quieter about global warming. There’s a long list of supposedly “woke” words that agencies have been discouraged from using, many tied to climate change or diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives.

The language changes were accompanied by larger shifts in how the federal government operates. Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency, known as DOGE, laid off hundreds of thousands of federal workers last year. The Trump administration also slashed spending on science, cutting tens of billions of dollars in grants for projects related to the environment and public lands. Researchers are adapting to the new landscape, with some finding creative ways to continue their climate research, from changing their wording to seeking out different sources of funding.   

For federal researchers studying, say, the interplay between weather patterns and soybean diseases, the key is to reframe studies so they don’t clash with the Trump administration’s politics. “Instead of making it about the climate, you would instead just make it about the disease itself, and be like, ‘This disease does these things under these conditions,’ rather than ‘These conditions cause this disease to do this,’” Roberts added. “It’s just changing the focus.”

You can see how federally funded research has changed by looking at the grants approved by the National Science Foundation, or NSF, an agency that provides roughly a quarter of the U.S. government’s funding to universities. Grist’s analysis found that the number of NSF grants whose titles or abstracts mentioned “climate change” fell from 889 in 2023 to 148 last year, a 77 percent plunge. Part of that’s a result of NSF staffers approving fewer grants related to climate change under Trump. But researchers self-censoring by omitting the phrase in their proposals also appears to play a role, evidenced by the corresponding rise of “extreme weather” — a synonym that gets around the politicized language.

Trent Ford, the state climatologist for Illinois, said he’s started using terms like “weather extremes” and “weather variability” in framing his proposals for grants. 

“It’s sort of a weird thing, because on principle, if we’re studying climate change, to not name climate change feels dirty,” said Ford, who’s also a research scientist at the Illinois State Water Survey at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. But it’s more of a practical decision than anything else: “We’ve seen where grants that say everything but ‘climate change’ and are obviously studying the impacts of climate change get through with no problem.” He only uses the phrase in grant proposals when he thinks it’s absolutely necessary and when efforts to steer around the term would look too obvious to a reviewer.

Researchers have always had to tailor their framing to align with a funder’s priorities, in this case the federal government. Near the end of President Joe Biden’s term in late 2024, when Ford’s team applied for an NSF grant to study how climate conditions could affect Midwestern agriculture, it made sense to include a line about talking to a diverse group of farmers. But that word became a problem after Trump returned to office.

“By the time the proposal got reviewed by the program manager at NSF, that same language that was required four months ago was now actually a death sentence on it,” Ford said. The NSF liked the proposal, but wanted the researchers to remove the line about reaching a diverse set of agricultural stakeholders and confirm that they would talk to “all American farmers,” Ford said. The team sent it back in, and the NSF approved it last April.

Others weren’t so lucky. Another scientist at the USDA’s Agricultural Research Service, who asked to remain anonymous out of fear of retaliation, said DOGE eliminated major research programs at the agency and, in the process, wiped out hundreds of thousands of dollars in federal funds for an initiative to grow plants without soil that “really didn’t have anything to do with climate change.” The scientist said it had only been labeled as climate research to “satisfy the previous Biden administration.”

“Anything, any project, that had ‘CC’ in front of it, was eliminated. Because ‘CC’ stands for climate change,” the staffer said. “So, unfortunately, that came back to bite them during this administration.”   

Though not to this extreme, researchers have found themselves staying away from politically fraught terms like “climate change” before. During the first Trump administration, Austin Becker, a professor at the University of Rhode Island who studies how ports and maritime infrastructure can be made more resilient to hazards like storms and flooding, started avoiding the phrase, even though it’s what motivated his research. “Everything that was ‘climate’ just became ‘coastal resilience,’” he said. “And we’ve kind of just stuck with that ever since.”

Ford initially resisted pressure to stop using the phrase from colleagues he was writing grants with, but he gave in this time around for financial reasons. “Getting a grant could be the difference between a graduate student getting a paycheck and us having to let a graduate student go, or having to let a full-time employee of the university go,” he said.

Some researchers have been looking for grants in new places as federal money dries up. Dana Fisher, a professor at American University and the director of its Center for Environment, Community, and Equity, has procured private funding to research ways to improve and expand communication about climate change in North America. She’s also looking overseas for funding, where she’s had success during past Republican administrations that were hesitant to approve grants for climate research. When George W. Bush was president, Fisher got a grant to study how climate action in U.S. cities and states could influence federal policymaking, an effort funded by the Norwegian Research Council. That fact raised some eyebrows when she mentioned it to people she was interviewing in Congress. “They’re like, ‘Huh?’” Fisher recalled. “I was like, ‘Well, that’s what happens when there’s a Republican administration.’”

As scarce as funding for anything related to the climate has become under Trump, some topics appear to be even more politically toxic. In Ford’s experience, and from what he’s heard from other researchers, “equity” and “environmental justice” are “actually dirtier words.” The Trump administration has closed the Environmental Protection Agency’s environmental justice offices at its headquarters and in all 10 of its regional offices, and continues to lay off EPA staff who helped communities dealing with pollution. Grist’s analysis of grants reveals a similar pattern: Under Trump, mentions of “DEI,” or diversity, equity, and inclusion, have vanished from NSF grants entirely. Terms like “clean energy” and “pollution” have also declined, but not as sharply as climate change.

You could view the federal government’s pressure on scientists to change their language in different ways. Is it Orwellian-style censorship, silencing dissent and policing language? Or simply the right of a funder, whose politics changes with each administration, to ask for research that reflects its concerns? Does it affect what research gets done, or will applicants simply swap in harmless synonyms to ensure the work can continue? 

The answer is complicated, according to the USDA’s Roberts. Many of the climate projects at the agency’s research division that have so far avoided cancellation are stuck in funding purgatory, awaiting a fate that could hinge on a politically charged word or two. Scientists are adapting their research to better align with White House priorities, hoping to continue equipping farmers with the knowledge of how to adapt to a warming world — and scrubbing any forbidden language in the meantime.

“Clever word usage, and controlling the scope of how the research is presented, allows for scientists to keep doing the work,” Roberts said. “There’s no one going around hunting these people down, thankfully. Not yet, anyway.”

Climate: climate OR “climate change” OR “climate-change” OR “changing climate” OR “climate consulting” modeling” OR “climate models” OR “climate model” OR “climate accountability” OR “climate risk adaptation” OR “climate resilience” OR “climate smart agriculture” OR “climate smart forestry” O[–] “climatesmart” OR “climate science” OR “climate variability” OR “global warming” OR “global-wa[–] “carbon sequestration” OR “GHG emission” OR “GHG monitoring” OR “GHG modeling” OR “carb[–] “emissions mitigation” OR “greenhouse gas emission” OR “methane emissions” OR “environmen[–] “green infrastructure” OR “sustainable construction” OR “carbon pricing” OR “carbon markets” O[–] energy”

Clean energy: “clean energy” OR “clean power” OR “clean fuel” OR “alternative energy” OR “hyd[–] OR “geothermal” OR “solar energy” OR “solar power” OR “photovoltaic” OR “agrivoltaic” OR “wi[–] OR “wind power” OR “nuclear energy” OR “nuclear power” OR “bioenergy” OR “biofuel” OR “biogas” OR “biomethane” OR “ethanol” OR “diesel” OR “aviation fuel” OR “pyrolysis” OR “energy conversion”

Clean transportation: electric vehicle, hydrogen vehicle, fuel cell, low-emission vehicle

Pollution remediation: “runoff” OR “membrane filtration” OR “microplastics” OR “water pollution” OR “air pollution” OR “soil pollution” OR “groundwater pollution” OR “pollution remediation” OR “pollution abatement” OR “sediment remediation” OR “contaminants of environmental concern” OR “CEC” OR “PFAS” OR “PFOA” OR “PCB” OR “nonpoint source pollution”

Water infrastructure: “water collection” OR “water treatment” OR “water storage” OR “water distribution” OR “water management” OR “rural water” OR “agricultural water” OR “water conservation” OR “water efficiency” OR “water quality” OR “clean water” OR “safe drinking water” OR “field drainage” OR “tile drainage”

Note: The original leaked memo screenshot was obtained by More Perfect Union. Cut off words or phrases are marked with [–].

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My Undiagnosed Chronic Illness Taught Me to Love Sci-Fi - Electric Literature

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To viewers grieving the death of Stranger Things—by death I mean not the finale of the Netflix series this past January, but the show’s unfortunate decline, after the third season, into a plodding, convoluted ghost of its former self—let me offer something of an analgesic. Travel with me, if you will, back to the superb first season, where Winona Ryder’s Joyce Byers, a broke, chain smoking, seemingly delusional mother, opens a can of paint and scrawls the alphabet onto a wall of her home. Joyce hopes her missing son will use the letters to communicate with her from the Beyond. Ryder’s performance would count as one of the most convincing portrayals of insanity in recent screen history, if it weren’t for one thing: Joyce is not mentally ill. Her son is trapped in the Upside Down, and her love is so powerful, she’s able to ignore the rules of logic and perceive what no one else can.

I became a fan of Stranger Things around the time I became, in my own way, Joyce Byers. To certain people in my life, I had recently morphed into a neurotic, monomaniacal woman. Not because I thought my child had been kidnapped by supernatural beings, but because I was convinced I was sick even though no tests could prove it. At 34, during my first year of a doctoral program in literature, I began to experience an electric-shock like pain in my pelvis. Sitting exacerbated the pain, so I bought a standing desk. Exercise beyond walking hurt, so I gave up biking, yoga, and rock climbing. Through regular physical therapy and rest, I managed the pain for several years. Then, in early 2020, my symptoms mysteriously worsened.

By the end of 2020, simply getting out of bed was excruciating. I left my graduate program with my dissertation halfway done. From bed, I booked appointments with a new round of doctors: radiologists, pain specialists, pelvic specialists. Everywhere I turned, practitioners doubted me when I said walking and standing were excruciating. A psychologist whom I was required to see as part of my treatment at a pain clinic asked if my parents had treated me well, hinting the source of my symptoms resided in childhood trauma. In her assessment, she concluded, “Ms. Cutchin has some symptoms and behaviors known to be unhelpful for pain including: some fear, avoidant behavior, pain anxiety.” 

When a physical therapist saw me limping, she said, “Ask yourself, ‘Why do I feel I have to walk like this?’”

Worst of all, someone close to me hinted I was unconsciously refusing to walk because I “liked the bed and the bath.”

Holed up in bed—a bed that had become for some a symbol of my mental instability—I began watching science fiction. I’ve long been a fan of murder shows and spy thrillers, series in which the culprits are certifiably human and logic more or less carries the day. I binged The Americans, The Bureau, and Bosch, along with some less illustrious procedurals. Then, for want of new programming—it appeared my pain could outlast even Peak TV’s flood of content—I began to watch sci-fi

Not only did sci-fi keep me entertained; it gave me strength. A recurrent trope of sci-fi is the woman who is not believed. There’s Joyce Byers and her can of paint. Iconically, there’s Sarah Connor (Linda Hamilton) in Terminator 2, locked away in a mental institution because she claims—accurately—that cyborgs from the future want to kill her son. In Robert Zemeckis’s 1997 film Contact, based on the book by Carl Sagan, Ellie Arroway (Jodie Foster) tells a senate committee she traveled through wormholes to meet an alien disguised as her father. The (male) chairman points out that video evidence contradicts her account and accuses her of suffering from a “self-reinforcing delusion.”

Not only did sci-fi keep me entertained; it gave me strength.

Also delusional, or so a male colleague insists, is DCI Rachel Carey (Holliday Grainger) in the excellent near-future dystopian series The Capture. When DCI Carey confronts a superior, Commander Danny Hart (Ben Miles), with her suspicion the UK government is altering CCTV footage in real time using deep-fake AI technology, he wastes no time gaslighting her. “You’ve had a shock tonight, Rachel. Why don’t you get some rest.” If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard a male character tell a woman she needs some rest, I’d be able to upgrade every streaming subscription to premium. In the German limited series The Signal, it’s a case of “space sickness” that plagues astronaut Paula (Peri Baumeister), or so a dismissive colleague would have her believe. Aboard a space shuttle, Paula hears a signal she knows can only come from aliens. She records the signal, but when she plays the recording for the rest of her team, there’s nothing on the tape. Her (once again, male) colleague, Hadi (Hadi Khanjanpour), who initially heard the signal, too, tells Paula she’s unwell. “Go lie down.”

Riddled with pain, facing disbelief from those around me, the stories of Joyce, Paula, DCI Carey, Ellie Arroway, and Sarah Connor brought me solace, and a shred of hope. I belonged to a genre of female characters who had to fight to be believed. In the worlds these narratives portray, women’s claims are outlandish, otherworldly, weird, and also true. Eventually, each character finds someone who believes her. Sometimes it’s a man, like Jim Hopper (David Harbour) in Stranger Things, who learns to trust Joyce. Sometimes it’s a woman or girl: Paula’s most steadfast advocate in The Signal is her disabled nine-year-old daughter, Charlie (Yuna Bennett), who, working with her father, figures out the time and place of the aliens’ arrival and proves her mother right.

Watching these films and shows between visits to doctors bent on dismissing me, I grasped sci-fi’s genius: It taps into our culture’s deepest anxieties about the trustworthiness of women. In our real-world political climate, when a woman speaks her experience, whether she’s talking about sexual abuse, harassment, or illness, we wonder, Where’s the proof? And yet, our standards of proof are devised by the same systems—legal, educational, medical—built by men to protect male interests. In the medical system, imaging and other tests count as “proof” of illness or pain, but such tests screen only for well-researched diseases, and what we know about those diseases largely comes from research on male subjects. No definitive tests exist for a host of conditions that predominately affect those assigned female at birth, like myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome and Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. A woman with this kind of disease might as well be telling her doctors: Cyborgs are coming. Aliens have made contact.

By exploring whose testimony counts as reliable, and on what terms, sci-fi provides a template for what ethical philosophers call epistemic justice. “Epistemic” refers to knowledge. In our everyday lives, we convey knowledge to others by sharing our expertise, by relating our experience, and so forth. When a speaker offering knowledge is dismissed because of who they are—a woman, a trans person, a Black or Brown person—they are wronged in their “capacity as a giver of knowledge,” as philosopher Miranda Fricker puts it in Epistemic Injustice: Power and the Ethics of Knowing. The one who speaks loses out, but so does a community of hearers who would benefit from the information the speaker seeks to convey. Sci-fi dramatizes epistemic injustice and proposes a different way: We must practice epistemic humility by taking stock of our prejudices and admitting that someone who looks and sounds different than us might be right. 

In the eyes of Western medicine, there is little stranger than a malfunctioning female or gender nonconforming body. According to The New York Times, “Women are more likely to be misdiagnosed than men in a variety of situations.” A stunning 72% of millennial women report feeling gaslit by medical professionals, a Mira survey found. If you’re nonwhite, it gets worse. Black women are less likely to develop breast cancer than white women—but 40% more likely to die from the disease due to delays in diagnosis and care. Delays in diagnosis stem partly from lack of research into women’s health. Until recently, women were considered inferior subjects to men in basically all research. “There are parts of your body less known than the bottom of the ocean, or the surface of mars,” Rachel E. Gross writes in Vagina Obscura: An Anatomical Voyage. On top of it all, there’s medicine’s age-old tendency to see women’s maladies as psychogenic in nature—think of the prevalence of the hysteria diagnosis in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

Today, women are less likely to be told our pain or fatigue is “in our heads.” Instead, in a sophistry-laden twist, we are told our symptoms stem from a “brain” gone haywire. According to the brain-based model of chronic pain, when symptoms persist more than three to six months with no obvious organic cause, the brain is at fault, or more precisely, a “maladaptive plastic reorganization in central pain processing circuits.” A spate of recent self-help books and pain reeducation programs promise to teach your brain to unlearn pain via cognitive-behavioral interventions. The problem with these treatments is they fail to account for the instances when pain persists because doctors and tests miss its underlying cause. Around 70% of chronic pain patients are female. Women are more likely to suffer from underreached conditions like fibromyalgia, autoimmune disease, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, pelvic pain, Long Covid, Lyme disease, and myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome. Telling a woman her pain stems from a “maladaptive” brain is today’s version of “it’s just hysteria.” 

Given sci-fi’s uncanny ability to channel and critique these medical biases, I’ve put together a quiz: Can you tell the difference between a real-life sick woman and science fiction? The following statements were uttered either in a science fiction film or TV show, or in a real-life medical setting where a female patient came in complaining of physical symptoms. Circle the correct answer:

Answer key: B, D, F, H and J are from science fiction—The OA, Manifest, Stranger Things, Terminator 2, and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, respectively. A, C and I are from medical records shared with me by a female patient with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome; E was uttered by the doctor of an Instagram user living with ME/CFS and POTS. G is from my own life. A noted Bay Area pelvic pain practitioner insisted I download a pain therapy app that could, he said, “re-wire” my brain so I no longer felt pain. “The app will teach you that you can’t use the word ‘pain’ any longer if you want to heal,” he told me.

I’m not saying mind-body tools aren’t helpful in managing symptoms. In the early years of my pain, I did quite a lot of psychotherapy and embodied meditation. These tools helped, especially when it came to managing the stress of illness. By the time I became bedridden, I knew I’d gone as far as I could with mind-body modalities. I told anyone who would listen I believed my symptoms had a biomechanical source, but, as time went on, I doubted that source would ever be found. After all, I’d had an MRI, the gold standard for diagnosis of pelvic disorders, and it had revealed nothing. 

Still, I kept searching. For years, I’d been hearing about a world-famous pelvic pain specialist in Arizona. Seeing him would mean traveling seven hundred miles and paying for the visit out of pocket. By early 2022, I was out of other options. A friend and I rented a van and drove seven hundred miles from our home in the San Francisco Bay Area into the Arizona desert listening to crime podcasts. Actually, my friend drove; I laid on a mattress in the back.

The Arizona doctor took by far the most careful, thorough patient history of any provider I’d seen. He recommended a round of pelvic floor botox, and, when that didn’t work, he offered a diagnosis. 

When a woman speaks her experience, whether she’s talking about sexual abuse, harassment, or illness, we wonder, Where’s the proof?

“All the signs point to pudendal nerve entrapment.” 

The pudendal nerve runs through the lower pelvis and innervates urinary, bowel, and sexual function. I’d long known my nerve was irritated. But none of the pelvic specialists I’d seen had raised the possibility it might be compressed. Compression, the Arizona doctor explained, doesn’t show up on an MRI; the nerve is too small, too hidden. Compression typically arises from a traumatic injury, or repetitive stress. The year before the onset of my symptoms, I’d biked one thousand miles down the California coast. The pressure of the bike seat against my pelvis caused scar tissue to build up around the nerve. To protect the nerve, paradoxically. 

It took 11 years from the onset of symptoms to receive the diagnosis. The treatment: a fairly straightforward decompression surgery.

Pudendal nerve entrapment is an underresearched condition that affects—you guessed it—women more often than men at a rate of seven to three. Childbirth is a common trigger. Diagnostic criteria do exist, but none of the chronic pain or pelvic disorder specialists I’d previously seen were familiar with those criteria. Pudendal entrapment isn’t common, but it’s not as rare as one might think, either. Studies indicate it affects up to one percent of the general population. Because pudendal entrapment lacks an ICD-code—such codes are used globally to classify medical diagnosess—insurance companies view decompression surgery as experimental and refuse to reimburse it. (In contrast, ICD-codes exist for “Sucked into jet engine V97.33X” and “Struck by turkey W61.42XA.”)

Broken bodies tell broken stories

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Four months after surgery, I began to see improvement. Within 15 months, I was leading a normal life again: walking, sitting, and traveling—without a van and mattress. I made plans to return to the PhD program. 

Today, I’m grateful to the Arizona doctor who took the time to listen and believe my story. I’m also, frankly, enraged when I think about the time, energy, and pain I would have been spared if the medical system had the patience and trust to take my symptoms seriously. If it had, I wouldn’t have become Joyce Beyers and spent years getting others to see the writing on the wall.

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