By Nina Thompson for Next City.
Broadcast version by Suzanne Potter for California News Service reporting for the Solutions Journalism Network-Public News Service Collaboration

Each time a fire breaks out in Northern California, local activist Quinn Redwoods and their collaborators spring into action. Walking through Oakland, Redwoods distributes masks to as many people as they can. They hand out masks in places where no one else is paying attention, like crowded underpasses where unhoused people have no options to escape the smoke. They’ll even stop UPS drivers to offer them a mask. Redwoods describes the activity as “organically emerging.”

It all started back in 2017 during the Tubbs Fire, when it was so smoky in the San Francisco Bay Area it wasn’t safe to be outside. As people started posting on social media desperate to find masks, Redwoods quickly realized that the most vulnerable people in the community would be the least likely to have access to that kind of protective equipment — and also the most exposed. They scanned the web and found one hardware store in Oakland with masks, and went there to buy as many as they could. Then, they turned to Twitter and Venmo, created “Mask Oakland” accounts, and started raising money to buy more. Within hours, Redwoods was passing out masks.

What started as a pop-up organization has just kept going, as Californians and the rest of the country start to understand the risk of unhealthy air from wildfire smoke, which has grown exponentially in recent years. Since 2017, Redwoods has distributed tens of thousands of masks through Mask Oakland, and their approach includes paying special attention to overlooked or marginalized communities. That was part of the intention from the beginning, according to Redwoods, who identifies as “queer, trans, disabled, plural.” As they put it: “Woven in with the history of Mask Oakland and our climate activism has been advocating for people like us.”

Redwoods grew up in Arlington, Virginia, a suburb of Washington, D.C. They remember the community as divided into thirds: people working for the government, people trying to influence the government, and everyone else. Their parents took them to protests as a kid, and they chose to keep going when they were a teen. “From a young age, I also wanted to do something that would help people.”

Redwoods explored different approaches to activism. “And then … I learned that I’m trans and plural, and didn’t really know what to do with that at first,” they say. “So I just kind of went and worked for some environmental groups because I was like, ‘At least I need a planet.’”

Redwoods moved to California in 2014, looking for a place where they could connect with a larger trans community. Three years later, Redwoods was driving home from a permaculture conference near Santa Rosa in Northern California when the Tubbs Fire broke out. “And then it was really windy, like scary windy,” they recall. “And then there was smoke. And then we were driving down the 101 [highway] at night, and it was right before the 101 got shut down. … I drove past [the fire] and I was like, ‘Should we stop and like, look at this?’ And my friend was like, ‘No, keep driving!’”

During the fire, Redwoods remembers hearing that masks were sold-out in many places. They were able to pick up an N95, but many people didn’t have access to masks, which can help protect from wildfire smoke. Seeing so many people exposed to the toxic air freaked them out. “There were people under bridges, no one had any masks and everyone was outside.”

Redwoods decided to take action. “I bought $300 of N95s. And I took a picture of the receipt, created a Twitter account, and created a Venmo.”

From there, Mask Oakland was born.

Redwoods says they drove under some of the highway underpasses where people were camped out, “and I just started giving people some masks and talking to people.” There were no other programs doing anything similar to protect unhoused residents from smoke. “It was just very jarring, like no one’s doing anything. We’re the only ones doing this.”

They were underemployed at the time, and Redwoods recalls spending their days at the Impact Hub in Oakland, a coworking space, “just trying to figure out what I was doing in my life.” Without full-time employment, they lacked financial stability, but had the time and availability to get Mask Oakland off the ground. They were also able to connect with like-minded folks at the coworking space who were keen to help out. So they kept raising money and buying up new batches of masks from the same hardware store. “I think we got about 4,000 masks that year,” Redwoods says. “And I never recovered that 300 bucks.”

The fire ended, and Redwoods went on with their life once the need went away. But just the next year, in 2018, the need arose again. Redwoods started getting messages on Facebook, “and they were like, ‘Hey, the Camp Fire, have you heard of it? Are you guys going to do anything?’ And I was like, ‘Oh God, I guess we better do something.’”

Redwoods teamed up with others and started giving out masks again. One of the volunteers, Cassandra Williams, who had helped in 2017 as well, tweeted about what they were doing. By the end of that night, Redwoods says they received enough money to make up for the costs from that day. And then — “I woke up to about $15,000 in my Venmo from that Twitter thread. And we just built and built and built to about $100,000 raised and 85,000 masks distributed.”

Donations are only one part of the equation in running Mask Oakland. Redwoods found that they were always trying to balance three things: masks, money, and people. There would be an excess of one thing, and not enough of the other. They went through the cycle again in August through October of 2020, another active fire season

“It impacted my health, probably the health of a lot of people who were involved because it’s very stressful and feeling like if I don’t [do something], I can’t rest. If I don’t push myself a little further, then that might be thousands of people who don’t get anything, any help.” Despite the clear need for masks, Redwoods says there still weren’t any other organizations addressing the issue like Mask Oakland was.

The number of Americans experiencing at least one day of unhealthy air from wildfire smoke has increased 27 fold in the last decade, including almost 25 million people in 2020 alone. Since COVID hit, there’s been another complication: the politicization of masks. But the fire risk hasn’t gone anywhere, so Redwoods says people at their organization find themselves having to explain “it’s just for the smoke.”

Redwoods says COVID has “massively complexified everything,” including respiratory health. “It’s like a scientifically proven terrible combo. You know,fire, smoke and COVID.”

Another ongoing challenge: Redwoods says donations can be unreliable if you aren’t constantly “getting attention for the thing you’re doing.” When fires are happening, and there is a lot of media coverage, Mask Oakland receives more donations. But when the fires stop, it seems that people stop caring. Immediately after the Tubbs Fire in 2017 and the Camp Fire 2018, Redwoods says “the support and momentum just collapsed.”

They’ve learned to accept it as part of being a mutual aid organizer — staying nimble and finding other sources of income when it’s slow, so they aren’t dependent on fires to pay the rent.

“It’s a lot of riding waves,” Redwoods says. “And then also it creates this desire for another wave, but you know another wave won’t come unless there’s another fire.”


Nina Thompson wrote this article for Next City.


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By Dawn Attride for Sentient.
Broadcast version by Freda Ross for Texas News Service reporting for the Sentient-Public News Service Collaboration

President-elect Donald Trump has picked long-term ally Brooke Rollins to lead the Department of Agriculture. Her nomination is somewhat of a surprise; Kelly Loeffler, former U.S. senator, was rumored to be Trump's initial pick for the role. Rollins is also a surprising pick because she hasn't worked directly in agricultural policy.

Rollins acted as domestic policy director in the White House during Trump's first term, and has since gone on to preside over the America First Policy Institute (AFPI), a Trump-aligned think tank. She grew up on a farm in Glen Rose, Texas, which is known for its farming and ranching activities. Apart from her undergraduate degree in agricultural leadership and development from Texas A&M University, she doesn't appear to have much experience in agricultural policy.

Rollins took to X after the announcement, saying it will be the honor of her life to fight for America's farmers and agricultural communities. "This is big stuff for a small-town ag girl from Glen Rose, TX - truly the American Dream at its greatest. WHO'S READY TO MAKE AGRICULTURE GREAT AGAIN?" she wrote.

Reactions to the Nomination

If confirmed, Rollins will direct the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA) and its 100,000 employees, running on an annual budget of upwards of $437 billion. The USDA oversees food security, agricultural production, promotes rural development and provides financial aid to farmers and low-income families. The USDA was founded to carry out research on agriculture, and at its core, is a research-centered organization.

"Outside of a misdirected interest in Chinese ownership of U.S. farmland, Brooke Rollins appears to have no agricultural policy track record to comment on. Rollins' AFPI, described as the second Trump administration in waiting, has so little interest in farm policy that there are no agriculture experts listed on its website," Karen Perry Stillerman, deputy director of the Food and Environment Program at the Union of Concerned Scientists, said in a statement.

Stillerman added that this appears to be another example of Trump "doling out cabinet appointments for loyalty rather than expertise." Two of Trump's other picks also came from AFPI -- Linda McMahon, for Education Secretary, and Scott Turner as Secretary of Housing and Urban Development.

Industry groups appear to be optimistic about her nomination, however. The American Farm Bureau Federation said they're encouraged by her statement that she'd "fight for America's farmers and our nation's agricultural communities."

What Can We Expect From Rollins?

Importantly, Rollins has the upcoming new iteration of the Farm Bill ahead of her, which has significant sway over America's food systems. With Republicans having a majority in the House and Senate, the updated Farm Bill could repeal Proposition 12, a high-impact animal welfare law that banned certain kinds of extreme confinement of animals, and the sale of such products in California.

The Farm Bill is also crucial for food emissions and conservation. While Rollins hasn't said much publicly regarding climate change, the think tank she leads has published articles promoting fracking and criticizing the Paris Agreement.

Rollins' new role will likely overlap significantly with Robert F. Kennedy Jr.'s mission to "Make America Healthy Again," by eliminating certain pesticides and food additives, as well as reforming dietary guidelines.

But Kennedy's opposition to GMOs and pesticides poses "a significant threat" to American agriculture being a global leader when it comes to reducing its carbon footprint while maintaining high yields, Emily Bass, an associate director of federal policy at the Breakthrough Institute, tells Sentient. (Contrary to popular belief, for example, organic foods are usually less climate-friendly.)

"Should she be confirmed as the next U.S. Secretary of Agriculture, we hope Brooke Rollins will be a force to defend against RFK Jr.'s vision, and instead lead a USDA that recognizes the value of technology-forward advances," Bass says.


Dawn Attride wrote this article for Sentient.


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By Rebecca R. Randall for Yes! Magazine.
Broadcast version by Trimmel Gomes for Florida News Connection reporting for the YES! Media-Public News Service Collaboration

This past spring, a colorful poster displayed a ring of emojis at a student table outside the cafeteria at Maritime and Science Technical Academy, a 6–12 school in Miami. Called the climate emotions wheel, the circle was divided into a rainbow of wedges for various emotions: anger in red, sadness in purple, fear in green, positivity in blue. The poster also included a QR code for students to complete a survey about their feelings related to climate. 

Sophomore Sophia Bugarim remembers taking the survey. To the first question—“Do you experience any of these climate emotions?”—Bugarim answered “fear.” The next question narrowed down the four core emotions into more specifics. This time Bugarim selected “worry.” 

“I feel worried that one day I’ll be in a situation where I have to leave my house, and I’ll come back and have no idea what it will look like,” says Bugarim, who recalled her survey answers on an October day when school had been canceled due to the possibility of storm water surge and high winds. While Miami was not in Hurricane Milton’s path, Bugarim wonders how soon the city will be in the path of another storm. “These storms are getting worse. There was a hurricane last week in Tallahassee. Next week gets me worried. It’s very unpredictable.”

Sebastian Navarro, who manned the table as sustainability ambassador during his senior year, thinks students at Maritime and Science Technical Academy probably learn about climate change more than others in the district due to the school’s focus on maritime sciences. He says students visit the reefs just offshore from the beachside school. But that classwork is focused on cognitive learning, not discussion about feelings. 

On the climate emotions survey, when given options for what worries them most about climate change, about one-third of students said sea level rise. Another third said biodiversity loss and coral bleaching. 

Sarah Newman, executive director of the Climate Mental Health Network, says climate change adds another layer of mental health risk for youth and can deepen existing inequities. In 2021, Newman founded the Network to provide solutions beyond traditional therapy, which can be cost-prohibitive and faces ongoing provider shortages. 

She sees the climate emotions wheel as a supplement to mental health therapy and believes schools are a key place to address mental health amid a changing climate. This is a stark contrast with the conservative Project 2025, which aims to erase climate change from public education and the federal government entirely. Newman sees the importance in grassroots solutions to support individuals and communities impacted by the changing climate, regardless of what’s happening in Washington, D.C. 

“Having climate anxiety is a normal response to the climate crisis, so if you respond to what is a societal issue with an individual approach, you’re isolating someone’s experience to a clinical setting,” she says. “Because it’s a collective experience, the process of navigating our climate emotions, managing them, and healing needs to be done in community with others.” 

A New Tool

Multiple reports suggest there is plenty of room for improvement to deepen climate content across subjects and add more social and emotional learning in public schools in the United States. On the National Center for Science Education’s 2020 report card, Florida received a D for its lack of climate change content in state science standards. The center graded 20 states at no higher than a C+, while 21 states, which all use the Next Generation Science Standards, received a B+.

Then in 2022, the North American Association for Environmental Education found only 37% of states included climate change in one subject in addition to science (usually social studies), and only 10% of climate change content addressed the socio-emotional learning dimensions of the crisis.

A 2023 report led by the American Psychological Association and others concurs that more school-based and health-system solutions are needed. Newman sees the climate emotions wheel as a tool that educators everywhere can begin using now. It’s a bottom-up approach that can skirt the obstacles being thrown up in institutions and governments at all levels.

Finnish environmental theologian Panu Pihkala, who popularized the idea that “climate emotions” is a more useful term than “climate anxiety,” consulted with the Climate Mental Health Network to create the climate emotions wheel. It is now available in 30 languages, including Spanish, Kiswahili, and Bengali, and used in a variety of settings.

“Everything about the school day is a learning experience. It’s not just the curriculum being directed by the teacher,” said Michele Drucker, who heads the Miami-Dade County Council Parent Teacher Association environmental committee.

Drucker also ran a sustainability ambassador program in local high schools, which Navarro completed during his lunch hours. Navarro invited students to enter a drawing for completing climate actions such as bringing a reusable water bottle, using share tables for uneaten food at lunch, and eliminating single-use plastics. This is also where Navarro shared the climate emotions wheel, which he says received a lot of engagement and seemed to bump up participation in the weeks that followed.

Navarro says the wheel helped generate hallway conversations about climate, too, as peers asked each other: “Which emoji are you?”

Climate Emotions in the Classroom

In other schools, teachers are adding the climate emotions wheel to their coursework.

“One of the biggest problems with climate education is not a lack of knowledge,” says Kimberly Williams, a science teacher at Smithtown High School West on Long Island in New York. She began integrating emotional support into her climate change units a few years ago. She says her classes would start the year “discouraged and apathetic,” and that “it’s easy for the students to feel ‘there’s nothing I can do, so I should do nothing.’”

Williams tasked her students with using the paint tool on a tablet to shade portions in a circle representing the degree to which they were feeling a climate emotion. A guide then helped them describe their emotions and evaluate their own strengths and possible contributions to climate solutions.

Williams concedes that most science teachers do not include this kind of social and emotional learning into their lessons: “They don’t see the two as interwoven, and I don’t see the two as something you can separate.”

Williams says in her district, most teachers only “dance around the subject” in an effort to avoid the politics of climate change. To her, that indicates that teachers aren’t connecting it to students’ lives. “They’re showing a graph,” not saying, “‘Why do you think that is?’ or ‘What we can do about it?’”

In nearby New York City, 52% of teachers in a survey said they teach about climate change, but most only dedicate a few hours per year. A recent state bill, which died at the end of the 2024 legislative session, would have mandated that all grades and subject matters include climate.

This bill would have addressed mental health, as well, said Elissa Teles Muñoz, the K–12 programming manager for the Climate Mental Health Network, at a recent Climate Week NYC panel. 

“When there is climate education … it does need to include safeguards for youth mental health,” said Muñoz, who helped write the bill with the National Wildlife Federation. “It’s not responsible to drop a bomb on a child’s brain.”

Growing Support From the Grassroots

The climate emotions wheel relies on grassroots leaders—teachers, parents, or others—to find ways to implement it, which may limit its reach and impact.

Some teachers may not feel supported to include the exercise. Susan Clayton, a conservation psychologist who studies K–12 climate education, considered teacher surveys alongside local politics. She found that teachers from states where school or government leaders oppose climate education felt more anxious. For example, the 7% of teachers in Clayton’s sample who were from Florida reported significantly higher levels of climate anxiety.

But Clayton found that when teachers perceived parental support for climate education, they were more likely to talk to students about climate emotions. 

In Miami-Dade public schools, Drucker is bolstered by how the PTA can bypass some state or district politics with grassroots action at schools. She advocated for years for systems-level climate action, though Florida schools lack state support for fully embracing climate action. And that obstacle is only getting worse: Gov. Ron DeSantis signed a bill this spring that strikes the phrase “climate change” from state law entirely.

Newman also believes there’s power in hyperlocal action. One of the climate emotions wheel’s strengths may be that it empowers students. 

For Williams’ part, she includes the climate emotions exercise to help students move toward action. At the end of her courses, she asks students to complete the survey again and asks what they would modify from their earlier responses. One student updated the colors in the wheel and said she felt a little more empowered to take her own actions once she wrote them down.

Navarro says he is still working through climate emotions, but he feels encouraged by peer support in the environmental clubs at his school. “You have the opportunity to advocate for different causes,” he says. Recently, students acted on their concerns by advocating for and landing the district electric buses. Navarro says it feels good to know that “you’re actually making a difference.”


Rebecca R. Randall wrote this article for Yes! Magazine.


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Michigan has poured $1 billion into electric-vehicle battery projects, with another billion pledged, but delays have stalled hiring for most of the 11,000 promised jobs. Now, some critics are raising concerns over the subsidies for the projects.

Economic experts say delays are common in large-scale projects, and it's too early to call this effort a bust.

Brad Hershbein, a senior economist for the W.E. Upjohn Institute for Employment Research, cited slower EV demand and opposition from residents who don't want large factories in their neighborhoods. He said limited job postings are another key factor.

"Where there have been some job postings, [they] are typically for engineers and for doing design, and managers," he said, "and there's still a lot of uncertainty coming ahead with the new presidential administration - where some of the incentives that have been slated to be given out may not be given out in the end."

A 2024 poll revealed that while 55% of Michigan voters believe it's important for the state to compete in electric-vehicle manufacturing, only about one in four would consider purchasing an EV as their next vehicle.

Despite delays, Michigan continues to prepare for EV battery job growth. In western Michigan, educators are training a workforce for Ford's 2026 factory, and Western Michigan University announced a $700,000 plan to boost training for battery and semiconductor jobs.

Hershbein noted that developers often overpromise.

"It may turn out that, years from now, this was a good investment to try to spur greater production of electronic vehicles, electric vehicles and jobs for them," he said. "We just don't know yet. It's going to depend on how the next several years play out."

In December 2023, Gov. Gretchen Whitmer signed a plan to make all of Michigan's state vehicles zero-emission by 2040.


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