We asked ten literary experts to recommend the climate poem that has spoken to them most powerfully. Their answers span over 200 years and a range of emotions from sorrow, to anger, fear and hope.

This article is part of Climate Storytelling, a series exploring how arts and science can join forces to spark understanding, hope and action.

1. Death of a Field by Paula Meehan (2005)

Published in the wake of the 2008 financial crisis, Paula Meehan’s Death of a Field critiqued the environmental impact of the Celtic Tiger economy in Ireland.

The poem anticipates the destruction of the titular field by property developers with little regard for native ecologies: “The end of the field as we know it is the start of the estate.”

The global effects of the climate crisis are seen from a uniquely local perspective as the displacement of Irish wildlife mirrors the effect of colonial violence. “Some architect’s screen” is simply the latest iteration of imperial technologies that seek to plunder Irish landscapes. The poem gains further strength by refusing to replicate a hierarchical relationship to nature by preserving its many mysteries:

Who can know the yearning of yarrow

Or the plight of the scarlet pimpernel

Whose true colour is orange?

Jack Reid is a PhD Candidate in Irish literature

2. Darkness by Lord Byron (1816)

Darkness imagines the fallout of a volcanic eruption that has destroyed the Earth. The “dream” that the poem mentions was inspired by genuine weather conditions during the “year without a summer” in 1816, caused by the eruption of Mount Tambora in Indonesia the previous year.

Sulphur in the atmosphere caused darkness and low temperatures across Europe. In Lake Geneva, Lord Byron experienced the infamous “haunted summer” of darkness.

Byron’s depiction of climate catastrophe is bleak, with words like “crackling”, “blazing” and “consum’d” bearing resemblance to contemporary reports of wildfires caused by climate change. After a famine, all elements of Byron’s Earth, from the clouds to the tide, eventually cease to exist: “Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless– / A lump of death – a chaos of hard clay.” Read as a portent of the Anthropocene, Byron’s poem urges readers to seriously consider the future of mankind.

Katie MacLean is a PhD candidate in English Literature

3. Mont Blanc by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1817)

Byron’s close friend Percy Bysshe Shelley was also inspired by the “year without a summer”. He witnessed temperatures drop, volcanic ash hanging heavy in the air and crops failing. While his wife Mary used the gloomy climatic event to inform her novel Frankenstein (1818), Shelley channelled them into his poem Mont Blanc.

In his ode, Shelley describes a timeless “wall impregnable of beaming ice”. By drawing on his scientific reading, he then explains his fears regarding global cooling and the possibility of vast glaciers eventually covering the alpine valleys.

He imagines “the dwelling-place / Of insects, beasts, and birds” being obliterated and mankind forced to flee. While Shelley saw this process as “destin’d” and inevitable, it is clear that Mont Blanc is a poem with catastrophic climate change at its heart. In 2026, it is difficult to read in any other way.

Amy Wilcockson is a research fellow in Romantic literature

4. Characteristics of Life by Camille T. Dungy (2012)

There’s something gloriously elastic about invertebrates: the spinelessness of a worm, the pulsing of the jellyfish, the curling of an octopus. Spiders, snails and bees, too, with their exoskeletons on display, invite us to see things “inside-out”.

These are the thoughts I have when I read Characteristics of Life by Camille T. Dungy, which opens with a snippet from a BBC news report claiming that “a fifth of animals without backbones could be at risk of extinction”. What would a world be without the “underneathedness” of the snail beneath its shell beneath the terracotta pot in the garden? Or “the impossible hope of the firefly” whose adult lives span only a handful of human weeks?

Dungy speaks from a “time before spinelessness was frowned upon”, and from a world where to dismiss a being as “mindless” (jellyfish have no brains) or even “wordless” would be “missing the point” entirely. As I think of these creatures that dwell beyond our usual line of vision – flying, crawling, tunnelling and swimming – I find my perspective on our beautiful world turning and shifting.

Janine Bradbury is a poet and a senior lecturer in contemporary writing and culture

5. Prayer at Seventy by Vicki Feaver (2019)

One of my favourite poems about climate change is Vicki Feaver’s Prayer at Seventy from her 2019 collection I Want! I Want!.

The speaker’s request of passing her “last years with less anxiety” appears to be denied by a god who first responds by changing her into “a tiny spider / launching into the unknown / on a thread of gossamer” and who, when she begs to “be a bigger / fiercer creature”, turns her into “a polar bear / leaping between / melting ice floes”.

Both images present creatures who are in precarious positions, their futures uncertain, reflecting the state of a person contemplating the unknowns of old age and death. But the poem moves beyond the personal. The reference to the melting ice floes is not solely metaphorical: it reminds us that the planet itself is in danger and every living thing is therefore vulnerable – and will be increasingly so.

Julie Gardner is a PhD candidate in literature

Read more: How poetry can sustain us through illness, bereavement and change

6. Walrus by Jessica Traynor (2022)

Walrus, from Jessica Traynor’s 2022 collection Pit Lullabies expresses the quiet anxiety a mother has for her child in the world of climate breakdown.

While stripping wallpaper from the box room of her house, the poet discovers a mural of the Walrus and the Carpenter from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Traynor takes part of Lewis Carroll’s poem about the Walrus and the Carpenter walking along the beach, eating the vulnerable oysters, and weaves it into her own poem.

Carroll’s absurd verse includes what, at that time no doubt, seemed like an impossible image of a “boiling hot” sea. In the 21st century, this is no longer an absurdity, as Traynor knows. She makes a connection with Carroll’s poem, imploring her child:

Sleep as the sun rises and ice melts

and for want of the freeze a walrus

pushes further up a cliff-face.

It’s a complex poem that reimagines a key work of children’s literature, connecting it with the reality of the changing world. All the while the mother keeps her fears at bay for the sake of her child, “brows[ing] washing machines” with a “ball of tears” in her throat.

Ellen Howley is an assistant professor of English

7. Ocean Forest, co-created by the We Are the Possible programme

Ocean Forest is woven out of words, research, ideas and stories shared by scientists, educators, health professionals, youth leaders, writers and artists. They took part in creative writing workshops to co-create the anthology Planet Forest – 12 Poems for 12 Days for the UN Climate Conference in Brazil in 2025.

In the shallows, alert to change,

the minuscule, overlooked creatures

weave between seagrass, and weed –

live their shortened lives.

When ships pass overhead, when sands shift,

fish navigate swell, migrate beyond

where coral’s been bleached, through schools

of silenced whales and barely rooted mangroves

struggling to thrive in darkening water.

Deeper down,

pressure builds, species exist, unaware,

undisturbed. As heat and waves rise there’s hope

the unfound, the unnamed, the unpolluted

in the remotest ocean forests will survive.

Through uniting disciplines and voices the poem takes unexpected shifts. It demonstrates that climate change affects and erodes the habitats that lie beneath the surface and that urgent action is needed to protect disappearing species.

Yet, there is also a glimmer of hope – that in the deepest, darkest parts of the ocean, where temperatures are near freezing and there are bone-crushing pressures, maybe there are creatures that will survive human interference and pollution.

Sally Flint is a lecturer in creative writing and programme lead on the We Are the Possible programme

8. Di Baladna (Our Land) by Emi Mahmoud (2021)

Emtithal “Emi” Mahmoud is a Sudanese poet and activist, who has won multiple awards for her slam poetry performances. Mahmoud performed Di Baladna at the United Nations Climate Change Conference in 2021.

Poetry – especially spoken word – helps people connect emotionally with the human side of climate-driven displacement, a topic that’s often explained only through technical language. The language of emissions targets, temperature thresholds, or policy frameworks can distance people emotionally from its consequences. Yet poetry can cut through this abstraction.

Mahmoud’s performance gave voice to those forced from their homes by environmental collapse, reminding listeners that climate change is not only an environmental crisis but a deeply human one, with profound effects on individuals, families and communities.

By merging vivid natural imagery with the rhythms of displacement and lived testimony, the poem urges listeners to replace passive awareness with empathy. Mahmoud implores us to feel the loss, fear and resilience of displaced communities, looking beyond news headlines and images of victimisation. Engaging with such work helps transform climate refugees from statistics into people.

Clodagh Philippa Guerin is a PhD candidate in refugee world literature

9. Flowers by Jay Bernard (2019)

At first glance, Jay Bernard’s Flowers is circular poem (one that begins and ends in the same place) but you soon realise that the circle isn’t going to complete. It opens:

Will anybody speak of this

the way the flowers do,

the way the common speaks

of the fearless dying leaves?

And closes:

Will anybody speak of this

the fire we beheld

the garlands at the gate

the way the flowers do?

And the answer seems to be, no: no one will speak of these things – the “coming cold” and the “quiet” it will bring – only the things themselves as they die. With the songs Where Have All the Flowers Gone? by Pete Seeger and Blowin’ in the Wind by Bob Dylan in its DNA, Flowers has the eternal power of a folk-lyric – prophetic and unignorable.

Kate McLoughlin is a professor of English literature

10. Place by W.S. Merwin (1987)

Climate change poetry – should it be a thing? How do poets avoid the oracular pomp it threatens? Browsing my small library I’m shocked anew to realise most poets lived and died blissfully innocent of our condition.

OK, what about the late John Burnside’s lyric Weather Report (“this is the weather, today / and the weather to come”). It poignantly extrapolates from a sodden summer to his sons’ futures: “a life they never bargained for / and cannot alter”. Heartbreaking. Or the odd dread of spring in Fiona Benson’s Almond Blossom, a season characterised as Earth’s, “slow incline … inch by ruined inch”. Ditto.

But then I reach back to the great American poet W.S. Merwin’s short prayer Place to find that grace-note of hope which surely needs to thread through all poems, whether they speak of climate change, mortality or love: “On the last day of the world / I would want to plant a tree.” Me too.

Steve Waters is a playwright and professor of scriptwriting at the University of East Anglia

This article features references to books that have been included for editorial reasons, and may contain links to bookshop.org. If you click on one of the links and go on to buy something, The Conversation UK may earn a commission.

Amy Wilcockson receives funding from Modern Humanities Research Association as Research Fellow for the Percy Bysshe Shelley Letters project.

Steve Waters receives funding from AHRC

Clodagh Philippa Guerin, Ellen Howley, Jack Reid, Janine Bradbury, Julie Meril Gardner, Kate McLoughlin, Katie MacLean, and Sally Flint do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

Planning summer holidays in Europe is beginning to involve more focus on avoiding high temperatures.

Destinations including the Greek islands and southern Italy have traditionally relied on warm, stable summers to attract tourists. But they have faced extreme temperatures causing mass evacuations, wildfires and putting lives in danger in recent summers.

Even without those conditions, high temperatures are changing the summer holiday experience. Tourists are often more exposed to heat risk than residents. They spend longer periods outdoors, take part in outdoor sports, and navigate unfamiliar environments without knowing where to find shade, or local healthcare. Yet despite this heightened exposure, tourists’ vulnerability to extreme heat remains relatively underexamined.

Recent summers have made these risks visible. During 2024, parts of southern Europe, including Greece, Italy, Spain and Cyprus, experienced temperatures exceeding 40°C. During Greece’s record-setting heatwave, several foreign visitors died or went missing including the British broadcaster Michael Mosley. Mosley went missing on the Greek island of Symi and a coroner found the cause of death could have been heatstroke. In response to these very high temperatures, countries including the UK, Germany, and Sweden issued travel advisories warning of extreme heat in popular destinations.

Heat is not just a safety issue; it is also reshaping the quality of the holiday itself. Extreme temperatures can shorten stays, reduce participation in outdoor activities, and lower overall satisfaction. Key tourist sites, such as the Acropolis in Greece, may close in extreme heat making trips less satisfying. As a result, rising temperatures are already influencing what tourists can do, when they travel, and how destinations function.

Shifting travel patterns

As heat intensifies, travel patterns are beginning to shift. A growing number of tourists are moving away from traditionally hot Mediterranean destinations towards cooler regions, a trend often described as “coolcations”. Emerging evidence points to declining tourist demand in parts of southern Europe during peak summer months, alongside increased interest in destinations with milder climates.

Elevated temperatures are also influencing when people take a trip. A recent report by the European Travel Commission found that 28% of travellers are planning to change the time of year that they travel. Avoiding extreme heat was cited as a key reason.

Extreme heat also interacts with other climate-related pressures. Wildfires, drought and water shortages can disrupt tourism activities and local economies. As one participant in ongoing research at the University of East London described: “Our reservoir was very low over the summer… boating, sailing, and water sports couldn’t run. The centre has now closed. You see those ripple effects.”

Climate is not the only factor shaping travel decisions this year. Geopolitical tensions, including the ongoing conflict involving the US, Israel and Iran, are contributing to rising fuel and travel costs. This is adding another layer of pressure, encouraging some travellers to reconsider long-distance or high-cost travel

These pressures can reinforce climate-driven trends. If southern destinations become both hotter and more expensive, travellers may be more likely to choose nearer, cooler alternatives.

Extreme heat is no longer a marginal issue for tourism; it is becoming a structural one. As heatwaves intensify and seasonal patterns shift, traditional peak holiday seasons may no longer align with safe or comfortable conditions.

Adapting will require more than incremental change. It means rethinking infrastructure, timing and visitor management, from providing shade and cool spaces, to redesigning tourism calendars. In some destinations, this is already happening, with attractions shifting opening hours to cooler periods of the day, a trend increasingly described as “noctourism”.

But adaptation is not only physical; it is also behavioural. A key part of this transition lies in how travellers perceive and respond to heat. Perception shapes behaviour: whether visitors adjust their plans, seek shade, stay hydrated, or recognise when conditions have become dangerous. This is particularly important for travellers from temperate countries, such as the UK, where awareness and experience of extreme heat remain relatively limited. Without a strong perception of risk, even well-designed warnings may fail to prompt action.

Clear and timely communication will therefore be essential. Travellers need support to interpret unfamiliar risks and take protective action when needed. This includes clearer public messaging, accessible guidance on heat safety, and better integration of tourists into national and local heat health alert systems.

At present, most heat alerts are designed with residents in mind. Yet tourists represent a highly exposed and often overlooked group. Integrating communication to visitors into heat action plans, through multilingual alerts and travel advisories, will be increasingly important as global travel continues. This kind of information needs to be developed for travellers and tour operators.

It is vital to improve our understanding of tourists perceptions of risk from heat, how to respond, and the effectiveness of communications.

Airlines, hotels, and travel websites could provide key ways to communicate in future. Providing heat-related guidance at the point of booking, before departure, and during the stay could help bridge the gap between awareness and action. In years ahead, if summer temperatures continue to intensify this could be vitally important.

Mehri Khosravi does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

The Devil Wears Prada 2 is the sequel to a film that launched a thousand memes.

For the film’s New York premiere in April 2026, fashion designer Evan Hirsh decided to commemorate one of the original 2006 film’s most celebrated scenes. He embroidered Meryl Streep’s infamous monologue on the fictional fashion history of the colour cerulean into the bright blue train of his coat.

In the monologue, ice-queen fashion editor Miranda Priestly (Streep) lambasts ingenue Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway) for her ignorance about the blue – I mean, cerulean – colour of her sweater.

Equal parts derisive and incisive, this monologue nods to the “ballroom” tradition of reading the flaws of others, in order to deliver a devastating (and often hilarious) insult. Ballroom is an underground scene of competitive balls created by Black and Latinx LGBTQ+ communities centred on dance, fashion and performance. There, reading functions as both art form and social critique.

The monologue also encapsulates a skill practised in humanities classrooms around the world: close reading. This is the art of unpacking a detail and contextualising it within a broader history, to see how artistic choices and media landscapes come together to shape the world around us – often without us really noticing.

Although an old idea (arguably, even Aristotle was doing it), in the early decades of the 20th century, literary scholars in Britain and America began to emphasise the skills we now know as close reading. They argued that small details and specific choices come together to create the reader’s experience of the text.

In 2006, to see close reading on-screen was rare. Prior to the rise of social media, virtuosic displays of close readings were often confined to academic settings, or the occasional documentary. Now, close reading can be found everywhere in our content diets – in podcasts, YouTube videos and on TikTok.

Close reading proves an ideal technique for generating constant content. It allows creators to unpack artistic choices and the aesthetic histories of just about anything.

Some of this content presents itself as educational programming, making use of expert academic hosts (for example, in Architectural Digest’s series Every Detail or the London Review of Books’ podcast Close Readings).

These podcasts and videos form part of the history of post-war educational media, along with Open University programming that used to fill the BBC airwaves in the early hours. Contributors to this programming included Stuart Hall, whose criticism defined the field of Cultural Studies by melding historical analysis with questions of how media such as TV and film communicate with viewers.

Expertise in close reading, however, does not lie only within academia. Close readings can be found in fashion content that highlights the history of specific items, such as the 99% Invisible podcast Articles of Interest. And they’re also evident in the videos of influencers who examine the history of specific looks and the publications that shaped them.

Videos and podcasts on pop music and culture hosted by musicologists, such as Vulture’s Switched on Pop, also rely on close reading. Fan videos and tweets unpacking the work of singers like Taylor Swift or Sabrina Carpenter perform this same skill.

Every video breaking down the difference between gen Z and millennial makeup, every outfit takedown, every analysis of a political speech – close reading is everywhere.

Close reading in The Devil Wears Prada

Let’s return to that blue sweater. While fashion editors have debunked the scene’s representation of how the fashion industry operates, that is not what is at stake for the characters. This scene dramatises the allure of shared cultural knowledge. This kind of knowledge represents what it takes to succeed at the fictional Runway magazine.

By understanding and valuing the history of a colour, Andy could become part of a glamorous in group. Now, our phones contain our own personal Miranda Priestlys, explaining how and why an object, an image, a text matters – and perhaps why we should buy it.

The Met Gala, an annual evening of fundraising for New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art, is always a key date in the close-reading calendar. The event exemplifies what art and music has always done for its wealthy patrons and consumers: it provides an opportunity to see and be seen, to participate in the performance of connoisseurship.

Former Vogue editor-in-chief Anna Wintour, the perennially sunglasses-clad inspiration for Priestly, helped make first Monday in May (when the gala is held) a covetable event in the fashion calendar. Days after the theatrical release of the Devil Wears Prada 2 in May 2026, a flurry of content will emerge close reading the outfit choices at the gala.

The message of the cerulean monologue is that culture, and the business of culture, exempts no one. Simply because we do not care about a certain aspect of culture does not mean we can escape its influence.

Like the blue of Andy Sach’s sweater, the act of close reading “represents millions of dollars and countless jobs”, and probably more hours of your own time than you would care to admit. Perhaps most importantly, close reading is the skill that enables us to unpack art’s political statements.

So, in case you had any doubt, it’s important that you know: it’s not just blue, it’s cerulean.

Kate Travers receives funding from the Leverhulme Trust.

It’s often assumed that expanding access to education is progressive – that it’s a means of ensuring social, economic and political development. However, this is not always the case.

We’ve carried out research examining the relationship between education and authoritarianism with a focus on Eritrea. Eritrea has been under a single political party and leadership since its independence in May 1993. The country lacks a functioning or implemented constitution and freedom of the press.

Our research has concluded that, in countries under authoritarian rule, education is not necessarily a path to empowerment. Instead, it’s a fertile ground for the spread of authoritarianism. Governments can spread their ideas and principles through repressive and ideological state apparatus – the processes and organisations they use to maintain power. This includes education.

Authoritarian regimes such as Eritrea claim to address societal problems through social justice and cohesion. However, they consolidate power around a single or dominant regime, which restricts democratic institutions and erodes civic liberties. They also apply preferential treatment based on political loyalty. People are elevated to positions of power for allegiance rather than merit. This causes division and political polarisation in the name of protecting national security.

Expanding education

Authoritarian states use education to maintain political stability to ensure the survival of the regime. Although many authoritarian regimes expand access to education, it is often used as a means of control and a tool for manufacturing loyalty.

For example, since independence, the number of schools and student enrollment in Eritrea has increased around fourfold. However, such regimes also see education as an opportunity to impose their attitudes onto young people. They use education to keep students isolated from ideas that may differ from or be critical of the regime.

Authoritarian regimes use deception and misinformation to uphold their ideology and extend their control. In doing so, they attempt to ensure that citizens accept the legitimacy of their rulers without question.

Additionally, authoritarian regimes politicise the school curriculum. They manipulate content, such as in history and citizenship education. This is used to mislead citizens and make them supporters of the degradation of human rights.

For example, Eritrea’s school curriculum normalises the creation of a militarised citizen who upholds the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front’s legacy and revolutionary culture. Similarly, North Korea uses school education to shape students’ behaviour, attitudes and beliefs to be compatible with and supportive of the regime. This is often supported by controlling the teaching and learning process and the academic environment.

Monitoring teachers and research

Authoritarian regimes recognise that safe education spaces can help students develop critical thinking and eventually question the country’s political system. They monitor teachers and school leaders, and promote those loyal to the regime’s ideas and principles. And, rather than encouraging critical thinking, they foster students’ sense of nationalism and patriotism.

Academic research is also a target of authoritarian regimes because of its scrutiny of government policies and actions. Researchers’ academic freedom is limited, and their choice of research topics is policed.

Most of these control measures are imposed in the name of protecting national security. For example, Eritreans are not allowed to conduct critical research that challenges the existing systems, inequalities and power structures of the country.

Researchers who cross the boundaries and criticise authoritarian regimes are silenced. Some are fired from their jobs while others face prison terms.

Meanwhile, authoritarian regimes rely on loyal academics to promote the state’s narrative. Loyal academics are also used to conceal authoritarian regimes’ failures by presenting selective evidence.

Many authoritarian states, such as China, Eritrea and North Korea, also incorporate military training into education. They blend political and ideological instruction to sustain their power. They teach students discipline and promote patriotism to develop loyal and obedient citizens.

Militarisation education sometimes places teachers and school leaders under military control. In Eritrea, all secondary school students complete their last year under military authority. This approach leads students to drop out of school. Additionally, it causes students and teachers to leave the country.

Authoritarian regimes manifest their true nature by spreading their ideas and principles. Our research shows that the education system is one of the most important levers in the propaganda machine for authoritarian countries.

Samson Maekele Tsegay is a Research Fellow at Anglia Ruskin University.

Zeraslasie Shiker is a PhD researcher at the University of Leeds.

Most people know about “good” and “bad” cholesterol. But few realise there is another type called lipoprotein(a). It can raise the risk of heart attacks and strokes, even in people who do everything right.

This lesser-known cholesterol particle, often written as Lp(a), is gaining increasing attention from researchers and drug companies.

Lp(a) isn’t included in routine cholesterol tests and there’s currently little we can do about it. That may now be changing.

What is lipoprotein(a)?

Lipoprotein(a) is a cholesterol that carries lipoprotein – particles made of fats and proteins – in your blood. It’s structurally similar to LDL (low-density lipoprotein, or “bad” cholesterol), but with an additional protein attached called apolipoprotein(a).

This extra protein component seems to make Lp(a) more likely to contribute to the build-up of fatty deposits in arteries. It may also promote blood clotting. Together, these processes increase the likelihood of cardiovascular disease (heart disease and stroke).

Large-scale studies and international guidelines now recognise Lp(a) as a risk factor for heart disease and stroke.

What determines your Lp(a) levels?

Unlike most other cholesterol measures, Lp(a) is largely determined by genetics.

Around 70-90% of variation in Lp(a) levels is inherited. This is driven mainly by differences in the LPA gene, which controls the structure of apolipoprotein(a).

Because of this strong genetic control, Lp(a) levels are usually set early in life and remain relatively stable over time, with little influence from diet, exercise or body weight.

There are some smaller influences. Levels can vary by sex, ethnicity and hormonal changes, and may be slightly affected by factors such as menopause or kidney disease.

How does it affect your risk?

A growing body of research shows higher Lp(a) levels are associated with an increased risk of heart attacks, strokes and aortic valve disease.

Importantly, the relationship appears continuous. In long-term studies, cardiovascular risk rises step by step as Lp(a) levels increase.

Lp(a) also adds to overall risk. For example, someone with high LDL cholesterol and high Lp(a) is likely to be at higher risk than someone with elevated LDL cholesterol alone.

For people with higher Lp(a) levels, cardiovascular risk rises mainly when inflammation is elevated.

This helps explain why some people develop cardiovascular disease despite otherwise favourable risk profiles.

Can you lower lipoprotein(a)?

There are currently few options to lower Lp(a).

Lifestyle changes that improve heart health, such as eating well, being physically active and not smoking, remain essential. But they have minimal effect on Lp(a) itself.

Most commonly used cholesterol-lowering medications, including statins, do not reduce Lp(a). In some cases, statins may even increase Lp(a) slightly. Despite this, statins still reduce overall cardiovascular risk and remain a cornerstone of treatment.

Some newer drugs, such as PCSK9 inhibitors, can lower Lp(a), but typically only by a modest amount of around 15–30%.

Several drug companies, including Novartis, Amgen and Eli Lilly, are racing to develop treatments that specifically lower Lp(a). These new medicines work very differently from statins. Instead of helping the body clear cholesterol from the blood, they use a “gene silencing” approach that reduces how much Lp(a) the liver makes in the first place.

This means it switches off production of cholesterol rather than trying to remove what is already there.

In early clinical trials, these drugs have lowered Lp(a) levels by 80–90%, far more than existing treatments. This is why Lp(a) is suddenly getting attention.

If upcoming trials show these large reductions also lead to fewer heart attacks and strokes, it could change how cardiovascular risk is assessed and treated, especially for people whose risk is driven largely by genetics rather than lifestyle.

Should you get tested?

Lp(a) is not included in standard cholesterol tests. A specific blood test is required.

Medicare doesn’t cover these blood tests, so if your doctor orders one you’ll have to pay out of pocket – around A$25 to $80 – plus any costs associated with the consultation.

International guidelines now recommend measuring Lp(a) at least once in adulthood, particularly for people with a family history of early heart disease or unexplained cardiovascular risk.

Because levels are largely genetically determined and stable, a single measurement is often considered sufficient for most people.

What should you focus on?

Learning you have high Lp(a) can feel frustrating, especially given the limited options to lower it directly.

But it’s important to see Lp(a) as one part of your overall cardiovascular risk.

There are still many factors you can influence to lower your overall risk, and particularly your LDL cholesterol. These include:

• LDL (bad) cholesterol
• blood pressure
• smoking
• physical activity
• diet quality
• managing conditions such as diabetes

For people with elevated Lp(a), managing these factors may be even more important.

What happens next?

Research into Lp(a) is moving quickly. If current clinical trials show targeted therapies reduce cardiovascular events, testing and treatment may become more common.

For now, awareness is an important first step.

If you are concerned about your cardiovascular risk, it may be worth discussing Lp(a) testing with your doctor, especially if you have a strong family history of heart disease.

At the same time, the broader message to maximise heart health through healthy behaviours remains unchanged. Even as new risk factors emerge, the foundations of good heart health are still the things we can control.

Lauren Ball receives funding from the National Health and Medical Research Council, Health and Wellbeing Queensland, Heart Foundation, Gallipoli Medical Research and Mater Health, Springfield City Group. She is a director of Dietitians Australia, a director of the Darling Downs and West Moreton Primary Health Network and an associate member of the Australian Academy of Health and Medical Sciences.

Kirsten Adlard works for the National Heart Foundation of Australia and is an Honorary Research Fellow at The University of Queensland. She also has a membership and holds accreditation as an exercise physiologist through Exercise and Sports Science Australia.

Amid major reforms to the National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS), unveiled last week, NDIS minister Mark Butler announced the government’s plans to commission supported independent living services for people with disability, “rather than relying on a market that isn’t working”.

Supported independent living is NDIS funding for support workers who can assist people with disability who need some level of help at home all the time.

This announcement indicates a shift away from a market-based model – in which NDIS participants choose who provide services to them, and what kinds – to a more regulated, government-vetted system.

For people with the most significant and permanent disabilities, these changes – together with cuts to social and community participation funding – may be significant. Here’s how it might work.

What is supported independent living?

Supported independent living pays for support workers to help with day-to-day activities such as showering, preparing meals and doing laundry.

Supported independent living payments are often used to fund support provided in group homes. This is where a number of NDIS participants live together and one worker provides shared support to them. Some group homes may also receive another kind of NDIS payment, called specialist disability accommodation funding, which pays for purpose-built accessible housing for people with very high needs.

More than 17,000 people with disability live in group homes in Australia. Around 30% have intellectual disability. Residents frequently have high and complex support needs, and very few other people in their lives beyond support workers.

How did we get here?

Group homes are largely a result of the de-institutionalisation movement in the late 20th century, and grandfathering of supported accommodation from state disability services to the NDIS. People with disability often didn’t have a choice of where they moved to or who they lived with.

New kinds of specialist disability accommodation, such as apartment living or independent units, have been developed in recent years through the NDIS. But data shows many people are still sharing with co-residents they don’t choose, in group living they haven’t chosen.

Stories of abuse, violence and neglect in group homes, shared by residents, are harrowing.

The Disability Royal Commission recommended group homes should be phased out by 2038. But federal, state and territory governments have not yet commenced working together on this recommendation.

A 2023 inquiry also identified many issues in how supported accommodation – meaning the combination of funding for support workers and purpose-built accommodation – currently works in the NDIS.

The inquiry found a greater need for choice and control for people living in group homes (for example, about where they live), better education of the workforce, and more regulation of these living arrangements.

So, how might commissioning providers work?

We still don’t have a lot of detail. But the goal will be to create greater oversight and control over who provides services, and curb safety issues such as neglect and abuse while improving quality.

It could mean the government will purchase more low-cost accommodation where several people share a support worker. And we can expect a more restricted list of registered providers, meaning the companies the government allows to employ the support workers.

Commissioning could also mean the government introduces new rules, such as caps on the number of people with disability who live in one place. Such restrictions are currently in place for specialist disability accommodation, but not supported independent living.

In practice, this might look similar to the current makeup of group homes – mostly small-scale group living – but there will be more regulation. There is also a question about whether commissioning will improve residents’s choice about where they live, or who they live with – a basic right.

The government has also begun trials in ten rural, remote and First Nations communities where they have identified service demand for people with disability far outstrips what is available, including supported accommodation. In these cases, commissioning services will focus on understanding what specific barriers there are to accessing support, considering cultural needs and what local services are available.

Living independently is about more than accommodation

Amid last week’s reforms, the government also announced it will reduce NDIS payments to individuals for social and community participation – from around A$31,000 to $26,000 a year.

These payments fund a person’s needs to travel outside their home, so they are an important part of what it means to live independently. They may cover the cost of attending appointments, shopping or paying bills, taking part in social activities and developing life skills.

The government has instead unveiled a new $200 million Inclusive Communities Fund. This will fund community groups to “host genuine participation activities” for those with disability.

This is part of the government’s broader push to provide foundational and mainstream supports – such as community or school programs, activities, skills-building and information – for people outside of the NDIS.

In some cases, it could mean better inclusion of people with disability in the broader community, such as through local sporting clubs.

But if the NDIS funding that allows people to take part in their community and build independence is cut before these other supports are properly established, there is a risk of further isolation. This could particularly affect people with disability in group homes with the highest needs who rely on this kind of funding to leave home.

And there continue to be concerns about the potential role of algorithms in determining who will receive NDIS funding and who doesn’t.

People with disability want – and have a right – to live a life connected to people and community. This right must remain at the heart of plans to reform how and where they live.

Libby Callaway sits on the NDIS Evidence Advisory Committee Assistive Technology and Capital subcommittee established by the Commonwealth Government Department of Health, Disability and Ageing. She receives funding from the National Health and Medical Research Council (NHMRC), Australian Research Council (ARC), and icare NSW.

Jack Francis Kelly has previously undertaken research funded by the National Disability Insurance Agency in roles with UTS and the Council for Intellectual Disability (CID). Jack is an NDIS participant.

Phillippa Carnemolla receives funding from the Australian Research Council. She is affiliated with Melbourne Disability Institute via the Centre for Universal Design Australia.

Sally Robinson receives funding from the Australian Research Council and Federal and State Governments for research. She is affiliated with the National Disability Research Partnership.