Health disparities across racial and ethnic groups persist in Canada. But how the country can effectively address them hinges upon how it can better study these differences.

In a recent paper I co-authored, we examine how researchers study racial and ethnic inequalities in health. We identify four persistent problems: unclear categories of race and ethnicity, a white-centred lens, heavy reliance on majority-defined health outcomes and limited explanation of why these disparities arise.

We discuss these issues drawing heavily on evidence from the United States. This reflects the state of the field: Much of the research and many of the frameworks used to study racial and ethnic health inequality come from the U.S. and have been widely applied in Canadian research.

Canada and the U.S. share a history of colonialism, structural racism and white dominance that continues to shape persistent health inequalities across racial and ethnic groups.

But Canada is also different in several important ways. It has a larger immigrant population shaped by selective immigration policies, wider variation in social and economic conditions across regions and communities and a higher proportion of Indigenous Peoples. Data are often more limited, and policies such as universal health care shape how inequality is experienced and addressed.

To better understand and address health inequalities in Canada, Canadians must rethink how race and ethnicity are studied and ground approaches in the Canadian context.

Canada is not the U.S.

Canada’s social policies are distinct from American policies. To begin with, the racial and ethnic makeup of the populations differ. Canada, for example, has a smaller Black population and a larger Asian population than the U.S.. These differences reflect broader historical and institutional contexts that shape how racial and ethnic inequalities are structured in each country.

At the same time, Indigenous Peoples are more central to health inequality in Canada. This is because Canada has a relatively high percentage of Indigenous Peoples compared to the U.S. and many other more economically developed nations. The health of Indigenous Peoples is shaped by a long history of colonialism and ongoing structural disadvantage.

Immigrant population also differs. About one-quarter of Canada’s population is foreign-born, compared to about one in seven in the U.S. Canada’s selective immigration system means many immigrants arrive with relatively high levels of education and good health. This contributes to patterns like “the healthy immigrant effect.”

Research has shown that Canada exhibits the healthy immigrant effect, in which newly arrived immigrants tend to have better health than the Canadian-born population, though this advantage often declines over time with longer residence. Inequality does not line up neatly with race.

Policy matters too. Canada promotes multiculturalism, while the U.S. emphasizes assimilation into a single national culture. Canada has universal health care, which reduces financial barriers to basic care.

But this coverage is partial. Services such as prescription drugs, dental care and mental-health support are not fully covered and often depend on employment benefits or where people live. Since health care is organized at the provincial level, access and quality also vary across regions. These gaps shape who gets timely care and who falls through the cracks.

The problem with ‘visible minority’

The term “visible minority” is prevalent in research on racial and ethnic health disparities in Canada. But it often does more harm than good.

At its core, it lumps all non-white, non-Indigenous people into one group. That means populations with vastly different histories, migration paths and socioeconomic status are treated homogeneously. The ability to see meaningful differences in health across groups like Chinese, South Asian and Black communities is diminished.

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Read more: The diversity within Black Canada should be recognized and amplified

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It also mixes up race and immigration. Many studies don’t separate immigrants from Canadian-born racialized populations. This matters because of the healthy immigrant effect. If newer immigrants are healthier on average, combining them with long-settled groups can make inequalities look smaller than they really are.

The term itself is also ambiguous. People do not always understand or interpret it in the same way, and it’s often taken literally to include anyone visibly different, such as those with disabilities or who are transgender, which complicates its use in health research.

In many ways, the problem stems from data. Canada has limited, inconsistent race-based data. Racial categories are not standardized, and detailed race-based data are often hard to access. Due to limited data availability, researchers could only rely on broad racial terms. This aggravates the problem: instead of revealing inequality, it hides it.

We measure health too narrowly

Another issue is how health is defined in the first place. Most studies rely on standard measures such as life expectancy, chronic illness or mortality. These measures are important, but they only tell part of the story. They reflect a narrow, biomedical view, often omitting how diverse racial and ethnic groups actually experience health and well-being.

Considering Indigenous communities as an example, health is not solely about the absence of disease. It includes connections to land, culture, community and spirituality, alongside physical and mental well-being. Defining health narrowly can marginalize groups by neglecting how different groups understand and experience health.

A narrow focus also makes inequality harder to see. Different groups face distinct health risks and barriers. When we rely on only a few measures, important health problems and inequalities can be overlooked.

A Canadian approach

Studying racial and ethnic health inequality in Canada requires a distinctly Canadian approach. The population, data and policy context differ from those in the U.S., and these differences shape both how inequalities emerge and how they should be studied.

This means moving beyond broad categories, improving race-based data, and using more meaningful and diverse measures of health. It also requires closer attention to context, including Indigenous and rural settings, as well as Canada’s social, immigration and health policy landscape.

To effectively address health disparities, research needs to be grounded in Canada’s realities, not simply adapted from models developed elsewhere.

Chloe Sher previously received funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC).

Generative AI has become a part of everyday student life in Canada. While institutions focus on misconduct and detection, a deeper shift is happening, one that concerns identity.

A recent KPMG Canada report finds that 73 per cent of students use generative AI for schoolwork, and nearly half say it is their “first instinct.” Also significant is the finding that many students also report feeling uneasy, worried that their use may be seen as cheating.

The study is based on a survey of 684 university, college, vocational and high school students within a larger sample of 3,804 Canadians (aged 18+), on how people are adopting generative AI.

In my doctoral research on STEM education in Ontario colleges, I’m exploring how AI is transforming not only how students write but also how they perceive voice, legitimacy and what it means to be themselves.

Academic policies can define what constitutes cheating, but they do not address a more subtle concern: if AI helped write my assignment, will I still be seen as capable, and will my work represent me?

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Read more: What are the key purposes of human writing? How we name AI-generated text confuses things

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Identity takes shape through writing

Writing is more than a technical skill. It is one of the primary ways students structure and elaborate ideas, demonstrate competence and position themselves as emerging professionals.

This is particularly significant in STEM, where programs are often closely linked to specific career paths. Students are expected to begin positioning themselves as future professionals through how they communicate and present knowledge.

At the same time, STEM fields are often seen as primarily technical or data-driven, with writing treated as secondary. Yet research shows that communication is central to scientific practice, shaping how knowledge is constructed, interpreted and shared.

AI is part of envisioning career paths

Even beyond this, when science students write assignments, they also undertake what social and cultural theorists describe as “identity work.”

Through writing, students build narratives that let them explore how they might belong in particular worlds or professional fields. In my research, I examine how STEM programs operate as cultural worlds with implicit rules about what counts as smart, credible and legitimate participation.

Students interpret rules and adjust how they portray themselves in their work. This identity work is shaped by prior experiences, confidence with disciplinary language and alignment between personal interests and the STEM career paths they see as being available to them. AI is now part of that process.

‘Kinda generic’

In my research, I have observed college STEM classes, taken field notes and spoken with a cohort of students multiple times over a two year period about their work.

I often hear a version of the same concern: the AI-generated draft is technically strong, but “it does not sound like me.” This concern reflects the insight that “voice” or “sound” in writing is a signal of legitimacy.

In my collaborative work on cultivating student agency, I use the idea of “becoming alive within science education” to describe moments when students can bring more of themselves — their perspectives, ways of thinking and experiences — into how they learn and express ideas.

Yet institutions often favour more standardized forms of writing. AI can intensify this by making a fluent, generic style instantly available. For some students, this lowers barriers and supports access. For others, it feels like self-erasure.

One student put it this way:

“It’s better writing, yeah, it sounds good and helps get a better grade. But it’s kinda generic. Like anyone could’ve written it, not just me.”

This recurring pattern in the data points to a broader tension: phrasing, structure and tone in writing carry traces of identity, traces AI can smooth or erase.

How we think about ourselves

Many of us have likely noticed that AI tools can improve the quality and efficiency of writing and may also lead to more uniform outputs, reducing variation in how ideas are expressed. These concerns are echoed in education guidance.

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Read more: Slanguage: Why AI’s stylistic negation — ‘it’s not X, it’s Y’ — is both annoying and doesn’t work

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UNESCO warns that AI systems can shape how knowledge is produced and expressed, raising questions about human agency and originality. Canadian policy discussions similarly highlight both the opportunities and risks of AI for student learning and authorship.

Taken together, these insights suggest how beyond only assisting human writing, AI shapes how voice is expressed and how we think about ourselves.

Policy catching up

Canadian post-secondary institutions are still determining their approach to AI.

Many policies aim to balance flexibility with oversight, allowing limited AI use while emphasizing disclosure and addressing risks such as fabricated citations, bias and privacy issues.

Yet institutions also acknowledge challenges in enforcement.

As policies evolve, uncertainty remains. Students must navigate what is permitted, what constitutes their work and whether it truly reflects who they are.

STEM and belonging

In Canada, participation in STEM fields remains uneven across gender and other social dimensions such as race, Indigenous identity, socioeconomic status and immigrant background.

Many students already question whether they belong, making recognition deeply consequential.

If AI-generated writing becomes the implicit standard for “good work,” students may begin to locate competence in the tool rather than in themselves.

Students who rely on AI may question the authenticity of their success, while those who avoid it may feel at a disadvantage.

What can educators do?

Rethinking learning design is important. Students should not have to guess what is acceptable. Assessments should focus on process that makes students’ thinking visible, not just product.

Significantly, writing in one’s own voice must be treated as a skill worth developing.

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Read more: ChatGPT is in classrooms. How should educators now assess student learning?

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In practice, this can be as simple as asking students to explain how they used AI in an assignment, or compare an AI-generated paragraph with their own and discuss what changed in tone, clarity and reasoning.

Instructors might also ask students to revise AI-polished text so it reflects their own thinking, or to identify where their interpretation and uncertainty matter. These and other small shifts help foreground not only what students produce but also how they think and position themselves in their work.

AI is here to stay. The question is whether STEM classrooms will help students use these tools without losing their voice, their agency and their sense of belonging.

Nurul Hassan Mohammad 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.

Imagine two identical spoons. One is hand-wrought from silver by a skilled metalworker. The other, a base-metal facsimile, was mass-produced by a machine. Which would you value more? Most of us would say the handmade spoon.

In 1899, more than a century ago, American economist and sociologist Thorstein Veblen used this very example to explain how we assign value, or his theory of conspicuous consumption, in which he contended that bourgeois consumption was driven primarily by a desire to display wealth to others. Even if these spoons were indistinguishable, explained Veblen, the hand-made spoon, once identified, would be more highly valued.

This is in part because “the hand-wrought spoon gratifies our taste, our sense of the beautiful, while that made by machinery out of base metal has no useful office beyond a brute efficiency.” But for Veblen there is another factor more important than any aesthetic judgment: costliness.

The hand-wrought spoon is preferred above all, Veblen suggested, because it is a means of demonstrating wealth. However, as we enter a world in which almost anything, including art, writing and music, can be machine-wrought, it seems that Veblen may have misjudged his spoons.

We don’t value human creations solely for their beauty or their price tag. We also value them because they embody deliberate labour and expertise.

AI-generated writing is judged differently

Our own research has shown that even highly trained writing educators cannot reliably distinguish between AI-generated and human-written essays. In fact, one study has shown that general audiences may actually prefer blander AI-generated poetry over more difficult, human-written poetry.

But while public taste may favour the simple and formulaic, the disclosure of artificial authorship is enough to make most people recoil.

In a recent study involving a series of experiments, participants were asked to compare pieces of AI-generated creative writing, including poetry and fiction. In each case, they were told that some passages were human-written and some were AI-generated. Across 16 experiments, respondents consistently devalued the writing labelled as AI-generated.

The authors of the study call this the “AI disclosure penalty.” It is possible to conclude from the study that audiences unfairly judge AI-generated content, but we disagree. This bias towards human creation is inherent to our relationship with art. When people believe something was made by a machine, they like it less.

Some argue that AI can democratize creativity by lowering barriers to production and enabling more people to participate in cultural expression. But the evidence suggests that when authorship becomes effortless, perceived value declines.

The importance of effort and experience

Art costs something. Both John Milton and James Joyce believed that their writing had cost them their eyesight. John Keats believed that the emotional exertion of writing poetry would worsen his tuberculosis and cost him his life. They kept writing anyway. We resent the machine because its creations cost it nothing.

When an algorithm generates a story about heartbreak or an essay on human struggle, it is trading in stolen emotions. AI has never felt pain, suffered a loss or wrestled with the frustration of a blank page, so its output, no matter how technically smooth, feels fundamentally deceptive.

People hate the idea of being moved by a parlour trick. In addition, many of us have a deep, instinctive revulsion to the industrialization of our inner lives. As Joanna Maciejewska observed, “I want AI to do my laundry and dishes so that I can do art and writing, not for AI to do my art and writing so that I can do my laundry and dishes.”

We happily accept machines stamping out our car parts and toasters because efficiency is the goal, but applying that same cold logic to human expression strips away the vulnerability, risk and stakes that make art mean anything in the first place.

This becomes more consequential as AI-generated content floods the digital media landscape.

Why human work is becoming more valuable

Our media ecosystem has evolved so that paying directly for much of the content we consume is optional. In an era of streaming music, television and film, we rarely own the product we consume, and creators receive pennies on the dollar compared to previous economic models.

To make matters worse, media companies are increasingly pushing AI-generated content in the form of tens of thousands of social media posts, books, podcasts and videos every day and encouraging artists and content creators to supercharge the quantity of their output by relying on AI.

Much of this output is highly formulaic — produced at scale and designed for rapid, low-engagement consumption. It is an endless, flavourless paste of clichés and nonsense, meant to be mindlessly consumed by doomscrolling thumbs and immediately forgotten. Despite working in an era in which payment is optional amid a deluge of slop, many artists, journalists and writers are making a living because enough of their audience chooses to support the work of real human creators.

The “AI disclosure penalty” reminds us that the consumption of art is not tied to purely aesthetic considerations but involves a need to connect with and appreciate the effort and labour of others.

Consumers have long been willing to pay more for goods labelled “handmade,” “handcrafted,” “artisanal” or “bespoke” on the understanding that those goods were made using traditional techniques that took more effort and human skill.

As generative AI turns writing, art and digital media into frictionless, infinitely replicable outputs, human cognitive effort is undergoing a profound shift. It is becoming an artisanal good that consumers must choose to support and value.

The Industrial Revolution transformed hand-made furniture and hand-woven textiles into premium markers of craftsmanship and authenticity. The AI revolution is doing something similar for intellectual and creative labour — audiences are beginning to place a premium not necessarily on the competent execution of a poem or an essay, which a machine can generate in seconds, but on the invisible friction, the lived experience and the deliberate toil of the human mind behind it.

In a landscape increasingly saturated with instant content, the verified effort of a human creator is shifting from a baseline expectation to a highly coveted, bespoke quality. Ultimately, what we value about art is not whether it’s perfect, but its ability to connect us with another human being.

Nathan Murray has received funding for his research from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRC).

Elisa Tersigni has received funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRC).

Austin Bowden-Kerby, a pioneer in coral reef conservation, spends many of his days gardening corals for reefs around Fiji and the Pacific. He grows corals in ocean nurseries. Once they’re healthy enough, he moves them to outer ocean areas with the hope they will replicate and grow.

“We’re looking at what Mother Nature would do on her own if she had 1,000 years to adapt,” said Bowden-Kerby, who founded the UNESCO-endorsed Reefs of Hope strategy. “We would have these kinds of things happening.”

Bowden-Kerby is one of several scientists trying to conserve, replicate and reproduce heat-resistant corals before climate change wipes them out.

The United States National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration has said the world is experiencing a fourth global coral bleaching event. They’ve found that bleaching-level heat stress affected almost 85 per cent of the world’s coral reef area between 2023 and 2025.

Bleaching causes corals to lose their food source and, with it, their colour. Most corals survive in temperatures between 20 and 29 C. But as ocean temperatures rise, it’s difficult for many to thrive.

But naturally occurring, heat-resistant corals can survive in waters up to 36 C and potentially higher. They are usually found in warmer waters, like parts of the Pacific Ocean and the Persian Gulf. These corals are increasingly important as sea temperatures rise. So scientists are turning to them to help save declining reefs.

Heat-resistant corals

Corals reefs are extremely diverse places, with around 6,000 coral species worldwide. Reefs are home to more than 4,000 species and 25 per cent of global marine life. When healthy, corals nurture fish that feed communities, protect shores from floods and storms and boost economies through tourism.

However, heatwaves have led to widespread coral bleaching and loss. When waters become too warm, corals expel the algae in their tissues that give them their colour. That causes corals to turn completely white.

Coral reefs and their ecosystems are also threatened by pollution, ocean acidification, coastal development and overfishing.

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Read more: Will 2026 be the year when coral reefs pass their tipping point?

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Christopher Cornwall, a lecturer in marine biology at Te Herenga Waka-Victoria University of Wellington in New Zealand, co-authored a recent review that found some reefs can survive if corals become more heat-tolerant.

He told me there are multiple things to consider when conserving and replicating corals: restoring heat-resistant corals where it’s feasible, doing so at a large enough scale and maintaining coral diversity. Restored corals also must be able to survive, he added.

“We can’t just do coral restoration without thermally tolerant corals, because they’re just going to die the next time it gets too hot,” Cornwall said.

Assisted evolution

“A lot of the research now is about, can you scale up restoration and how do you do it more effectively?” said Peter Mumby, a professor of coral reef ecology at the University of Queensland in Australia. “One of the key concerns is to make sure those corals are as tolerant of high temperature as possible.”

Breeding heat-tolerant corals is a form of assisted evolution. Humans intervene to speed up natural processes to help corals more quickly respond to and recover from their stressors, like heatwaves from climate change.

One recent study examining the possible success of assisted evolution interventions like breeding and selecting traits found these interventions can help corals become more tolerant to heatwaves, but they need “extremely strong selection.”

Liam Lachs co-authored that study. Lachs is a former postdoctoral research associate in the CORALASSIST lab, a team of scientists led by James Guest at Newcastle University in the United Kingdom. Lachs specializes in coral reef ecosystems and researches coral in Palau, a Pacific island country where corals are surviving in warmer waters.

He told me variability within and among reefs and coral species must be considered when creating more heat-resistant coral, which makes replication complex. “Even within a single reef, there’s a range of tolerance levels,” he said.

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Read more: How accelerating evolution could help corals survive future heatwaves – new study

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Algae and bacteria

Researchers at the Australian Institute of Marine Science (AIMS) have found that some algae (Durusdinium), which symbiotically live in corals and provide them with food in exchange for housing and protection, can boost corals’ heat tolerance.

Madeleine van Oppen is a senior principal research scientist at AIMS. She co-authored a recent review about potentially introducing beneficial bacteria into corals to improve their heat tolerance.

Scientists are also exploring whether heat-tolerant corals should be planted across oceans — from the Indo-Pacific region to the Caribbean — and not just in nearby waters.

Van Oppen said new ventures ultimately need more research, and the real test of success is if something done in a lab works in the wild. “Field testing, I’d say, is the next big thing,” she said. “Finding out whether these interventions can enhance tolerance at ecologically relevant scales. Is it stable over time?”

AIMS researchers also found that heat tolerance could be passed down by interbreeding wild colonies of the same coral species. Heat-resistant coral species include some pocillopora and acropora.

If left unchecked, the sustained global temperature is on target to rise more than 1.5 C. Some evidence has shown that 70 to 90 per cent of tropical coral reefs could go extinct even if global warming is limited to 1.5 C.

Prior to the fourth event, the Earth already experienced three mass coral bleaching events over the last few decades. An El Niño is expected this year, bringing with it hotter sea surface temperatures, much like in 2024.

For all the efforts by scientists to save coral reefs and ensure heat resilience, nothing will keep corals healthy more than lowering the global temperature. “The lower we can get our greenhouse gas emissions, the more chance there will be that reefs will exist in the future,” said Cornwall.

Whitney Isenhower has an account with Democrats Abroad but is not an active member.

The story of wildlife conservation in East Africa is often told through spectacular images of beautiful scenery and the region’s charismatic animals. But seldom asked is the question about how those efforts include and impact the communities that live alongside wildlife.

At the core of Africa’s rich biodiversity are Indigenous communities, which include pastoralists and forest peoples whose ways of life and knowledge are critical to conservation.

However, these communities have historically been blamed for biodiversity loss. Pastoralists such as the Maasai are often blamed for keeping “excessive” amounts of livestock, overgrazing and land degradation.

Such tropes against African Indigenous communities linger and continue to shape conservation, which has led to strict and often punitive regulations.

My ongoing research in the Maasai Mara region of southern Kenya looks into wildlife conservancies. The region is home to the Maasai, as well as other Indigenous Peoples, and rich biodiversity. My research examines how conservancies impact local communities on whose land conservation is practised.

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Read more: Tanzania’s Maasai are being forced off their ancestral land – the tactics the government uses

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What are wildlife conservancies?

The decline in wildlife in Kenya led to the birth of wildlife conservancies on both community and private lands. Kenya’s 2013 Wildlife Conservation and Management Act defines a wildlife conservancy as “land set aside by an individual landowner, body corporate, group of owners or a community for purposes of wildlife conservation.”

Organizations like the Kenya Wildlife Conservation Association (KWCA) view them differently. They see conservancies as land that is not set aside, but rather managed for the well-being of wildlife and communities.

In essence, the government maintains the view of fortress conservation that entails separating humans from nature, while the KWCA imagines communities co-existing with wildlife.

At the core of wildlife conservancies is land. Land ownership largely determines the type of conservancy that is established, which are either private, community, group or co-managed conservancies.

Private conservancies

In northern Kenya, private conservancies have largely been established in the highlands that were settled by white farmers during the colonial period.
These private conservancies have been criticized as “settler ecologies” built on a “big conservation lie” because they obscure the history of violent, colonial land dispossession, the criminalization of Indigenous pastoralist livelihoods and the exploitation of land and biodiversity to profit from conservation.

Additionally, the normalization of militarized violence in conservation, appropriation and control of conservation revenues meant for communities, and restriction of access to scarce water and pasture from pastoralists even during droughts, amounts to what is known as green colonialism.

The contradiction is that it was British colonial rule in Kenya that created the need for wildlife conservation starting in the 1940s. Extensive devastation of wildlife through sport hunting, wildlife trade and culling meant animals needed greater protection from humans, primarily through state-protected national parks and reserves.

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Read more: Operation Legacy: How Britain covered up its colonial crimes

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Group conservancies

Group conservancies are mostly found in southern Kenya, where individual plots are amalgamated through long-term land leases to conservation investors who, in turn, establish wildlife conservancies.

In the Maasai Mara, local communities typically lease their land for conservancies in exchange for lease payments, regular access to pasture and investment in initiatives such as school bursaries and infrastructure development.

One such example is the Nashulai Maasai Conservancy, established in July 2016. It’s the first Maasai conservancy in the Maasai Mara created by Maasai peoples.

Wildlife conservancies in Kenya are an important way to enhance land security and conservation built around communities. Community and group conservancies are based on the idea of using the land, water and pastures in ways that support humans, livestock and wildlife.

As part of my research, I interviewed community members who told me about some benefits brought by the conservancy. These included access to post-secondary education through a community college, women empowerment projects such as soap made from elephant dung, river restoration for household water access and food aid during the COVID-19 pandemic.

Challenges faced by group conservancies

Many group conservancies employ strict access rules and hefty fines against human and livestock presence. These practices often agitate communities as they echo fortress conservation’s tactics of separating humans and wildlife.

Land lease agreements between conservancies and landowners are often crafted in complex legal language that only a few community members can comprehend. It is critical that communities are provided with a detailed explanation of what leasing land to a conservancy entails beyond the benefits promised.

In addition, community benefits are undermined through land dispossession by local elites during land subdivision, who, in turn, benefit unfairly from leasing the unjustly acquired land to conservancies.

Biodiversity conservation in East Africa and the Global South more broadly depends significantly on external funding from organizations in the West, especially non-governmental organizations, which British conservation scholar George Holmes calls “conservation’s friends in high places.”

However, Indigenous communities face onerous requirements and processes to access funding for conservation and climate change initiatives.

In a recent guest lecture at the University of Toronto, Kimaren Ole Riamit, the director of the Indigenous Livelihoods Enhancement Partners (ILEPA), explained how African Indigenous communities experience the negative impacts of climate change despite being the least responsible for global warming, lose land to conservation and carbon projects and face significant hurdles in accessing resources to address climate-related challenges.

Initiatives meant to empower communities are often captured by local elites and corporate interests that appropriate and control resources and benefits expected to flow to communities.

Carbon offsetting

Wildlife conservancies have also gained the attention of carbon offset markets, which are expanding fast in Kenya. The Northern Kenya Rangelands Carbon Project and the One Mara Carbon Project are some of the main carbon projects in the country’s northern and southern rangelands.

Kenya’s rangelands sequester atmospheric carbon dioxide, which is then measured and verified by certification bodies such as Verra, and converted into tradeable carbon credits. These are sold to organizations seeking to offset their carbon emissions.

Carbon projects enter into long-term contracts with landowners, typically around 40 years, and spell out how the landowners should utilize the land to ensure adequate carbon sequestration and storage. Landowners receive expert knowledge that employs technologies and measurements of carbon that are foreign to local communities.

On the contrary, the same communities that have long managed lands and ecosystems sustainably are treated as lacking the ecological knowledge necessary for biodiversity conservation and carbon sequestration.

The outcome is that the owners of the technologies and what is deemed “expert” knowledge become the owners of the value generated from the land owned by communities.

While such initiatives generate millions of dollars in revenue, it has been shown that less than two per cent of climate finance reaches Indigenous Peoples, smallholder farmers and local communities in developing countries.

To create genuinely sustainable ecological conservation and improved quality of life for local communities, the government must focus on empowering communities through meaningful participation in initiatives.

Organizations like ILEPA and the Nashulai Maasai Conservancy are working to empower Indigenous communities in Kenya. These kinds of community-led efforts exemplify how conservation can, and must, include the people who call East Africa’s rich biodiverse landscapes home.

Kariuki Kirigia has received funding from the Black Research Network at the University of Toronto, the Ryoichi Sasakawa Young Leaders Fellowship Fund, and SSHRC-IDRC through the Institutional Canopy of Conservation research project.

Extreme heat is not just uncomfortable weather – it is becoming a serious threat to health, jobs and food security across southern Africa, especially for those least able to cope.

Unlike floods, cyclones, wildfires or storms, extreme heat rarely leaves dramatic images of destruction. But it builds without relief, putting strain on people’s bodies, homes and health systems.

In many cases, the danger is intensified when temperatures stay high overnight, leaving little chance to recover.

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Read more: Heat with no end: climate model sets out an unbearable future for parts of Africa

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Even temperatures that seem manageable can be dangerous, depending on where people live and how well they can adapt.

We are members of a group of researchers and practitioners from across southern Africa working on climate, health and policy.

We recently conducted a regional consensus study for the Academy of Science of South Africa (ASSAf) to assess how extreme heat affects health and daily life across the region. Our aim was to determine what practical steps are needed to reduce the harm caused by extreme heat.

We worked with a team of independent experts from across disciplines to review scientific evidence, regional data and policies, and to develop a shared, evidence-based view of how extreme heat is affecting the region.

Our study was unique because it brought together evidence from across health, labour, food systems and infrastructure to show how heat affects everyday life, analysing heat not just as a weather event, but as a system-wide risk.

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Read more: Heat extremes in southern Africa might continue even if net-zero emissions are achieved

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We found that extreme heat is already a defining climate and health threat in southern Africa.

One of the biggest mistakes in public discussion is to treat heat as simply a weather event. It is much more than that. Heat immediately increases the risk of dehydration, heat exhaustion and heat stroke. Heat can also worsen existing conditions such as cardiovascular, respiratory and renal (kidney) disease.

Heat needs to be treated as a major public health and development priority across the Southern African Development Community.

Heat is a health issue – not just a weather issue

The Southern African Development Community has 16 member states, home to more than 400 million people. Yet collectively, these countries contribute less than 1.3% of global greenhouse gas emissions.

Despite this, southern Africa is already heating up fast. Average surface temperatures across the region have risen by 1.0-1.5°C since 1961. A further 4.5-5°C increase is projected by 2050 under high-emission scenarios (where fossil fuel companies continue to pollute at the same rate as they are now).

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Read more: Climate change has doubled the world’s heatwaves: how Africa is affected

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In our report, we describe extreme heat as an “integrator hazard” (a multiplier). This means it is not only one risk but makes existing problems worse all at once.

For example, extreme heat can reduce crop yields and nutrient quality, increase water stress, worsen air quality through dust and wildfire smoke, and disrupt livelihoods that depend on safe outdoor work – all at the same time. That is what makes heat so dangerous.

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Read more: South African study finds 4 low-income communities can’t cope with global warming: what needs to change

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It can also make already hot environments – especially informal settlements with limited shade, ventilation or cooling – far more dangerous. Extreme heat can place added strain on electricity systems. This increases the risk of power outages just when cooling, water supply and health services are most needed.

In many communities, heat also shortens the safe life of perishable food – including food sold informally that isn’t stored in fridges. This too increases the risk of food-borne illness. That matters in a region like southern Africa where street food and informal food economies are part of everyday life.

The burden is deeply unequal

Extreme heat does not affect everyone equally. One of our study’s central findings is that the people and communities most exposed to heat are often those with the fewest resources to adapt. This includes people living in informal settlements, those without reliable electricity or cooling, communities facing water scarcity, and workers who must work outside all day.

Across much of southern Africa, many people work outdoors or in poorly ventilated environments – from subsistence farms and construction sites to factories, markets and transport hubs. Being forced by heat to slow down, stop work, or continue working under dangerous conditions affects both health and livelihoods.

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Read more: Zambia’s farmers are working in dangerous heat – how they can protect themselves

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Heat exposure affects daily life: children may walk long distances to school or spend hours outdoors. It affects pregnancy and newborn health, causing risks such as premature birth, low birth weight and pregnancy complications.

For this reason, extreme heat is also an ethical and justice issue. The people who contribute least to climate change are often the ones most exposed to its effects – simply because of where they live, the work they do, and the resources available to them.

What governments should do now

Extreme heat is not a problem that can be solved simply by telling people to “drink more water” or “stay indoors” – especially where safe housing, water, electricity and cooling are not guaranteed. But there are practical measures that governments and institutions can take.

These include:

• improving locally appropriate early warning systems

• tracking heat-related illness and deaths to guide response and planning

• making clinics and hospitals more climate-resilient, through reliable electricity, cooling, water supply and backup systems

• protecting workers through rest breaks, shaded areas, access to water and adjusted working hours

• improving urban design and housing so that buildings and neighbourhoods stay cooler

• integrating heat into national climate and health planning.

Governments can also establish public cooling spaces – such as community centres, schools or clinics – where people can safely rest during extreme heat.

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Read more: Climate change: the effects of extreme heat on health in Africa – 4 essential reads

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There are already promising examples in the region. South Africa has begun strengthening heat-health early warning and surveillance systems. Malawi is helping farmers adapt to rising temperatures in climate-smart agricultural planning.

Namibia has supported community-level water and resource management in heat-prone areas. These examples show that progress is possible, but they need to be expanded and sustained.

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Read more: Climate information is useful at local level if people get it in good time: how African countries can build systems to share it

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Heat does not respect borders, and coordinated action within countries and across borders can better prepare countries for heat disasters. National meteorological services, health departments, local governments, labour authorities and emergency services should work together so that heat warnings lead to clear, coordinated action on the ground.

For too long, extreme heat has been treated as a secondary climate risk. That is no longer tenable. Heat now needs to move to the centre of climate policy. The question is no longer whether southern Africa can afford to act. It is whether it can afford not to.

Jerome Amir Singh has received funding from the Academy of Science of South Africa (ASSAf). ASSAf is a statutory body that is funded primarily through a parliamentary grant allocated by the South African government's Department of Science, Innovation, and Technology.

Caradee Yael Wright receives funding from the South African Medical Research Council.

If you’ve been to the supermarket recently, you know food prices are high. Politicians looking for a fix are considering government-run grocery stores.

Toronto city council recently voted to approve a public grocery store pilot, a policy made famous by New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani. Newly elected federal NDP leader Avi Lewis’s platform also included public supermarkets.

The idea of a government-run store might seem like an appealing political response and a simple solution. Some argue the government’s buying power could secure lower food prices.

But the idea is just that: simple. It assumes the problem is merely retail margins, ignoring many other factors that determine food prices, like what’s available for sale, how it gets there, where it’s grown, who grows it and all the other stages of production.

The infrastructure behind your produce

Instead of looking only to public supermarkets, governments need to employ a food-systems perspective and look for solutions in time-tested ways — ways that governments have already invested in infrastructure commons. One such example is the Ontario Food Terminal.

The terminal is situated north of Toronto’s Gardiner Expressway in the inner suburb of Etobicoke. It’s one of the largest wholesale food terminals in North America and the only such public facility in Canada.

As a wholesale market, it serves dealers, wholesalers and farmers who sell fresh fruits and vegetables to clients, including restaurants, supermarkets, food banks and other organizations.

If you enjoy fresh fruits and vegetables in the Toronto area — whether from a corner fruit stand, a grocer or a supermarket that isn’t a major chain or franchise — you likely consume food that has passed through the terminal.

This public infrastructure supports a variety of food businesses that would otherwise struggle to compete with the buying power of major supermarket chains.

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Read more: Public grocery stores won’t fix Canada’s food affordability crisis

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Public investment built the food system

It’s easy to overlook the key role the government has played in making the food terminal possible.

After the Second World War, when farmers struggled to sell their crops at prices that could support their livelihoods, the Ontario government recognized a role for itself in the food system. What followed was nearly a decade of preparatory work by a professional civil service.

This effort was funded by taxpayer dollars and involved a variety of institution-building tasks. These included drafting the Ontario Food Terminal Act, establishing a board to operate the facility, selecting an appropriate location and designing the site. Experts helped select land that could connect to both rail lines and the expanding North American highway network, which was also the result of government investments.

A civil servant named George Frank Perkin was the visionary behind this project, working under a Conservative government that strongly supported the idea. The Ontario Food Terminal Board secured funding in the form of a bond from Ontario Hydro’s pension fund to complete the project.

Today, the terminal is financially self-sufficient, covering its operating costs through rents and fees charged to the businesses that use its infrastructure. However, the public investment that established it — such as legislation, civil service and institutional design — laid the groundwork for everything that followed.

It remains a lasting example of how government can influence a food system without operating a single store.

Lower prices start long before the checkout

Our research on urban food systems shows that public infrastructure investment supports food access across Toronto and Ontario. More than 70 years later, the terminal still fulfils its original goal of connecting Ontario farmers with city buyers while also functioning as a marketplace for produce from around the world.

When we tracked fruit and vegetable prices through the terminal to small independent retailers, we found them selling for significantly less than at major chain supermarkets. Many common produce items were 20 to 40 per cent cheaper at independent green grocers than at large chains — savings that are critical, as 25.5 per cent of Canadians currently face food insecurity.

A public supermarket makes an eye-catching headline. However, if we want lasting, meaningful change in food prices and food security, we need to consider the entire system rather than a narrow focus on downstream retail.

Infrastructure like the terminal demonstrates that the supply chains and systems that deliver food to the city influence what we buy, who we buy from and the cost.

There are many more policy levers for the government beyond opening a public grocery store. We can build more wholesale markets like the terminal in other jurisdictions, as well as public cold-storage and processing hubs to enable small- and mid-scale farms and food businesses to compete in a highly consolidated food sector.

Governments can create a public market action plan, like the City of Toronto recently established, and invest in infrastructure that links producers to the communities most at risk of food insecurity.

These might not be simple solutions, but they do prioritize the public good more holistically than the idea of a government-run supermarket.

Sarah Elton receives funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council and the Meighen Family Foundation.

Aparna Raghu Menon receives doctoral funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council and the Burstow Award Foundation.