One thing I knew: This was a direct result of my decision to talk about climate change on television. As Chief Meteorologist at KCCI-TV in Des Moines, I saw it as my responsibility to our audience to connect the dots between climate change and extreme weather events in the region. I had moved to the Midwest from Boston just for the opportunity to do that.
At first I was full of hope. Iowa is a state, after all, where livelihoods are at the mercy of Mother Nature. Agriculture-related industries accounted for nearly 11 percent of the state’s total economy in 2021. And in 2022, 64 percent of its electrical grid was powered by wind; turbines are a source of income for farmers.
I knew it was going to be an uphill battle, but this was different. The email was part of an obsessive diatribe; he wrote several a week, at one point he said that he talked about me with his friends. He said others shared his views of him leaving me wondering how many felt the same way he did.
Science like FAUCI, stupid [expletive]go east and drown from the melting ice cap [expletive], he wrote. E: go back to where you came from.
The police responded politely and professionally. Even my managers took the threat seriously, putting my wife and I in a hotel. We were minutes away from where we lived but hid for our own safety. We bought security cameras for our home, but the stress just kept building.
Journalists are expected to grow tough, but with each new email it has become harder to recover. Something had to change, but one thing was certain: I would not be deterred from tackling an issue I saw as a global existential crisis.
I’ll tell you a secret: Most meteorologists like wild weather. It is our primary duty, of course, to keep the public informed and safe during extreme events such as tornadoes and hurricanes. But many of us retain a childhood awe of the fantastic power of nature and have been drawn to the profession by it.
For me, it happened in 1991, the summer before second grade, when Hurricane Bob tore through southern New England and eastern Long Island, New York. My home, in Long Island’s Twin Forks, was hit by a howling wind-driven rain. I was mesmerized by the swaying trees and the patter of rain on the windows. The trees had fallen. Sailboats have washed up on the beach. The power was out for days. And, at age 7, I was hooked.
It was two decades before another hurricane hit the northeastern part of the country in this way. But between 2011 and 2012, while I was broadcasting the weather in Albany, three powerful storms slammed into the region. Hurricane Irene and Tropical Storm Lee flooded upstate New York with torrential rains, and Sandy inundated parts of New York City with its historic storm surge.
By then, more meteorologists were talking about climate change during their weather forecasts. An organization called Climate Matters was formed to provide climate content to broadcast meteorologists so they could share it with their audience. I knew the weather in the Northeast is extreme, so after digging through the data, I started talking about climate change on the air as well.
In 2017, my station at the time, NBC10 Boston, sent me to Houston to cover Hurricane Harvey, a trip that would change how I viewed the role of meteorologists.
After flying to Dallas, the photographer I was traveling with suggested that I drive overnight to get to Houston. Well, close to Houston. The alluvial rains have caused streams and rivers to swell and overflow their banks. We drove as far south as possible and arrived in Spring, Texas.
Our headlights illuminated a shiny object on the road. As we got closer, we discovered that it was a pickup truck that had been swept away. The driver was sitting on the roof of the truck, yelling for help. Eventually, a deputy sheriff’s boat came to assist him. The boat continued to rescue the storm victims, unloading a cargo of survivors, turning back, and returning later with even more people.
Parts of the Houston metro area received more than 50 inches of rain while we were there. Floodwaters have submerged the tops of road signs in dirty, murky water; in some parts they reached the eaves of houses.
It wasn’t hard to connect climate change to what we were seeing: As the atmosphere warms, it holds more moisture; this increased moisture content manifests itself in the form of torrential rains. We were witnessing the devastating results.
I returned to Boston with a mission: To bring about change, connecting the dots during weather forecasting wasn’t going to be enough, I had to change the way we approached it. I helped launch a weekly NBC10 Boston news show, Adaptation to climate change. There were hundreds of stories worth telling, all relevant to life in New England. Stories of problems, solutions, mitigation and adaptation. Stories of loss, resilience, and ultimately hope for the future.
Becoming a chief meteorologist is a remarkable career achievement in my field, so when I was asked for a job in Iowa because, I was told, of my climate report, Cathy and I took a leap of faith and moved , despite having no personal ties in the area. I wanted to make a difference. In Boston, covering climate change was like preaching to the choir. In Des Moines, I would fill a void in a place where it wasn’t discussed on a regular basis.
Meteorologists, like newsroom scientists, are well placed to talk about climate change. Viewers welcome us into their homes every night and, over time, trust us. But it remains a divisive issue.
Researchers from Yale and George Mason universities have been tracking public perceptions of climate change since 2008. They divide Americans into six categories ranging from alarmed to dismissive. On a positive note, the number of alarmed Americans has increased from 12% a decade ago to 26% today. Unfortunately, this group does not write to news outlets, applauding our coverage.
Rather, it’s the 11 percent who are dismissive that appear to be the loudest, based on viewer emails I’ve seen. On one level, this makes sense: If you eat at your favorite restaurant and enjoyed your meal and the service, how often do you write about your appreciation and accolades? It’s the unhappy customers who complain to the manager.
The email threat I received was followed by more nasty emails, and I felt the optimism I had arrived erode. It seemed that now, more than ever, some believed it was OK to berate and antagonize others if they didn’t share the same views. I’m far from alone: More than 40 percent of journalists surveyed by Pew Research Center in 2022 reported being threatened or harassed by someone outside the workplace in the previous year.
After a cyber investigation by the West Des Moines Police Department, police tracked down the man responsible for the emails. He was issued a subpoena and pleaded guilty to harassment.
However, my wife and I were shocked. Meanwhile, my parents and in-laws were dealing with health problems and the stress was causing me health problems as well. As this meteorologist can confirm, when it rains, it pours.
I found a great therapist who diagnosed me with PTSD. As I weighed my future in broadcasting and Iowa, my therapist helped me hone in on the things that were most important to me. I understood that I wanted to continue doing my part to solve the climate crisis and I wanted to do it full-time, in a hands-on role.
Soon enough, we knew what we had to do.
When I announced my resignation from KCCI-TV a few weeks ago, I was overwhelmed with the outpouring of support. I have received hundreds of emails and messages. Messages from Iowan wanting to know how climate change was affecting the weather. I had wondered if people liked the information I was sharing, if my work had an impact, and I had my answer.
It’s not easy to say goodbye to a profession to which you’ve dedicated 18 years of your life and which has taken you to five states and seven TV stations. As a broadcast journalist, you make countless professional contacts, but it’s the ones you make with the public, people you may never meet, that motivate you. It’s a difficult relationship to replace.
But, as they say, when one door closes, another opens. Our journey brought us back to Massachusetts where, as of this month, I am a senior scientist in climate and risk communications at Woods Hole Group in Bourne. It’s a role I’m proud of, a natural progression for the boy who sat by the window, fascinated by the storm outside. I will help communities mitigate and adapt to the impacts of climate change, allowing me to use my background in communications as well as science. I will work to develop climate literacy, help first responders integrate climate change into their operational emergency plans, and help ensure environmental justice is part of conversations about building resilient communities.
There are many pressing climate-related issues in New England that we should be paying attention to. Sea level rise, rapid fluctuations between flooding and extreme drought, and warmer ocean waters that can support stronger hurricanes are things we need to prepare for.
While thoughts about the impacts of climate change and the sometimes toxic discussions about it may seem paralyzing, we shouldn’t lose hope. As I’ve learned from the positive messages I’ve received, one person can make a difference.
With change also comes opportunity when it comes to climate change. Faced with environmental challenges, we can embrace green jobs, true energy independence and new ways of living with the sea, just to name a few examples.
We are resilient and adaptable, and hopefully tough times can bring out the best in each of us.
Chris Gloninger is a Senior Scientist in Climate and Risk Communications at the Woods Hole Group. He can be found on Twitter @ChrisGloninger. Send comments to globe@magazine.com.
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