Until recently, the idea of solar radiation modification was a speculative niche of climate science. That has changed fast. Private firms are exploring solar geoengineering as a commercial opportunity: Last year, a US-Israeli startup called Stardust Solutions raised $60 million, and in May it released details of a suite of new inventions it claims would give humans the ability to dial down the global temperature as desired. In August, Elon Musk, whose company SpaceX might be a candidate for delivering geoengineering interventions, threw his voice behind solar geoengineering, writing on X: “Space satellites to control temperature and massive geo-engineering will be needed or it will be game over.”
It was against this backdrop that Danielle Young, an assistant professor in international relations at Leeds University, arranged the war game. Its setting was a hastily convened UN committee charged with coordinating the international response to developments in solar geoengineering. The game unfolded over simulated meetings set at three points in time: the present, September 2027, and September 2028. Each step ratcheted up the stakes, with the game creators introducing new advances in sunlight-reflecting technology. As in real life, no one knew all the facts, and players had to respond to events that were bringing the world closer to a full-scale attempt at deploying solar geoengineering tech, even when they may not have a full picture of what had truly occurred—or what any of the others were up to.
A player representing an NGO called the Climate Futures Cooperative approached Golja, offering her money to fund such a scheme.
“Great. Fabulous. Why wouldn’t I do that?” she recalls thinking.
But it soon came out that the Climate Futures Cooperative was actually backed by the fossil fuel industry. The organizers had recognized that fossil fuel companies and major producing countries like the US and Saudi Arabia would have a clear interest in removing barriers from the development of a technology that could combat climate change without having to immediately stop burning coal, oil, and gas. The shadowy NGO spent the game subtly wrecking the vibe and carping about process—though mostly they just sat back and let it burn. Some players—Russia, the US, SpaceX and Stardust—figured out the CFC was not what it seemed, says Young. “But they assessed it was to their benefit and didn’t draw attention to it.” Then the CFC chose its moment to offer money to Golja, only to crater her credibility, isolating and fragmenting the voice of science in the room.
In the months since the simulation ended, Golja has reevaluated many things. On a corkboard behind her desk, she has pinned up a note to herself, laying out a vision for life in a world ruled by narrow geopolitical self-interest rather than science, evidence, and reason. Her answer: She plans to return to the small coastal town where she grew up in Connecticut and use her expertise to help local climate groups build the seawalls and coastal erosion buffers they will need to cope with the inevitable. “To try and make a difference where it feels like I actually have traction,” she says. After what she saw, pursuing science in the hope of informing global decisions no longer held as much appeal. “Now it feels a little bit more personal.”
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