spinofflive
A construction worker wearing a hard hat and safety gear adjusts equipment at a carbon capture facility. The scene is black and white, showing structural beams on the left and a distant cityscape in the background.
A worker at a carbon capture facility in West Texas (Photo: Getty Images; additional design The Spinoff)

ScienceMarch 3, 2025

Carbon storage has risks. How will New Zealand’s new framework deal with them?

A construction worker wearing a hard hat and safety gear adjusts equipment at a carbon capture facility. The scene is black and white, showing structural beams on the left and a distant cityscape in the background.
A worker at a carbon capture facility in West Texas (Photo: Getty Images; additional design The Spinoff)

Carbon capture, utilisation and and storage has been tabled as an interim solution to rising emissions. But leakage from long-term disposal sites is a major technical risk, write David Dempsey and Andrew La Croix.

The government recently announced a framework to regulate carbon capture, utilisation and storage (CCUS) by New Zealand companies.

Energy and climate change minister Simon Watts outlined new rules that would allow emitters to capture their carbon dioxide (CO₂) emissions and inject them underground for permanent disposal. They would then avoid having to pay for those emissions under the Emissions Trading Scheme.

Globally, CCUS is currently used mostly by coal or gas-fired power stations, liquefied natural gas plants and petroleum refineries. There are 41 commercial operations around the world, and they capture about 40 million tonnes of CO₂ annually.

Our peers (Australia, the United States and the European Union) already have CCUS frameworks and storage projects. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change acknowledges CCUS’s role in curbing emissions, but highlights challenges in scaling and technology readiness.

New Zealand faces the challenge of reducing emissions from strategic industries such as steel, concrete, fossil fuels and their derivatives (methanol, ammonia). CCUS has been tabled as an interim solution, strongly supported by the fossil fuel industry. However, critics warn it could reduce incentives to phase out fossil fuels.

The government argues its CCUS framework aligns New Zealand with international standards. This claim has merit insofar as successful climate action is likely to require international collaboration and technology transfer.

CCUS in New Zealand could enable reinjection of CO₂ produced from the Kapuni gas field in Taranaki, with “utilisation” involving diverting some of the gas for use in the food and beverage or horticulture industries.

However, leakage of CO₂ from long-term disposal sites is a major technical risk and New Zealand’s framework must be clear on how it would deal with this liability.

A person holds a yellow device near a small bubbling geothermal pool on rocky terrain. The pool has a circular motion, indicating hot water activity. The landscape appears arid, with dry soil surrounding the pool.
A gas reading being taken near a spring on Lake Boehmer in 2023 (Photo: Elizabeth Conley/Houston Chronicle via Getty Images)

Lake Boehmer and how things might go wrong

Rules for CCUS projects generally require operators to monitor, report and remedy any leakage of CO₂. But because the industry is young, it is useful to take a broader look at geological leakage in the past to reveal how future challenges play out.

Lake Boehmer, in the the Permian Basin of West Texas, wasn’t always there. But 20 years ago an old irrigation well started leaking saltwater and hasn’t stopped since.

The well was drilled in 1951 by an oil and gas company. No oil was discovered so the well was handed over to the landowner for irrigation. The well produced water, but also poisonous hydrogen sulphide, enough to kill a farmhand in 1953.

In the 1990s, the well started leaking. Water from a deep aquifer had pushed its way up alongside the well through geological layers of salt. The water dissolved the salt, worsening the leak, and emerged from underground three times saltier than seawater.

The Railroad Commission, which regulates the oil and gas industry in Texas, says they are not liable to plug the well because they only have jurisdiction over oil wells. The original operator, which is claimed to have promised to plug the well “any time it becomes polluted with mineral water”, is no longer in business. No one can find the landowner.

After 20 years, Lake Boehmer has grown to 60 acres. Its shore is rimmed in salt crystals and the odd dead bird from hydrogen sulphide exposure. No one can agree who should fix it.

Could something similar happen with CCUS? Exacerbating factors in the Boehmer case include deterioration of an aged well – it’s almost 50 years since leakage started – and the absence of a backstop party as the final holder of liability. Both could happen with CCUS under the wrong circumstances.

Better ways of dealing with leakage

The Decatur CCUS project in the US state of Illinois has been injecting CO₂ produced from corn ethanol two kilometres deep into sandstone. Over about a decade, 4.5 million tonnes of CO₂ has been injected – emissions diverted from the atmosphere.

The US government imposes strict monitoring rules on CCUS projects. Special monitoring wells are drilled into the disposal aquifer to measure pressure changes and how far the CO₂ has travelled.

Unfortunately, one of these wells started to leak, possibly due to corrosion. It allowed about 8,000 tonnes of CO₂ to escape into overlying geological layers.

This is rightly concerning, but to put it into perspective, the size of the leak is 0.2% of the injected CO₂ volume and none of it has escaped to the atmosphere or shallow groundwater. The leak was detected, the US Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) intervened, issuing a notice that the leak be remediated, and the company plugged the well.

This illustrates a functioning CCUS framework. Monitoring requirements ensured the leak was discovered and the regulator was empowered to dictate remedial action.

However, critics have questioned the timeliness of the operator’s disclosure. The site remains on hold but may resume operations if the EPA is satisfied with the fix.

‘Media is under threat. Help save The Spinoff with an ongoing commitment to support our work.’
Duncan Greive
— Founder

Lessons for New Zealand

A proposal circulated last year suggests the government will model its legislation on Australia and the EU, with CCUS operators being responsible for leaks during disposal operations and for a time after site closure.

This is like the Decatur situation. It makes sense for operators to fix leaks because they have the technical expertise and are the direct financial beneficiaries of emissions disposal.

It gets trickier on generational time frames. Companies can go out of business or might leave the country. In these cases, the government is liable for long-term leakage and may seek financial security from the operator to cover future costs.

A leak arising decades after closure could be more difficult to detect and costly to fix, especially if held up by a protracted fight around liability. This is the Lake Boehmer example.

Some CCUS seems inevitable if the world is to meet climate targets. It is therefore important to prepare for the possibility of a leak by having robust practices and clear responsibility.

Although it may seem unfair to burden future generations with looking after CO₂ disposal sites, we argue it is preferable to a legacy that has those same climate-warming gases in the atmosphere.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons licence. Read the original article.

Keep going!
Illustration of two hands, one large, one small, reaching towards each other and touching fingertips, connected by a DNA strand. Background has a gradient of blue tones with DNA helix patterns.
Design: The Spinoff

ScienceMarch 3, 2025

The genetic gamble: Having children when you carry a hereditary condition

Illustration of two hands, one large, one small, reaching towards each other and touching fingertips, connected by a DNA strand. Background has a gradient of blue tones with DNA helix patterns.
Design: The Spinoff

The choice to have children can be fraught with medical, financial and ethical hurdles.

Mitchell first noticed something was wrong when his right foot suddenly started to lose feeling, becoming stubborn and unresponsive. A year later, he could barely feel the ground beneath him. A creative director now in his late 20s, Mitchell was eventually diagnosed with a rare genetic neuropathy that would change everything – including how he imagined his future family.

For many New Zealanders, genetic conditions carry more than just medical implications. They present difficult choices and complex ethical dilemmas, against the backdrop of a public health system with limitations that can leave families feeling abandoned.

Dr Kate Neas, national clinical director for Genetic Health Service New Zealand, says there are three primary forms of genetic testing available in the public system. Diagnostic testing is for individuals showing symptoms of a genetic condition, predictive testing is for those who are well but have a family history of a known genetic mutation, and carrier testing is for those who may carry a recessive gene that could be passed on to children.

For those who qualify, the process begins with a referral from a GP or specialist to Genetic Health Service New Zealand. Patients undergo genetic counselling, where they discuss family history, risks and testing options with a clinical geneticist or counsellor. This process helps families understand the implications of genetic information and make informed choices.

If testing is approved, samples are collected (often a blood test) and sent for analysis. Results can take months – sometimes longer for rarer conditions. A positive diagnosis may connect individuals to support groups, medical specialists or family planning services, but ongoing psychological support is not always guaranteed.

While some tests are publicly funded, many are not. One example is preconception carrier screening, which tests for a broad range of inherited conditions and is free to anyone planning a pregnancy in Australia. In New Zealand, however, the test is only publicly funded for certain specific genes, and only for those with a family history or high-risk ancestry for specific conditions. For those who aren’t eligible and wish to do it privately, it can cost upwards of $1,000. 

Image: Getty Images / Archi Banal

Publicly funded preimplantation genetic diagnosis (PGD) and IVF – where an embryo is tested for serious genetic conditions before it is implanted into the uterus – are only available for conditions deemed “severe”. Even then, a 50% chance of a child carrying the gene or developing the condition, as identified by carrier screening, is a minimum requirement. Many families fall through the cracks, unable to access the necessary support.

“In New Zealand, we try to allocate resources based on likelihood and impact. We have limited funding, and that means not everyone who could benefit from testing gets referred,” Neas says.

While access to testing is one challenge, engagement with it is another. Genetic health is not just a clinical matter, it is also influenced by cultural values, particularly for Māori and Pasifika communities.

Genetic testing infrastructure in New Zealand often relies on overseas laboratories, raising concerns around data sovereignty, especially for Māori and Pasifika families with a long-standing distrust of medical institutions due to historical mistreatment and systemic inequities. The idea of DNA samples being sent overseas adds another layer of hesitation.

‘He mea tautoko nā ngā mema atawhai. Supported by our generous members.’
Liam Rātana
— Ātea editor

Beyond privacy concerns, Polynesian communities often approach genetic health through a whānau-centred lens, where decisions are made collectively rather than individually. Whakapapa is deeply significant, and for some, altering or intervening in genetic inheritance raises spiritual and ethical concerns.

For some, a genetic diagnosis can carry stigma – potentially affecting perceived mana within their community, creating anxiety about “bad genes”, or forcing families to confront hereditary conditions they would rather not acknowledge. For others, genetic testing is seen as an act of empowerment, providing knowledge that allows for informed decision-making and proactive health management.

The family of singer Stan Walker is one Māori whānau who have been outspoken about their genetic condition – a cancer-causing gene now referred to by some as the “Walker gene”. The family’s openness with their journey has been instrumental in helping to remove the stigma associated with genetic conditions.

Andrew Shelling, director of the Centre for Cancer Research at the University of Auckland, emphasises that bridging these cultural gaps is crucial. “We need more Māori and Pasifika-led genetic research and better engagement with communities to ensure genetic testing is seen as a tool for whānau wellbeing rather than a clinical imposition.”

When Mitchell and his partner began to consider starting a family, they were forced to face a tough reality. They did not want to traverse the rigmarole of IVF treatment, so PGD was not an option. After years of delaying fatherhood, Mitchell and his partner decided to conceive naturally. “I told myself, I live a good life even with my condition. Maybe my child could too.”

When his daughter was born, Mitchell made a request to staff at Middlemore Hospital that she be tested for his condition. However, the hospital refused.

“They came back and said no,” he says. “The paediatrician even started lecturing me on parenting – saying I should just raise my child to be whoever they were meant to be.”

Publicly funded genetic testing for newborns is not automatic in New Zealand. Neas explains that it’s only offered when there are clear, immediate health implications. “We prioritise conditions that impact childhood healthcare, but we don’t test for adult-onset conditions unless there’s a pressing reason.”

For Mitchell, the decision was nonsensical. “They know my condition exists, they know it’s genetic, but they don’t want to know if my daughter has it?”

Two people sitting at a desk in a lecture hall, both wearing glasses. The person on the left is in a purple shirt, holding a pen and looking at papers. The person on the right is in a red top and grey cardigan, also holding papers, with green seats in the background.
Andrew Shelling, left (Photo: supplied)

Now, three months into fatherhood, Mitchell is determined to find a way to get her tested. “I want to know so I can prepare. I’m not asking for a designer baby. I just want to know.”

Jaime Christmas, chief executive of the NZ Amyloidosis Patients Association, understands this struggle all too well. Her late husband Aubrey carried the genetic disorder hereditary ATTR amyloidosis, and though they had suspicions there was something genetic causing premature deaths in his family, medical understanding and genetic awareness was limited in the 1990s.

“With hope, we started a family,” Jaime says. “We thought maybe it would skip a generation or that a cure would be available by the time our children were older.”

Today, their four adult children must decide whether to get tested, knowing treatments exist but are unavailable in New Zealand. “They are navigating questions of genetic discrimination, future planning, and medical access,” Jaime says. “It’s an incredibly tough road.”

Genetic testing can carry several hidden consequences, including insurance discrimination. Shelling has been at the forefront of lobbying against genomic discrimination, where insurance companies can deny coverage or increase premiums based on known genetic risks.

“My daughter is 30, and she’s afraid to get tested for the BRCA gene,” Shelling says, referring to the mutation linked to hereditary breast and ovarian cancer. “If she finds out she’s positive, she could be refused life insurance or face outrageous premiums.”

Currently, New Zealand has no laws protecting individuals from genetic discrimination. Unlike Australia, where insurers cannot use genetic results against policyholders, Aotearoa remains in legal limbo. Advocacy groups argue that without legislative changes, many will avoid testing altogether for fear of financial repercussions.

When asked what New Zealand needs to improve in genetic health, both Neas and Shelling say more public funding for preconception and reproductive genetic testing is needed. Alongside this, they emphasise a need for genetic education for doctors to improve referrals, the establishment of more onshore genetic testing facilities to address data sovereignty concerns, and stronger protections against insurance discrimination to encourage testing without fear of financial repercussions.

For parents like Mitchell, the wish is simpler: more choices, more transparency and more support. Mitchell says he isn’t asking for miracles – just the ability to make an informed decision about his child’s future. In an era when genetic science is rapidly advancing, he asks why New Zealand is still leaving families in the dark.

This is Public Interest Journalism funded by NZ On Air.