Diagnosing the Gap Between Latent and Realized Adaptive Capacity: A Policy Capacity Extension of the IPCC Contextual Vulnerability Framework
This paper proposes extending the IPCC contextual vulnerability framework by integrating a policy capacity lens to diagnose the critical gap between latent and realized adaptive capacity, revealing that institutional failures often stem not from a lack of resources or exclusion, but from missing mechanisms to translate expertise and partnerships into actionable planning priorities.
Original paper licensed under CC BY 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). This is an AI-generated explanation of the paper below. It is not written or endorsed by the authors. For technical accuracy, refer to the original paper. Read full disclaimer
When scientists try to figure out how dangerous climate change will be for a specific place, they usually look at three things. First, they check what kind of weather threats are coming, like floods or heatwaves. Second, they examine how much those threats would hurt the people and buildings already there. Third, and perhaps most importantly, they try to guess how well the local leaders and organizations can fix the problems before they get worse. This third part is called adaptive capacity. For a long time, studies have been good at listing the threats and the weaknesses of a community, but they often stumble when trying to measure the ability of the government agencies to actually do something about it. They might say a town has a plan, but they rarely check if the people running that plan have the time, the money, or the specific skills to make it work. Without this check, a vulnerability report can tell a community it is in trouble without offering a clear path out of it.
This is the gap that researchers Mercedes Asamani and Chelsea Schelly decided to fill in their study of Michigan's Western Upper Peninsula. They wanted to know not just what climate risks this remote, forested region faces, but whether the specific organization responsible for planning its future actually has the power and the tools to handle those risks. They focused on the Western Upper Peninsula Planning and Development Region, a group that coordinates economic and safety planning for six counties. By looking closely at this organization's internal documents and comparing them with outside research, they discovered that the region's biggest problem is not a lack of good ideas or even a total lack of money, but a breakdown in how those ideas are turned into action.
The researchers found that the Western Upper Peninsula is indeed in a precarious position. The area sits next to Lake Superior, which drives extreme weather patterns, including heavy snowfall, intense storms, and rising water levels that erode the shoreline. A major flood in 2018 caused millions of dollars in damage, proving that the physical threats are real and severe. The people living there are also uniquely vulnerable. The region has an aging population, high energy costs that strain household budgets, and a reliance on industries like mining and tourism that are sensitive to weather changes. When a storm hits, the combination of old infrastructure, expensive heating bills, and limited access to healthcare creates a chain reaction of hardship that is harder to survive than in other parts of the state.
However, the study's most significant finding concerns the organization meant to protect these people. The researchers applied a new way of looking at "capacity," breaking it down into three specific types of skills: the ability to understand and use data, the ability to get things done on the ground, and the ability to keep political support alive over time. They discovered that the planning organization has a serious disconnect between what it knows and what it can do. On paper, the region is surrounded by experts. Michigan Technological University is right there, producing high-quality climate research, and local tribal nations and community groups are eager to help. The organization acknowledges these partners and even uses some of their data. But the study found that there is no formal system to turn that research into a concrete plan. The knowledge exists, but there is no reliable mechanism to translate it into the daily decisions that determine where to build a road or how to reinforce a levee.
The problem gets worse when looking at the people actually doing the work. The organization is staffed by a very small team of generalists who are already stretched thin managing housing, transportation, and economic development. They do not have a dedicated climate adaptation specialist, nor do they have a steady stream of funding that allows them to plan for the long term. Instead, they rely on short-term grants that come and go. This means that even when they want to act, they often lack the staff hours or the consistent budget to follow through. The researchers noted that this is a common pattern in remote rural areas, where a handful of overworked employees are expected to solve complex, multi-decade problems without the specialized support found in larger cities.
Perhaps the most surprising discovery was about the political side of the equation. The study found that the organization is actually quite good at including everyone in the conversation. Tribal nations and local community groups are treated as equal partners, and they are invited to the table. This is a positive sign of fairness and inclusion. Yet, despite this strong participation, the actual commitments to climate action often fall apart when they compete with other urgent priorities. When a flood happens, the political attention spikes, and plans are made. But once the immediate crisis passes, those adaptation plans are often pushed aside by other pressing needs, like fixing a broken bridge or balancing a budget. The result is that the community is heard, but the promises made to them do not survive the daily grind of governance.
The researchers argue that this situation creates a specific kind of injustice. The people who are most likely to suffer from climate change—the elderly, the poor, and those living in isolated areas—are also the ones whose needs are least likely to be met by the system. This is not because the government is ignoring them on purpose, but because the machinery of the government itself is broken. The organization has the potential to adapt, but it lacks the specific tools to turn that potential into reality. It is like having a library full of brilliant maps but no driver to navigate the car. The study concludes that simply listing the resources a community has is not enough. To truly understand vulnerability, we must also measure whether the institutions responsible for the solution have the specific skills to use those resources. For the Western Upper Peninsula, the path forward requires building those missing links: creating formal agreements to share data, hiring dedicated staff for climate work, and securing long-term funding so that adaptation plans can survive the changing political tides.
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