The mouse plague sweeping across eastern Australia has reached catastrophic proportions. Farmers in New South Wales and Queensland describe infestations so severe that the stench of dead rodents is likened to a decaying human body. These are not isolated incidents; satellite imagery reveals vast swathes of crop land turned to barren dirt, devoured by millions of mice that reproduce exponentially in the absence of natural predators.
This is not an act of nature. It is a symptom of a system stressed beyond its limits. Australia’s drought cycles have intensified due to climate change, creating intermittent periods of heavy rain that allow mice populations to explode. The same weather patterns that cause floods also provide abundant food for rodents. As a consequence, the plague is a direct result of anthropogenic warming, which is altering rainfall patterns and disrupting ecological balances.
Meanwhile, UK farmers remain relatively protected by the country’s stringent biosecurity laws. The UK’s Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs enforces strict containment protocols: grain stores must be sealed, waste managed, and rodenticides used under licence. These laws were strengthened after the 2015 outbreak of avian flu, recognising that connected global trade and climate change increase the risk of zoonotic diseases. But the UK is not immune. As global temperatures rise, the vector for rodent-borne diseases expands. The Asian tiger mosquito has already colonised parts of Europe; the house mouse that carries hantavirus is following.
The Australian plague is a bellwether. It shows what happens when ecological thresholds are crossed without institutional readiness. New South Wales has declared a state of emergency, but the response is reactive, not preventive. We are pouring resources into killing mice after they have already destroyed livelihoods, when the real solution lies in addressing the underlying climate instability that enables these outbreaks.
The data are clear. A 1-degree Celsius rise in global temperature increases the metabolic rate of mice by roughly 10%, allowing them to reproduce faster and consume more. Australia has warmed by 1.4 degrees since 1910. These are not opinions; they are physical realities. The mouse plague is a direct consequence of a warming world, and it is a problem that will not be solved by poison alone. We need to decarbonise our economies and adapt our agricultural systems for resilience.
There is no magic bullet. But there are analogues in previous outbreaks. After the 1991 mouse plague in South Australia, researchers developed a fertility control virus that reduced mouse numbers by 60%. However, funding for long-term biocontrol projects has been sporadic. We treat these events as crises rather than as chronic conditions. This is the calm urgency of our time: we must act before the next plague, not after.
The Australian government has approved the use of bromadiolone, a second-generation anticoagulant rodenticide that is so potent it remains toxic in animal carcasses for months, killing raptors and owls that feed on dead mice. This creates a secondary ecological collapse. We are trading one disaster for another. The only sustainable path involves integrated pest management, habitat restoration for natural predators, and a serious reduction in carbon emissions.
This is not a local story. The conditions that created Australia’s plague are forming across the globe. The UK’s biosecurity laws are a shield, but they cannot protect against a changing climate that fundamentally alters the way ecosystems function. The International Panel on Climate Change projects that extreme agricultural pest outbreaks will become more frequent. We are choosing to ignore the warning signs.
As a scientist, I am tired of explaining this. The physical world is speaking. We must listen.
