Union Square’s Climate Clock: A Symbol of Climate Urgency Lost in Translation
The Climate Clock in NYC’s Union Square. (Photo: Antoinette de Crombrugghe)
It is a bright Saturday, the crisp air of late February stubbornly holding onto winter’s cold. Before me, Union Square Greenmarket unfolds in quiet rhythms. Usually a place of hurried crossings, the square now offers a reason to pause. Vendors line the pathways between sparse naked trees, nature reaching skyward as if trying to catch its breath amid the city’s steady hum. New Yorkers seem to find newfound fascination in sunflowers or a vintage teapot; it is a curious way of placing extraordinary importance on the seemingly unimportant.
Amidst the hustle, something larger looms. A colossal clock, eighty feet wide, stands proud atop One Union Square South, overlooking the tranquil Union Square Park as its stark digital display counts down in red, pixelated numbers.
A clock few understand
Few eyes are drawn upward, most too busy with their recent findings. Yet, some pause, their curiosity piqued, seeking the hidden meaning behind this imposing installation.
"Four years, 138 days left!" reads out loud a young girl to her friends. "Until the world explodes, or what?" a boy facing her retorts with a laugh. I make my way to their little cluster, their eyes fixed upward on the bold red digits. "Do you know what this clock stands for?" I ask. Four pairs of eyes turn toward me with curiosity. Autumn Philips, a New York University master’s student, as I later learn, answers hesitantly, "Something to do with the climate crisis, I heard, but I’m not sure what exactly." Of the thirty-plus people I have spoken to, she is one of the few who have made the connection. Others offer guesses, ranging from national debt to conspiracy theories.
“A Climate Clock on a building integrates climate action into the cultural landscape, ensuring that the urgency of the climate crisis is visibly recognized and absorbed into daily life.”
"It’s a countdown," I explain, "to the closing window for climate action, after which our impact on the global climate becomes irreversible." Embodying the typical hurried New Yorker, a man brushes the explanation aside with a quip: "You know what’s urgent? The meeting I have in 15 minutes." His dismissal is one I have grown accustomed to after spending over ten hours observing people’s interactions with the clock.
But for some others, like Philips, the clock and its meaning are not as easily ignored. Their faces shift subtly, and emotions ripple between confusion and discomfort, even a flicker of existential anxiety. A dad tries to explain it lightly to his daughter, words stumbling, letting a nervous laugh escape. An elderly couple gazes at it in a shared silence. Philips lingers longer than most. Her cheerful attitude framed by her curled hair and eclectic style gives way to a quiet unease. "This is really scary," she whispers.
The Climate Clock’s symbolic location
The Climate Clock arrived in Union Square in 2020. Its designers, the artists and activists Andrew Boyd and Gan Golan, chose to anchor the “Metronome”, as it is called, in a place where the air has been thick with demands for justice for decades. Union Square —born from the modest crossing of Broadway and Fourth Avenue—grew as the city swelled around it, its meaning expanding beyond mere geography. The square blossomed into a vibrant gathering ground for those who sought to make their voices heard. Civil War fervor filled these streets, crowds rallying to keep a fractured country whole. Here, Maud Malone led thousands of resolute women in the first U.S. suffrage parade, defying the tide of tradition.
Over the years, Union Square has continued to host those driven by purpose, witnessing Black Lives Matter movements and, more recently, pro-Palestinian protests.
In the face of overwhelming evidence of a ticking climate crisis, the Union Square Climate Clock was not the first of its kind. Earlier initiatives included Bloomberg’s online Carbon Clock and the ephemeral Berlin Climate Clock installation organized by Fridays for Future. Yet these efforts failed to leave a lasting mark.
Golan and Boyd, along with art fixer Katie Peyton Hofstadter, leading scientists, and representatives from the mayor’s office, envisioned a solution. Their idea was ambitious: to install synchronized Climate Clocks across the globe, illuminated with numbers derived from the Mercator Research Institute, to highlight the narrowing window for climate action. The initiative was ignored.
From a UN speech to a global movement
Then came a call. Greta Thunberg, the Swedish climate activist whose voice had already stirred millions, reached out to the artists as she wanted a clock during her speech at the United Nations General Assembly. The project gained immediate traction, with social media hailing it as displaying “the most important number in the world.”
“This number had to be visible to the world, and it needed to be big, front and center,” Golan recalls. On September 19, 2020, the Climate Clock went live at Union Square.
The movement didn’t stop there, though. It sparked a global wave of action. Today, hundreds of smaller, portable "Greta-sized" Climate Clocks have found their way into schools, into the hands of climate advocates, and onto the desks of decision-makers.
Climate clock in Montreal, part of the Human Impact Lab at Concordia University. (Photo: SarahSalal, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons)
The clock’s goal of being seen has been undeniably successful. It captures the attention of more than 500,000 people every week. But it is rarely understood. “This installation isn’t effective because people don’t know what it is. If they knew, it would have more impact,” Philips tells me, her voice steady with conviction. I can’t help but agree. Nearly every person I have spoken with required an explanation of what the clock truly signifies.
Philips belongs to a generation that has grown up under the shadow of climate change—a looming crisis that has shaped their reality. “I didn’t learn much about climate change in high school,” she admits. “I had to teach myself.” Her words reflect a deeper truth: knowledge is a missing piece, not just in classrooms but in the broader public consciousness. The connection between those ticking four years and the climate crisis remains elusive for many.
Between action, anxiety and symbolism: where does the clock stand?
When understood, the Climate Clock becomes a powerful tool in the narrative of urgency. “The time is short,” explains Golan in an interview with Democracy Now. “We now have four years to rapidly accelerate progress on climate solutions to avoid the worst of climate catastrophe.” The urgency is deliberate. The artists and researchers behind the Climate Clock say they hope to awaken action through fear, grounding their strategy in the psychology of urgency. Laura Bilfinger, professor at the University of Münster, argues that fear makes messages vivid, serving as a motivator to overcome resistance to change.
At a climate demonstration in Jena, Germany, February 2025. (Photo: Daniel Mietchen, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons)
Philips has watched the clocks nearly every day for the last four years, coming home from college. “It always gave me a form of anxiety, knowing that something important was hanging above my head.” She recalls walking past it once with her dad, who dismissed it with a half-hearted, denialist comment: “I think this timing is exaggerated.” Chloe Burdette, writing for the Wooster Voice, explains that such reactions stem from the overwhelming threat of climate change, forcing people to choose between problem-solving or emotional coping mechanisms like distancing or denial.
Whilst the discussion continues, Philips begins to fidget, the cold seeping into our words, and I realize I can no longer feel my hands. “I want to finish college. I want to have kids,” she tells me, the light-hearted tone of the conversation giving way to a quiet fear. The climate clock, with its doomsday framing, can inadvertently reinforce denial or induce climate anxiety.
“People don’t care because there’s no incentive from the higher voices.” Philips’ words echo research showing that fear-driven messages rarely inspire individuals to take action. On the contrary, they are often met with resistance unless they are directed at the powerful—those in positions of influence. Louna Wemaere, project manager at Quota Climat and an expert in climate communication, argues that while such projects can inspire, their power lies in their ability to drive action.
“To be honest,” Philips admits, “I don’t know the extent to which it will change what I do.”
Katie Peyton Hofstadter, the art fixer of the clock, offers an alternate vision. “Today in New York, 91% of monuments honor white military men, reinforcing a legacy where colonialism and conquest are commemorated. While we can’t change history, we can shape the symbols that define our present,” she emphasizes. “A Climate Clock on a building integrates climate action into the cultural landscape, ensuring that the urgency of the climate crisis is visibly recognized and absorbed into daily life.”
The numbers on the clock burn red against the city’s gray. Philips walks aways. Stalls are open, people buy flowers, and distant laughter echoes. It is a bright Saturday.
