I met my six-year-old self last night.
She couldn’t sleep. She was scared.

She only wanted to talk about the seagulls and the cormorants, the fish and the dolphins she had seen covered in a thick, black layer—their feathers and wings glued together as they struggled to open them, their eyes shut. They were trying to survive under a petroleum blanket that spread faster than they could ever outrun it.

“Why?” she asked. “Why did they let it happen? Why are animals suffering? Why aren’t the waves moving? Why is the ocean black?”

I could have answered her. I could have explained that a handful of old men allowed it to happen. We could have talked about how they got away with it—how a carefully managed chain of irresponsibility and corruption let them walk free.

But she didn’t want to hear it. And even if she had, she wouldn’t have understood.

Twenty-three years later, I don’t think I understand it either.

She only wanted it to be over. And how I wished I could have given her that. But I couldn’t. She wanted it to have never happened in such a deep, desperate way that it would have hurt too much to tell her: this was only the beginning.

So instead, I let her rest. I told her everything would eventually be okay. That we would try our best.

The MV Prestige sank in November 2002, spilling 77,000 tons of heavy fuel oil off the coast of Galicia, Spain—my home.

I was six years old when the biggest environmental disaster of the Iberian Peninsula unfolded before my eyes. And it changed me forever.

I wasn’t old enough to truly understand why the ocean, the beaches, the rocks, and the seaweed were pitch black. I wasn’t old enough to grasp why so many animals were dying in the arms of volunteers, or why so many washed ashore already dead.

Yet, somehow, I knew.

I remember the image of that massive ship slowly sinking, broadcast live on television. We all watched in silence, fingers crossed, hoping it wouldn’t be as bad as we feared. Hoping it would be as “under control” as the politicians claimed.

But it was worse. Much, much worse.

We watched the destruction of our ecosystem live on TV, while no one stopped it.

For at least ten years after the spill, I would still find black patches on the rocks of the beaches I swam in. The scars were there. They probably still are. The ocean was an open wound. It was crying for help.

And people responded.

Volunteers from across the continent came to clean the waters I grew up swimming in, to save as many lives as they could.

The scene was unlike anything I had ever witnessed. The world had turned black and white, yet the power of those people was a shining light. The thick oil and the white, COVID-like suits moved in perfect, rhythmic harmony along the coast.

Little did they know that the remaining suits from that catastrophe would end up serving the same purpose in 2020—protecting those wearing them against something even bigger.

The Prestige changed us as a community. It showed me how powerful we are when we come together—when people see, understand, and act.

Those living by the ocean opened their doors, only for that thick, black layer to seep inside their homes.

The disaster was far worse than anyone expected. While thousands of volunteers shovelled petroleum from the sand and put suffering animals to sleep, our president stood on TV, claiming it was just a matter of “thin threads” leaking from the sunken barrels.

We were fighting a monster that would continue spilling fuel for years. The more we cleaned, the more arrived.

And then we realised something—something both a blessing and a curse.

We had no one. No authority.
Yet, we had each other. We had community.

I’d be lying if I said living through such a traumatic event didn’t shape who I am today.
Witnessing the power of volunteering at such a young age turned me into one myself.

It felt—and still feels—almost mandatory to use my time to protect the ecosystems that sustain my life, and life in the planet I inhabit as a whole.

The streets, the houses, the balconies, even people’s clothes in Galicia were covered by a banner—a cry of outrage that became a citizen movement transcending borders, disasters, and time: “Nunca Máis.” (Galician for “Never Again.”)

“Nunca Máis” touched us all.
It was an absolutely unified decision. A final warning to the political class: this would NEVER happen again.

The only good takeaway from the Prestige catastrophe was precisely “Nunca Máis”—the people had risen, and they would no longer allow decisions with such devastating echoes in our collective history.

But how wrong we were.

We forgot that only the people save the people. And in Galicia, the people have nothing in common with the political class living in mansions on the outskirts of Santiago de Compostela, our capital.

The Prestige left scars—but they hadn’t healed. And now, Altri has reopened the wound.

Altri Galicia—the megaproject, the enormous, colossal monster that must be fed eucalyptus —an invasive species planted in our region just a few decades ago— 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

Altri is the name we give to Proyecto Gama, a massive pulp factory planned for Palas de Rei, Lugo, focused on producing textile fibres. Altri is simply the company behind the monster—a wealthy Portuguese corporation that found no support in its own country and decided to devastate the neighbouring ecosystem, Galicia, thanks to the complacency of our government.

In southern Galicia, there’s already a similar, much smaller company: ENCE. It’s responsible for turning the forests I grew up in into eucalyptus plantations that burn every year, destroying homes, towns, and lives. For as long as I can remember, every year, the entire city of Pontevedra—my city—marches against this factory.

The government keeps granting it 50-year licences. They never listened.

In comparison, though, Proyecto Gama, would make ENCE look like a playground.

It will occupy 360 hectares (10 times more than the current factory in Pontevedra) and require 46 million litres of water EACH DAY, extracted and returned—polluted—into the River Ulla. The company itself has admitted that at least 30 million litres will be discharged, again, polluted, into the river.

In summer, the area already suffers from water shortages. Locals might not be able to wash their dishes every day, but the eucalyptus-eating monster will never go thirsty.

And its reach extends far beyond those 360 hectares. Three protected areas under the Natura 2000 network—ZEC Serra do Careón, ZEC Sistema Fluvial Ulla-Deza, and ZEC Sobreirais do Arnego—as well as the Atlantic Islands of Galicia National Park, are all at risk.

The project directly threatens several endangered species, including endemic plants and more than 140 bird species that inhabit the region, many of which appear on the Galician and Spanish endangered species lists. They didn’t care about the cormorants or the seagulls—just as they don’t care now about these thousands of birds.

To bring this project to life, Altri is requesting up to 250 million euros in public funding from the EU’s Next Generation funds. These resources—meant for sustainable recovery and environmental protection—are instead being funneled into a venture that could collapse one of Galicia’s most precious natural ecosystems.

The response from local communities and environmental organisations has been swift and fierce. We have not forgotten—nor forgiven—the Prestige. Over 23,000 objections have been submitted, with major groups like Greenpeace among them. The first protest in Palas de Rei—the epicentre of the controversy—drew more than 20,000 demonstrators, all united against what they see as a barbaric assault on their homeland.

The Altri pulp megaproject is not just an industrial development. It is a reckless gamble with Galicia’s future. It threatens to erase part of our natural heritage, endanger our communities, and permanently scar an ecosystem that has sustained us for generations.

The Prestige happened behind our backs. We made the mistake of trusting that it wouldn’t happen again—that someone would listen if only we’d had the chance to speak.

But Altri is happening right before our eyes, with our children screaming for a future that is being taken away from them. Only one thing is clear: If history repeats, so do we.

We have fought, we have shouted. We’ve taken “Nunca Máis” and turned it into “Altri Non”—a cry that now resonates at every protest, every march, every social gathering, every concert or presentation, every place where more than three people come together. And yet, they’re trying to drown it out.

And I wonder: if we’ve all learned from the past, why can’t we teach them?

It’s Earth Day as I write this, and all I can think about is my six-year-old self crying over the Prestige, not knowing how to help her while shouting “Nunca Máis.”

And my 28-year-old self, crying now, still not knowing how to help—while screaming “Altri Non.”

The post ‘Never Again’, Yet Again: Altri and How to Build an Activist appeared first on eco-nnect.

Back in 2020 I read an amazing book that I have constantly reflected upon: Wilding, by Isabella Tree. It was covid lockdown, and I was lucky enough to be spending it in the Swiss mountains. Every morning, rain or shine, I would do a hike through what I thought was a corner of Switzerland’s pristine forest. After reading Wilding, it hit me. I wasn’t hiking through forests, I was walking in a pine plantation. Let me explain to you why.

In the West the difference between a forest and a plantation isn’t taught in school. The fact that the UK was home to a temperate rainforest, has been conveniently forgotten, replaced by the idea of the English countryside being “beautiful” rolling moores. In Germany and Switzerland every tree is numbered by the government. Most rivers in Europe are channeled, the fact that salmon used to migrate up them to most sounds like a long-lost fantasy. European bison used to criss-cross the plains of Belgium and Germany, while beavers naturally dammed the rivers. Deforestation in Europe happened so long ago, that culturally we don’t even know what our primary forests looked like, which animals roamed and what plant medicines our ancestors foraged.

What I find even more troublesome, is what we interpret as “nature.” We can easily recognise agricultural land, but many still confuse a plantation for a forest. Right now, as wildfires ravage central and northern Portugal, experts are finally pointing the finger to Portugal’s paper and timber industries that dominate the area with eucalyptus and pine plantations. Did you know that eucalyptus is now the primary tree species in Portugal, despite being native to Australia?

“Eucalyptus covers 845,000 hectares in the Iberian countryside, or 26 percent of forests. Technically these are cultivations that feed the paper and cellulose sectors, with eucalyptus grown exclusively for pulp, which is used to make various paper products.”

Monocultures are highly flammable, you can imagine matchsticks being planted next to each other. This is why, when a fire starts, it can quickly spread across hectares and hectares of land, from one plantation to the other, creating monstrous human-made disasters.

In 2017, northern Portugal suffered similar wildfires in Pedrogrão Grande area, the fires killed 66 people and burned through 50,000 hectares of land. Many of the remaining pockets of native forests survived through those fires. Since then the local community has started to question the government’s plan to increase eucalyptus plantations, looking for an economic alternative to paper production in this rural area.

Just last week, seven firefighters lost their lives trying to quell the wildfires. When will justice prevail against the culprits of these disasters? 
A local NGO, Quercus, that has been active in the area since 1985, is highly critical of the paper industry’s destruction of native flora, and has been working hard to restore and maintain what’s left of Portugal’s diverse biome.

“The pulp industry depends on eucalyptus plantations in this area. Together with the pressure on the government to expand eucalyptus acreage in Portugal, this means that there is no meaningful promotion of a diverse landscape that is more resilient to fires. When such landscapes are planted, or at least experimented with, it is in small areas near watercourses. There is nothing being done at scale to reduce the risk of fires.” says Domingos Patacho, director of Quercus.

We hope after this last two weeks where Portugal officially declared a state of calamity, the government will listen to Quercus’ pleas and finally support the regeneration of native forests and put an end to the paper domination of the Iberian coast.

The post Plantations are not forests appeared first on eco-nnect.

I was watching a news report on the historic drought and recently declared state of emergency in Barcelona and greater Catalonia. During the report, a university lecturer is interviewed and explains how most people haven’t noticed the water restrictions, they turn on a tap and water comes out with minimal difference, referring to the government reducing water pressure in particular areas. When I was informed of the situation in Barcelona by a friend, I mentioned the recent drought in Mexico and how 1,546 of the country’s 2,463 municipalities were also confronted by water shortages. She told me she did not hear about it, which doesn’t surprise me as we rarely discuss issues that do not impact our lives in some way. As they say, out of sight, out of mind.

Just last week I mentioned my surprise that water was not a central talking point at the World Economic Forum. We might speak of rain when it’s falling from the sky, the size of the swell at a nearby beach, or a friend may suggest a bath if we’re feeling stressed. Water is in us, it is around us, without it there is no life, yet unless we are in a drought we rarely discuss its importance.

75 percent of Spain is battling weather conditions that may lead to desertification and there’s a belief the Sahara Desert will extend across its territory by the end of this century. According to Spain’s Meteorological Agency, desertification consumes 1,500 square kilometres of land each year, which is concerning as its the EU’s biggest producer of fruit and vegetables. The thousands of tonnes of produce it grows throughout the year requires a substantial amount of water, which has depleted Spain’s aquifers and has seen soil degradation triple in the past decade. This degradation means the soil struggles to retain water, a significant problem in this time of climate change, when the amount of rainfall shifts between extremes of drought and deluge.

In 2023, Spain experienced its worst drought in almost a century. In the southern city of Almería, where a significant proportion of the country’s agricultural industry exists, the average annual precipitation is 400 millimeters. Last year, there was no rain until May when more than 200mm fell in a single week.

Early last year, there was already fear of water shortages across Spain, and as the drought intensified through the summer’s heatwave, wildfires swept through the country, yet another symptom of the land’s desertification.

Water restrictions were first imposed on Catalonia in November 2022, prohibiting residents from washing the exterior of their houses and cars or filling their swimming pools, while reductions were also imposed on the irrigation of industrial crops. Barcelona City Council also stopped using drinking water to fill public fountains and clean the streets. In February 2023 further restrictions were imposed that were tightened again in May, August and November. Throughout this period, a state of emergency was declared in different parts of Catalonia, which was extended to Barcelona this past week, as reservoirs dropped to an historic low.

What happens when there is no more water? 

Some Spaniards are focusing their energy on regenerative techniques that support soil health, while others are moving to Spain’s north coast for its lower temperatures and higher rainfall. Some residents have turned to prayer, which reminds me of the Mamos and the Zagas, the spiritual guides of the Arhuaco, Kankuamo, Kogi and Wiwa peoples of the Sierra Nevada Mountains in Colombia. 

The Mamos and the Zagas believe that humanity must return to the Law of Origin, the instructions that guide humanity to live harmoniously with all living beings. If we don’t, they believe we will be subjected to crises of increasing severity. To support the natural balance of life, the Mamos and the Zagas offer pagamentos, or payments, to settle our bills with the Earth for what we take to survive. 

Through the climate crisis, Western society is slowly expanding its awareness of the natural systems that have perpetually supported humanity to live and thrive. Whether it’s through spiritual payments, prayer or planting we need to acknowledge the forces and the delicate systems that Indigenous Peoples have perpetually stated humanity needs to respect. The situation in Barcelona is a reminder that we are running out of time to do so.

Anton Rivette is a writer and photographer. He leads storytelling at eco-nnect.

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The International Seabed Authority (ISA) was founded in 1994 as an autonomous organisation established through the implementation of Part XI of the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS). It became operational in 1996 to safeguard what we know as the “deep sea” — an area considered the “common heritage of all mankind“ — by protecting the ecosystems of the seabed, ocean floor and subsoil in areas beyond national jurisdiction. The ISA’s focus includes controlling the development of deep sea mining, which was debated last month through two of the five arms of the ISA, the Council and the Assembly.

On July 21, the ISA Council concluded two weeks of intense negotiations. Discussions were focused on a deep sea mining code, which was not agreed nor adopted. The mining industry interested in the sea floor were hopeful of starting their operations this year. This was led by one of the attendees, The Metals Company, who was sponsored by the Government of Nauru in creating the Nauru Ocean Resources, Inc. (NORI). NORI has engaged in comprehensive research of seabed rocks, or polymetallic nodules, which they say are packed with cobalt, copper and nickel, and could power 280 million electric vehicles. It was Nauru, on behalf of The Metals Company, who triggered the current push for deep sea mining in 2021. 

The CEO and Chairman of The Metals Company, Gerard Barron was previously the Founder and CEO of Adstream, an international advertising management and distribution company, which provided services to assist with the production, management and distribution of advertisements for all forms of media. On his LinkedIn profile he states he is on “a mission to help transition our planet away from fossil fuels and toward a circular-resource economy.” If you continue scrolling down his profile, Barron articulates his skills, most of which connect to his time in advertising and marketing, skills he now applies to his interest in deep sea mining, framing it as a process that will support a healthy planet.

The Metals Company is not the only organisation focused on deep sea mining that Barron has been associated with. The first, Nautilus Minerals, was steeped in controversy that stemmed from an environmental and social benchmarking report, which was based on information provided by Nautilius Minerals, rather than through an objective body. A coalition of environmental organisations questioned the legitimacy of the report, stating it was “clearly an attempt to downplay the risks posed by the Solwara 1 project”, which was the proposed site for Nautilius Minerals’ first mining operation, in the Bismarck Sea, near the coast of Papua New Guinea.

The second organisation, DeepGreen Metals, was scrutinised for its “green” positioning. It was the first time that Barron had framed his projects with an environmental focus through the belief that mining the seabed would lead to less environmental destruction than mining on land. When this belief was questioned, DeepGreen released a statement saying it doesn’t view mining on land or underwater as sustainable, and that “the only path to sustainable metals is to build up enough metal stock to shift away from mined to recycled metals.”

DeepGreen Metals then combined their operations with those of the Sustainable Opportunities Acquisition Corporation, “a special purpose acquisition company with a dedicated ESG focus”, to form The Metals Company, the third iteration of Barron’s deep sea journey. With The Metals Company, Barron continues to flex his marketing muscles with their website stating that “polymetallic nodules are the cleanest path toward electric vehicles.” It also states The Metals Company’s belief that “polymetallic nodules may provide an opportunity to compress lifecycle environmental and social impacts of producing critical metals as compared to many land-based projects, and may potentially offer the lightest planetary touch”, echoing the previous refuted claims of DeepGreen Metals.

The Metals Company’s beliefs centre on rocks found on the ocean floor, within their primary exploration area the Clarion Clipperton Zone, which is located in the Pacific Ocean between Hawaii and Mexico. The company asserts that these nodules “do not contain toxic levels of heavy elements”. These views go against independent reports that highlight the lack of knowledge of the risks, which is echoed by Sir David Attenborough, who criticises the disregard for the impacts of deep sea mining.

769 marine science and policy experts from over 44 countries issued a joint statement calling for a pause to deep sea mining, yet Gerard Barron said they were misguided, once again comparing mining of the ocean floor to terrestrial mining practices. These critics say that harvesting these nodules will affect whale and tuna migration, interrupt important ecological processes, extinguish newly discovered species and potentially accelerate climate change by impacting undisturbed carbon stores.

According to the New York Times, The Metals Company’s progress has been supported by a close relationship with the ISA, which led to the company’s presence in negotiations at the recent meetings of both the ISA Council and Assembly. The ISA Council agreed on 2025 as an indicative timeline to develop a mining code, but it failed to close the legal loophole that will allow the industry to begin, so the threat of deep sea mining remains. Although resistance is strong, with a growing number of governments pushing against industry pressure, calling for a precautionary pause, moratorium or ban within international waters. Supporting their resistance was the UN Commissioner on Human Rights, members of  the seafood industry and a group of 36 financial institutions. 

The focus then turned to the ISA Assembly. Negotiations took place from July 24th and 28th, and no approval was offered to begin deep sea mining, despite pressure from the industry, including The Metals Company, who have since stated they intend to submit an application to the ISA for an exploitation contract for NORI Area D following the July 2024 meeting of the ISA, and they expect to be in production in the fourth quarter of 2025.

This discussion inspires the question of what a true climate solution looks like? The Metals Company will tell you it is through the electrification of the world facilitated by their work with polymetallic nodules. We prefer to listen to the independent experts and their research that suggests otherwise.

Anton Rivette is a writer and photographer. He leads storytelling at eco-nnect.

You might also like: Making a Marine Biosphere

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In 2009 Ecuador and Bolivia changed their constitutions to include the notion of Sumak Kawsay* and officially recognise nature as an entity in need of legal standing. Since then legal battles against extractive corporations have been won thanks to this change to their respective constitutions.

In 2009 the leaders of Ecuador and Bolivia also campaigned to the United Nations General Assembly to officially recognise April 22nd as International Mother Earth Day. This change might seem superfluous to some, seeing as Earth Day has been celebrated across the USA since 1970, yet words hold meaning and Ecuador and Bolivia’s leaders knew that.

Adding the word mother changes the entire relationship we hold with nature, acknowledging her importance, her nurturing role and our dependence on her health. All of a sudden we are not fighting for a rock we call Earth, which we can extract and exploit at our leisure, rather we are respecting Mother Earth’s intelligence, acknowledging the symbiotic relationship between all living things including with the planet we inhabit.

Bolivia and Ecuador gifted the world a word, but in reality they gifted the world their cosmovision. The climate is not in “crisis”, the west’s relationship with nature is. Shifting Earth Day to International Mother Earth Day was a subtle yet symbolic message to the West: heal your relationship with Mother Earth, listen to her and live in harmony with the natural world. That’s how we can really honor life, today and every day.

*A Quechuan system of knowledge and living based on the communion of humans and nature and on the harmonious totality of existence with all living beings.

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These winter holidays I stayed in Saanen, Switzerland at a family home I’ve been going to my entire life. During Christmas a bizarre heatwave sweeped through northern Europe, it was the warmest December I could remember with record-breaking temperatures in almost every country. I hiked under the balmy sun and could feel wildlife confused by the seemingly early Spring weather. Should they emerge from hibernation, what happened to winter?

There’s a glacier near the town that has been receding in front of our eyes at a not-so glacial speed. As I hiked, I looked up at it and wondered how it’s fairing under the sun. Switzerland is the country with the highest number of glaciers in the Alps, over 1,400. The Swiss have been known to cover them in blankets in the summer in a desperate attempt to slow down the rapid melting. Should they start covering them in winter too? I hope it’s just an abnormal heatwave.

Usually, during the day we’re out skiing, but this year it rained most days. Daily temperatures reached 8°C, nowhere near snow levels. So when the forecast started to change in January and a friend invited me to higher altitudes, it seemed like a good time to take the skis out of retirement.

I met Gilbert Crettaz on a wonderful snowy day in Verbier, my friend had hired him to show us around the area. We woke up early to hit the slopes first. It was the first big dump, so we were elated to have come up just in time for the first big snowfall. Gilbert is exactly the ski guide you want, trustworthy, upbeat and knowledgeable, a true local that knows every nook and cranny like the palm of his hand.

“My dad was a mountain guide in a very small village of 80 inhabitants, 1,800 metres above sea level, my mum was an adventurer and she was from Luxembourg, she never wanted to get married, she loved the mountains, she traveled a lot, Austria, Switzerland. One day in the Luxembourg library she found a book about a village called La Forclaz, she said to herself in 1968 i’m going to spend my holidays up there. She went up there to do her vacation, and then she wanted to climb La Dent Blanche. She was looking for a guide, and came across my dad.”

Gilbert was brought up by real alpinists in a small farming village called La Forclaz, in the middle of Switzerland. The town is surrounded by two glaciers, Ferpecle and Mont Miné. It was separated from the rest of the country until 1970 when a road was finally built. The locals still speak their own dialect, and up until the 1970s the community relied entirely on subsistence farming. Gilbert remembers his grandparents not needing money, and recounts stories of elders worried about glaciers advancing rather than receding.

“There used to be plenty of places where the glaciers advanced, and where there were buildings people were very very afraid. People would pray, as they thought that the glacier was the devil and made processions praying that it would recede and not take over the town.”

Most glaciers in Switzerland have been receding for the last 100 years. In fact, all of Switzerland’s glaciers have shrunk by more than half in the last 85 years. Research warns that all Alpine glaciers are at risk of disappearing by the end of the century, and Switzerland has already warmed by 2°C compared to pre-industrial levels.

Growing up surrounded by glaciers, you could easily argue that Gilbert has more snow in his veins than blood. Mountain adventures define his childhood. Sometimes in the middle of winter the snow would be so deep that he and his brother would have to trudge 40 minutes to get back home from school.

“That was my childhood in a small village, we had no school, the village was too small, so we went to school in another town that was a 15 minute drive. Sometimes there was so much snow in winter that the street was cut off and then we went down on foot, and in the evenings we walked back up. Our upbringing was simple, we didn’t have a lot of things but we had nature and we had a lot of freedom.”

Every day he skied, the town was small, it didn’t have a school but of course it had a ski lift. His brother eventually made it to high competitive levels, whereas Gilbert turned to snowboarding, becoming the first snowboarder to attempt some of Switzerland’s steepest descents. From a young age his father’s Alpine passion compelled him, and he joined him on the world’s most renowned and difficult climbs too.

“I always saw my father go up the mountain, and was always curious to know what was up there. I saw him leaving with a smile with the customers, and when he returned from the Dent-Blanche or the Matterhorn, he was tanned, fit, and extremely happy. And I said to myself, I’m very curious about what’s going on up there, it must be very, very nice. And that’s how I started to go up the mountain with him.”

At 18 he attempted the notoriously difficult Swiss alpine course, he didn’t have enough experience and failed it. So off he went and got a degree at a hotel school in Lausanne, but by the time he turned 22 the call of the mountain was too strong, so he used his savings to return to the peaks, embarking on years of adventures that he remembers as enjoying life to the fullest.

“Frankly, when you are 21 to 28 years old and your life is paragliding, mountain climbing and snowboarding with friends, it’s just the holy grail, everything is oriented around pleasure. In those years I just enjoyed life. Even though I was having fun I knew that I was also investing in my future. And when I passed the Alpine Guide exam, it was the achievement that has brought me the most pleasure and satisfaction in life.”

By the time he turned 30 Gilbert was a certified snowboard instructor, paraglide teacher and Alpine guide. He traveled all of the top mountain destinations with clients, from Zermatt to Chamonix but eventually settled in the charming town of Verbier, where he later opened the center for guides.

I ask him what memorable moment comes to mind from his 30 years of experience criss-crossing the Alps.

“Once, a gentleman arrived at the top of the mountain, on the Dent-Blanche, and he was so happy, he was sweating, he had tears… he took me in his arms, and he kissed me on the cheeks. He was so overcome with emotion, that I got emotional too, he was so happy. It’s incredible, I felt good, he had climbed many mountains, it was his last 4,000m peak. He was 65 or 70 years old, it’s quite difficult, and he was so happy, so moved. It was not extraordinary for me, but it was the emotion that I had shared with this person that I still recall.”

His story reminds me of a term I learned studying philosophy, the sublime in nature: the feeling you experience when you encounter nature’s vastness. Those moments when an overwhelming force overcomes you and your mind goes blank, dumbfounded by nature’s magnificence and beauty. You feel small, yet protected, as though you are finally aware that you are part of its web too.

Gilbert is an optimist at heart, but of course his years roaming the Alps make him also a witness to the harsh realities of warmer winters too.

“I am not a glaciologist, but everyone can see that the glaciers are retreating, it’s been over 100 years since they began to melt and now there is an obvious acceleration. What I can say is in relation to my job. The difficulty occurs if mild temperatures persist in the mountains then the snow that covers the crevasses softens, and if it becomes too soft then it’s really dangerous. If you walk on soft snow and there’s a crevasse under it, you might fall in it. And if I fall it becomes very very complicated, it becomes dangerous. That’s something new, we didn’t ask ourselves these questions until about 10 years ago. Before that, at night it froze, in the morning it was hard, not always, but in 90 percent of cases we had good conditions.”

Alpinism, already a sport reserved for adrenaline junkies and risk takers, is upping its stakes, forcing guides to take precautions they never had to before: avoiding glaciers on the routes, shortening the season, and taking only well-trained people.

“For a few years we have had a lot less freezes at night, and we have a lot more accidents, which we certainly haven’t had before. This year, at the beginning of July, Mont Blanc closed due to falling rocks, glaciers melting, crevasses and all that, and so now we are preparing for this summer. I think we’ll avoid the warmest days from mid-July to mid-August, then we stop as its getting too hot, and we resume in late August when the sun is still a little lower until September, October. I had to modify a lot of routes with clients.”

Worldwide glaciers are disappearing at alarming rates, from the Himalayas to the Alps and the Andes. Last summer in Europe, mountain refuges closed due to drought, some even fell down the slopes with rockslides. For the first time, Mont Blanc was closed to avoid fatal accidents and six lives were lost when a glacier collapsed in the Italian Dolomites. As the planet warms, once familiar landscapes are transforming and becoming dangerous. It’s time we listen to these cries from the mountains.

Isabella Cavalletti is a storyteller and co-founded eco-nnect.

You might also like this story: The Humble Way

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I don’t watch films or episodes on Netflix very often. Although I love sitting down to watch a movie, I am predominantly drawn to Mubi or SBS On Demand – a streaming website in Australia – which platform a broader range of films from around the world. But once or twice a month I login to my family Netflix account to see what new titles have been uploaded, appreciating that a gem appears from time to time.

This week I opened my Netflix account and was pleasantly surprised to discover “The Last Forest” on my recommended film list. I was keen to watch the film since it was released last year, having seen posts about it when it was touring film festivals in the first half of 2021, but it wasn’t until September this year while attending a Conference in Brazil, where I had the deep honour of meeting Davi Kopenawa Yanomami, that I understood the film centred around the cosmology and recent experiences of the Yanomami people.

So I press play. The opening titles appear on the screen, accompanied by the sounds of insects. The titles stop and are replaced by a paragraph of words in Portuguese.

“Os Yanomami vivem em um terrirório no norte de Brasil e sul da Venezuela há mais de mil anos. Quinhentos anos antes desses países existirem, eles já estavam lá.”

English subtitles quickly appear below.

“The Yanomami lived in a territory in the north of Brazil and south of Venezuela for over 1000 years. 500 years before either country existed, the Yanomami were already there.”

According to ethnologist Jacques Lizot, who compiled a dictionary of the Yanomami language into Spanish in the 1970s, the word Yanomami is self-referential: when used in the traditional expression of “yanõmami thëpë” it signifies “human beings”.  Today the Yanomami number between 29,000 and 38,000, spread over 200 to 250 villages that, as the words on the screen articulated, extend across territory that is often referred to as Brazil and Venezuela.

The words disappear, the sound of wind joins the insects as an image appears, a cloud moves slowly across the screen revealing the deep green of the leaves of the trees of the forest below. In amongst the trees is the black escarpment of Watoriki, “the windy mountain”. At the base of Watoriki, in the bottom right of the screen, is a small circle in an open space between the deep green treetops.

The image changes, a hunter stands on top of a rock holding a bow and arrow that he pulls back and aims at the ground below. He releases the arrow then climbs down from the rock to retrieve it. The sandal on his right foot creates ripples on the water amongst the plants that previously seemed to grow from the ground. The hunter wades through the water, picking up his arrow before inspecting what he was aiming at. He raises the arrow with his right hand and then stabs down at his aim. The image changes, he is now walking into a village with a backpack made of leaves, his bow and arrow in his right hand. Watoriki appears in the background, behind the roof of the structure he walks towards, which I now appreciate was the circle within the open space amongst the deep green trees in the opening scene. The image changes, the hunter is within the structure placing his bow and arrow against a wall close to posts that support many hammocks, he then sits and eats a yellow fleshy fruit that could be a mango or something I have never come across – I imagine there are many fruits I am yet to encounter growing within Yanomami territory – as the backpack of leaves leans against a post a meter or so behind the hunter. The image changes, a woman is now cutting into flesh and meat that sits among the now open leaves of the backpack. The woman cuts scales and flesh with a machete, revealing the hunter killed a kind of turtle. The image changes, the hunter and the woman are walking with two children, the woman holds a young child in her arms, and the five of them walk through the forest towards a stream where they swim. The image changes, this possible family sits and eats the turtle, as the hunter shares stories of hunting the many animals that frequent the nearby stream.

The image changes, the tops of the deep green trees are shadows below the outline of Watoriki. It is night. A voice begins to speak a language I have never heard, English subtitles appear at the bottom of the screen. “White people don’t know us. Their eyes have never seen us. Their ears don’t understand our speech.” The image changes, an older man appears, the orator of the words, he continues speaking. “That is why I must go where white people live. Why is it that I must go there? What will I do in the land of white people? We must not be afraid. They don’t know the Yanomami up close. I don’t want to go there bringing festive food, or traditional dances.” The image changes, and a younger man is sitting on a hammock in the light of a flickering fire as he listens to the older man’s words, “Because we are children of Omama, the last children of the forest, we must fight so that our children grow up healthy, so that our daughters can mature into women.” The image changes, the hunter is lying in a hammock, the light of the fire also flickers on his face, as he listens to the older man finishing his speech, “I must teach them our way of thinking.” The image changes, the older man is standing in the centre of the circle structure, Watoriki stands behind him. Having finished his speech, the older man walks to the right, towards the circle structure, probably to his own hammock, wherever it hangs.

The older man is Davi Kopenawa Yanomami, the shaman and leader I recently had the honor of meeting. At the Conference Davi and I attended, he spoke of the Yanomami’s struggle with what can be described as an invasion of illegal gold miners throughout Yanomami territory, and not just the territory that Brazil has claimed, but the demarcated territory that is recognised by Brazilian law.

I lived my childhood in Research, in the Australian state of Victoria, on Wurundjeri Country, which was similarly invaded during the gold rush that swept through the area in the 19th Century. Hearing Davi’s stories impacted me deeply, thinking of my childhood home, imagining the hills and and trees along the Birrarung River being felled as prospectors engaged in the process of defacing Country to access the gold within its depths, eventually building settlements for migrants like my family.

Earlier this year, in April, a report was released by the Yanomami organizations the Hutukara Associação Yanomami and the Associação Wanasseduume Ye’kwana. Prepared with the Instituto Socioambiental, the report states that “this is the worst moment of invasion” since Yanomami territory was demarcated and ratified thirty years ago, as the growing presence of miners has resulted in “systematic human rights violations” in the communities that live there.

“In addition to deforestation and the destruction of water bodies, the illegal extraction of gold (and cassiterite) in Yanomami territory has caused an explosion in cases of malaria and other infectious and contagious diseases, with serious consequences for the families’ health and economy, and a frightening increase in violence against indigenous people.”

From 2016 to 2020 mining in Yanomami territory grew by 3350%, and since October 2018 the area destroyed by illegal mining activities has increased from over 1,200 hectares to 3,272 hectares (in December 2021). As the above quote mentions, this destruction has also been directed towards Yanomami people. A chronology of attacks by illegal miners appears in the report, along with testimonies of how miners offer food in exchange for sex to starving and malnourished Yanomami teens, made hungry through the destruction of the biome they once subsisted from, which was increased by the the practices and beliefs of the Bolsonaro Government. It also speaks to the proliferation of rape of Yanomami women, as well as the physical and sexual abuse of Yanomami men. It makes for confronting and important reading that highlights the effects of global consumption of gold products, encouraged by humanity’s long-held obsession with gold, even though our financial system is no longer defined by the gold standard.

Through a choreographed scene in the film, Davi Kopenawa Yanomami speaks on a two-way radio explaining the devastating effects of illegal mining on Yanomami territory, which he reflected in a recent interview with anthropologist Ana Maria Machado for the pertinent, inquisitive and profound publication Sumaúma: “Everything is terrible on our land; the miners bring horror with them… they’ve silted up the rivers, polluted the waters, and left the water very dirty where only one river runs. They’ve destroyed the headwaters of the rivers born in our mountains. Those of us who live near the illegal mining sites are suffering, going hungry. The miners keep on coming.”

Obviously these words are not a review of “The Last Forest”, although if I was to reflect on my experience of the story and it’s telling, I was deeply moved and impressed. The mix of documentary and choreographed sequences is seamless, a true achievement of collaborative intercultural storytelling, and a beautiful example of the power of cinema. At times the film reminded me of Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s incredible film “Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives”, in how it documents and represents the stories of Yanomami cosmology. The way the film gracefully reflects Yanomami life while highlighting the invasion of miners, and their effect, is a true feat that reflects the skill of those involved in the film’s creation, as well as the inherent wisdom of the Yanomami’s way of being.

In an interview with Michael Stütz from the Berlinale Film Festival, the film’s writer and director Luiz Bolognesi explains how Davi Kopenawa Yanomami didn’t want to make a film only about the struggles of the Yanomami people, wanting to also celebrate what is good and strong in their culture, to share how they live. Bolognesi also states that the Yanomami’s struggle against the invasion of miners is something we should all be supporting. He explains “it’s a big problem for all Brazilian people, and it’s a big problem for European people because of the climate change. We have to protect them. If we leave the land with indigenous people the forest is kept alive, if we don’t, if we allow this invasion, we will lose the last jungle.” He goes on to suggest that foreign nations should impose sanctions – much like the recent restrictions on Russia in the face of their invasion of Ukraine – limiting imports on the Brazilian government if their own laws, which should be preserving and protecting Yanomami territory, are not respected. This echoes the words of Davi and Kayapo Chief Raoni Metuktire in a letter they wrote, along with other Yanomami and Kayapo leaders, to then British Prime Minister Boris Johnson, at the beginning of 2020, in anticipation of the UK hosting the COP26 in Glasgow.

Almost three years have passed since that letter and still the same problems persist. There is hope for change with the recent reelection of Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva as Brazilian President, and it’s this hope that I feel when the credits appear at the end of the film, as I close my browser and turn off my laptop, and I feel the wisdom I just received. Lula’s actions will be important for the Yanomami, but so too are our own, we all need to make changes in our respective lives. While it’s easy to demonise the miners currently invading Yanomami territory, it’s important to remember they are inspired and fuelled by the product-driven lifestyles of the Global North, and that colonisation was a key phase of our capitalist society.

Anton Rivette is a writer and photographer. He leads storytelling at eco-nnect.

The post The Last Forest appeared first on eco-nnect.

eco-nnect received an invite to COP27 in early October from an organisation we collaborate with, asking us to join their delegation. Due to other commitments my colleague Isi declined the invitation, but then a week later, while talking over dinner, we touched on the upcoming Conference and I asked her why she didn’t feel to attend: “shouldn’t you be present for these kinds of conversations?” She had her mouth full of salad so she didn’t reply at first, but I could see that she was thinking. When she finished chewing she responded, “I’m not sure, I’ve never really considered us to be a part of these conversations.” She told me about the process of starting eco-nnect with Almu, how they wanted to help make living sustainably a tangible reality rather than a far away utopia through raising awareness and increasing knowledge of the environmental sector, both the issues related to climate change and the solutions that were being developed to mitigate it. I asked her “isn’t that what the focus of COP is?” To be honest, my understanding of COP — which stands for the Conference of Parties, what the United Nations Climate Change Conferences have come to be known — was limited. 

I remember studying its formation during High School, how in Rio de Janeiro in 1992, the United Nations Conference on Environment and Development — otherwise known as the Rio Summit — established the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCC) with the ambition of stabilising the concentration of greenhouse gasses in the Earth’s atmosphere. The COP was created as the convention’s supreme body, an association of all member states with the intention to convene regular meetings of government, NGOs and environmental experts.

COP1 took place in Berlin from March 28 to April 7 1995, and this meeting offered a vision of the tensions that would define subsequent Conferences, as debates emerged between the industrialised countries responsible for the vast proportion of emissions, and developing countries who currently suffer the worst consequences of global warming. This meeting resulted in the Berlin Mandate, a range of indefinite commitments and initiatives countries could pick and choose according to their capabilities.

COP2 was in Geneva, where the Parties accepted the findings of the second assessment of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) — released six months earlier — while also agreeing to the need for binding targets that limit the greenhouse gas emissions of industrialised countries, which would be formalised the following year in Kyoto. It was this meeting in 1997 that led to the adoption of the Kyoto Protocol, which outlined an obligation of greenhouse gas emission reduction for 37 countries. The Protocol would be enforced in 2008 through to the end of 2012 requiring average global emissions to be cut by five percent of 1990 levels. While this was a significant moment in international climate cooperation, two of the largest emitters, China and the USA refused to ratify the agreement.

COP4 was held in November 1998 in Buenos Aires. It had been expected that unresolved issues from Kyoto would be finalised through this meeting, but finding agreement proved difficult, so the Parties adopted a Plan of Action to advance efforts to implement the Kyoto Protocol, which needed to be completed by 2000. 

COP5 did not reach major conclusions. 

COP6, held in Den Haag, involved a lot of disagreement — mostly around the definition of carbon sinks and how developing countries can obtain financial assistance to deal with the adverse effects of climate change — resulting in a second COP6 taking place the following year in Bonn. 

Less than four months later, COP7 was held in Marrakech, where the USA observed proceedings, declining to be involved in negotiations having opted out of the Kyoto Protocol. This COP focused on the operational details for nations to ratify the Kyoto Protocol, which included the discussion of an international emissions trading scheme for those involved.

COP8 was in New Delhi and was defined by Russia’s hesitation to sign the Kyoto Protocol, which was significant as the Protocol required the involvement of countries responsible for 55% of the developed world’s 1990 carbon dioxide emissions for it to be ratified, and with both the USA and Australia refusing to be involved, Russia’s agreement was necessary.

COP9 was in Milan where the Parties finalised outstanding details from previous COPs, while COP10, in Buenos Aires, reflected on the progress made across the first 10 years of the Conference. Despite Russia still not agreeing to enact the Kyoto Protocol, the Parties discussed post-Kyoto mechanisms for the conclusion of the Protocol in 2012.

In 2005 the Kyoto Protocol was enacted, seven years after it was signed, after finally being ratified by Russia. Later that year, COP11 in Montreal was a semi-celebration for the Protocol, and the beginning of negotiations beyond its 2012 expiration. 

COP12 was in Nairobi and the Parties adopted a five-year plan of procedures for an Adaptation Fund, supporting countries to build resilience and adapt to climate change.

At COP13 in Bali, an action plan was developed for a binding agreement — that would be adopted two years later at COP15 — for developed countries to cut their CO2 emissions, which also extended to China, India and Brazil, who had thus far avoided any constraints having been classified as developing nations. 

At COP14 in Poznan, the focus was to refine the details of this plan ahead of COP15.

In December 2009 in Copenhagen, COP15 opened with the hope to establish a binding agreement from 2012, when the first period of the Kyoto Protocol expires. It closed with great disappointment as the resulting agreement contained no binding obligations nor concrete goals. The only passage of note, in terms of the long-term evolution of the climate negotiations of COP, was the agreement that the global temperature increase should be kept below two degrees celsius when compared to pre-industrial levels. 

In its wake, Cancun’s COP16 established the Green Climate Fund, which stems from the Adaptation Fund discussed in COP12, calling for a collective commitment from the Parties of US$100 billion per annum, although this funding was not agreed upon.

The South African city of Durban hosted COP17 where the focus was again on the Kyoto Protocol beyond 2012, which resulted in an agreement for the adoption of a revised CO2 reduction treaty in 2015 to substitute and improve upon the Kyoto agreement. 

This was shifted the following year at COP18 in Doha, where the 2015 ambition was extended to 2020.

COP19 in Warsaw was noteworthy for its official recognition for the need to address loss and damage, and for a mass walk-out on the last day of negotiations by the WWF, Oxfam, ActionAid, the International Trade Union Confederation, Friends of the Earth and Greenpeace who stated that “the Warsaw climate conference, which should have been an important step in the just transition to a sustainable future, is on track to deliver virtually nothing.”

COP20 in Lima saw the United States and China commit to reduce greenhouse gas emissions for the first time ever, as well as an agreed commitment to significant negotiations the following year in Paris, at COP21.

The Paris Conference in 2015 proved to be the most significant meeting and negotiations since Kyoto, with the signing of the Paris Agreement, an ambitious document that for the first time saw all Parties agree to lowering planet-warming greenhouse gas emissions regardless of whether they are developed or developing. The goal of the Agreement was to limit global warming to below two degrees celsius (but preferably to one and a half degrees) when compared to pre-industrial levels, as well as to achieve a climate neutral world by 2050. 

Despite the clear steps forward, scientists felt the Paris Agreement did not cut global greenhouse gas emissions enough to avoid an increase in atmospheric temperature of two degrees celsius. Additionally, negotiations around the Green Climate (Adaptation) Fund left poorer countries disappointed. Their ambition for a legally binding provision requiring rich countries to offer a minimum of at least $100 billion a year, to help mitigate and adapt to the ravages of climate change, only appeared in the Agreement’s non-binding preamble.

As much as the Paris Agreement is heralded as a significant step in governmental climate negotiations, there were no legal requirements dictating how countries should cut their emissions, as once again the legal framework that would hold governments to clear action was put aside for future negotiations. The Agreement was again weakened by Donald Trump deciding that the USA would back out of the Paris Accord after he took office in 2017.

COP22 was held in Marrakech, with a strong focus on water, specifically around scarcity, cleanliness and sustainability. Another focus for discussions was the reduction of greenhouse emissions through low-carbon energy sources, and the growing conversation for the global financial system to shift its emphasis away from fossil fuels.

COP23 was held in Bonn and presided over by controversial Fijian Prime Minister Frank Bainimarama. Many involved were disappointed by the lack of progress toward a Loss and Damage Fund and the phasing out of coal.

COP24 was in Katowice. It was defined by the release of the IPCC’s Special Report three months earlier, which articulated what a one and a half degree warmer world would look like. The report’s bleak outlook was emphasised through a speech by 15 year old Greta Thunberg, on behalf of the global coalition Climate Justice Now!. Thunberg called out the popular politics of global governments, their continued quest for wealth and luxury, and how their lack of significant action was at the expense of their children’s futures. Thunberg concluded her speech by stating that “change is coming, whether you like it or not, the real power belongs to the people”. 

The following year, this tension — between governments and corporations and “the people” — was clear when COP25, due to be held in Santiago, was moved to Madrid due to the significant protests occurring across Chile. 

Then COVID happened, further limiting public protest and shifting society’s focus away from climate inaction and catastrophe. It also meant that COP26 was delayed a year, finally convening in Glasgow from October 31 to November 13 2021 with renewed hope, as Joe Biden opted the USA back into the Paris Agreement, made official through a letter sent to the United Nations on the first day of his Presidency on January 20 2021.

The agreement from COP26, the Glasgow Pact, was significant with its explicit articulation of the use of fossil fuels, through a pledge to phase out global use of coal, as well as government subsidies for oil and gas. Although a late intervention by China and India, who argued that fossil fuels were still needed for its development, the wording of “phase out” was edited to “phase down”, frustrating many of the involved Parties.

Like many agreements before it, the Glasgow Pact suggested countries come back the following year with stronger pledges to cut emissions. It also called out developed countries for failing to meet the $100 billion goal for the Green Climate Fund, urging governments to at least double finance for adaptation by 2025. On the periphery of the main negotiations, separate to the Glasgow Pact, agreements were made by governments and organisations, including more than 100 countries agreeing to cut emissions of methane by 30 percent this decade, while another saw 130 countries vowing to halt deforestation by 2030. These successes were achieved despite 503 fossil fuel lobbyists being granted access to COP26.

COP27 was hosted this November in Egypt in Sharm el-Sheikh, a holiday resort town on the southern tip of the Sinai Peninsula. Like many of the corporations sponsoring COP — the major partner Coca Cola is the world’s most significant polluter of plastic — Egypt is using its hosting role to project its environmental awareness, despite Egyptian President Abdel Fattah el-Sisi’s repressive approach to environmental groups, and Egypt’s greater population, over the past decade. This is exemplified by the treatment of Alaa Abd el-Fattah, the founder of blog aggregators Manalaa and Omraneya, who participated in nearly all demonstrations that surrounded Egypt’s January 25 Revolution in 2011, which was initially inspired by protests against police brutality and eventually led to the overthrow of then President Hosni Mubarak. In the ensuing power vacuum, the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF) aligned with demonstrators to temporarily govern Egypt, promising to handover power to an elected President.

Public actions and protests continued as demonstrators articulated demands to the ruling SCAF, who slowly established their own agenda for the Egyptian state. In October 2011, Coptic Christian protesters gathered in front of the Maspero television building in Cairo frustrated by the SCAF’s response to the destruction of a Coptic Christian church in Aswan. The Coptic protestors called the SCAF to sack the governor of the Aswan province, and the protests gathered a crowd comparable to the numbers that gathered in Tahrir Square to overthrow Mubarak. It was amongst this crowd of people that violence broke out. Demonstrators claim they were assaulted by plain clothed attackers before clashing with members of the Egyptian Army. Rocks were thrown, gunshots were heard and tanks arrived. It was reported that at least 24 people were killed and over 300 people were injured.

Alaa Abd el-Fattah was accused of inciting violence at Maspero by assaulting soldiers and damaging military property and was arrested on October 30. Incarcerated in a cell in the Appeals Prison in Bab el-Khalq in Cairo, he wrote a letter that shares what he learned from his fellow prisoners of how and why they were imprisoned: “I spend my first two days listening to stories of torture at the hands of a police force that insists on not being reformed; that takes out its defeat on the bodies of the poor and the helpless.” Alaa appreciated the potential failure of the revolution in its pursuit of justice and lasting change. His detention was extended and a trial was held. Alaa refused to acknowledge the legitimacy of the military court trying him and refused to answer any of their questions. He remained imprisoned until December 26, when a judge representing the public prosecutor’s office ordered his release for the following day.

It was during this period that the first democratic elections in Egypt’s history were held, with influential Pan-Islamic social and religious organisation the Muslim Brotherhood’s Freedom and Justice Party, along with the Salafist Nour party claiming majority in the new Parliament. This Parliament elected the First Constituent Assembly, who would draft a new constitution, but the assembly was questioned due to its mostly Islamic members not representing the diversity of Egypt. It was subsequently suspended by the Supreme Administrative Court. This raised the stakes for the upcoming presidential election, as it meant whoever was elected held the same unregulated powers as deposed President Hosni Mubarak. The first round of the presidential election also meant the SCAF were a step closer to handing over its temporary rule. 

After a law was passed by the new Parliament banning former regime figures from running for office, the Egyptian Supreme Constitutional Court — with judges appointed by Hosni Mubarak — ruled against the law, stating it was unconstitutional. The Court then decided that all laws regulating the 2011 parliamentary elections were invalid, which saw the new Parliament dissolved and the SCAF continuing as legislative authority. This was followed by military forces being stationed around the Parliament building to stop people, including lawmakers, from entering without official authorisation. The SCAF then announced a plan to issue a new interim constitution and that it would select a panel to write a permanent one.

Some suggested these events were a coup, which became more evident the following week when the SCAF issued their interim constitution giving them power to control the Prime Minister, lawmaking, the national budget and any declarations of war, while also removing the military and defence minister from Presidential authority and oversight. State news media announced the SCAF had also selected the 100 person panel that would draft a permanent constitution. This was happening alongside the second round of the presidential election, and by the time the Muslim Brotherhood’s Freedom and Justice Party’s candidate Mohamed Morsi was officially announced as President on June 24 2012, the SCAF had effectively eliminated his authority over their rule. 

On June 30 Morsi was sworn in, and on July 8 he issued a decree calling the dissolved parliament back into session. This was subsequently rejected by the Supreme Constitutional Court, in the first in a series of incidents that highlighted the power struggle that would define Morsi’s presidency. 

After a series of attacks along Egypt’s border with Israel, Morsi asked defence minister Mohamed Hussein Tantawi — who had acted as Egypt’s de facto head of state through the SCAF’s rule — to resign, and named Abdul Fatah al-Sisi his replacement. This came alongside a series of dismissals and appointments that overhauled Egypt’s armed forces, which Morsi, in a televised address, stated was an attempt to protect the nation. He also announced his own constitutional declaration, resembling the one issued by the SCAF, which gave him broad legislative and executive powers and a role in drafting the permanent constitution. The judicial courts intervened again, inspiring another constitutional declaration from Morsi, through which he gave himself broad powers until the constitution was agreed upon, claiming this was necessary to stop judges from thwarting the process. 

Throughout this period, protests continued all over the country, including in Tahrir Square, and again Alaa Abd El-Fattah was arrested for inciting violence, although this time he was released after a few hours of questioning from authorities. The protests were often reported as clashes along the lines of those for or against Morsi, and these clashes increased as the constitution process gained momentum, facilitated by Morsi’s most recent declaration. The constitution process was still dominated by Islamists, and a group of secular figures, journalists and Coptic church representatives withdrew from the process as a result. Despite this, those that remained voted on a draft constitution and Morsi announced a referendum.

The protests continued. Judges across Egypt stopped working, delaying a ruling on the legitimacy of the constitution’s assembly. Then the judges who were due to supervise the referendum decided against doing so, and a day after that, judges amongst that group decided to support the process. Egypt was divided. The Referendum was held yet questioned, leading to more protests and more clashes, which continued and evolved until the anniversary of Mohamed Morsi’s inauguration when protestors called for him to step down. Some observers suggested not as many protestors were formally against Morsi as was reported, and that the division was overblown as the population were merely expressing their demands to the ruling elite as a whole, whether Morsi or the SCAF. (There were also suggestions, later confirmed, that some protests were funded by the Army and also the United Arab Emirates.) The Egyptian Army, and thus the SCAF announced it would align with the protestors, and the protestors welcomed this with the hope of change. The Army issued a 48-hour ultimatum for Morsi and the government to meet the demands of the Egyptian people, otherwise they would intervene. In a televised address Morsi said he honoured Egyptians’ right to protest, but the only guarantee from further violence was the constitution, which he would give his life to defend. 

Tahrir Square filled with demonstrators in the lead-up to the Army’s deadline. The head of the Army, General el-Sisi led a coalition that arrested Morsi, removing him from power, while also suspending the constitution and announcing the Chief Justice of the Supreme Constitutional Court, Adly Mansour, as interim President. This was followed by the arrest of prominent figures in the Muslim Brotherhood, and then of journalists, as well as the closing of prominent media organisations, which coincided with a crackdown against public protests — with reports of open gunfire by the Army against demonstrators  (although the Army denied these allegations) — including the raid of protest camps in Cairo that resulted in almost 1000 people killed. In September the interim government removed pre-trial detention limits for certain crimes allowing unconvicted dissidents to remain in indefinite detention, and then in November they issued an assembly law that effectively banned any public meeting of more than 10 people. Alongside this was the development of a new constitution, amending the draft version that led to Mohamed Morsi’s removal as President. 

In November 2013, Alaa Abd El-Fattah was arrested again, facilitated by the new assembly laws, after allegedly encouraging a demonstration against the constitution outside Egypt’s Parliament. The “No to Military Trials” activist group publicly admitted to organising the protest, yet prosecutors still issued an arrest for Alaa as the event’s organiser. At first Alaa thought the arrest may have been a spectacle for the new regime to display the power of its new laws, but it became apparent the new government was more aggressive in its approach as several armed police stormed Alaa’s home, beating him and his wife and taking their phones and laptops. Soon after Alaa’s arrest, the government held a minimally attended referendum that brought their new constitution into effect, and across the first six months of 2014, General Abdel Fattah el-Sisi grew in popularity, leading him to step down from his position as the head of the Army to enable him to run for President.

It was then that Isabella interrupted the flow of our conversation: “sorry, weren’t we talking about COP?” We had been, first discussing our understanding of the meetings, then the increased public interest in negotiations since the Paris COP, and finally speaking of the decision for this year’s Conference to be held in Egypt. I expressed my cynicism of the decision, explaining how I had been following Alaa’s experiences, which led me to branch off and explain my understanding of the repressive situation that had developed in Egypt since the 2011 Revolution. “The Arab Spring gave me hope.” Isabella agreed: “Yeah, there was an energy to that time, Egypt, Occupy, a vocalised global frustration to power and the powerful, but then everything changed so quickly.” 

Abdel Fattah el-Sisi became President on June 8 2014 and Egypt increasingly becomes an authoritarian state: political opposition was nullified, journalists were imprisoned, and freedom of speech was rescinded. After almost four months, Alaa was finally brought before a judge and was released from prison. He stated in an interview televised by Democracy Now that he expected to be incarcerated again. A few months later he was sentenced to a 15 year sentence for protesting and attacking a police officer at a rally against Egypt’s new assembly laws. He was tried in absentia, along with twenty-four other defendants who received the same sentence. Months later he was freed on bail, then detained, then freed again, when his case was re-trialed, and his 15 year sentence was reduced to five years with five years probation, the latter involving sleeping in a police station each night. Alaa served his prison sentence and was freed in March 2019 only to be arrested again six months later amid a widespread crackdown of anti-government protestors. He was incarcerated for the next two years until his trial, when he was finally sentenced to another five years in prison, where he currently remains. This year, Alaa has spent more than 200 days on a hunger strike to pressure Great Britain — where he holds citizenship — and the Egyptian government to let him go, and vowed to begin a water strike when COP27 began.

“It feels ridiculous COP is happening in a country with over 50,000 political prisoners, considering how important the events and demonstrations around the negotiations have become.” I was referring to the many photographs, social media posts, podcasts and YouTube videos I have engaged with from the events that surround the COP conferences. I think of Greta Thunberg at COP26 calling the Conference a “global north greenwash festival”; I think of Naomi Klein’s speech at the Climate Action Zone during COP21; I think of the Kichwa people of Sarayaku’s Canoe of Life, and the indigenous kayak flotilla along the canals of Paris. It has been since COP21 in Paris and the development of the International Indigenous Peoples Forum on Climate Change (IIPFCC) that the protests and demonstrations surrounding Conferences have increasingly been led by indigenous leaders from around the world, and when thinking of COP27, and the Egyptian assembly laws, I wonder how all of this will come together, how this Conference will play out. Isabella asks me if I want to go, “I think we can still get a press pass”, but I shake my head, “I think it’s probably better to watch this from afar.”

So I tune in from my friends’ living room in Paris, watching live streams of proceedings on YouTube. I refresh news feeds, I watch Instagram and Facebook lives, I read posts and tweets. Early talk surrounds the tumultuous year of significant shifts to political, financial and environmental systems, how societies emerged from the lockdowns and travel restrictions of the COVID pandemic faced with economic inflation that surged when Russia invaded Ukraine in February. The ensuing war inspired Europe to cut its relationship to Russian gas supplies leading to an energy crisis that has encouraged a renewed desire for cheap energy, and thus the proliferation of new fossil fuel import agreements. Despite committing to stop using coal by 2030, coal-generated electricity in Germany has risen five percent since the beginning of the war in the Ukraine; Poland has been pursuing gas deals in Senegal; Italian government ministers have travelled to Algeria, Angola, Mozambique and the Republic of Congo seeking new deals; and Britain recently announced up to 100 new domestic gas drilling licences. Add to this the tense relationship between the world’s two biggest polluters, the USA and China, and it’s easy to feel pessimistic before the negotiations have even begun. Yet tens of thousands of people turn up to be part of the spectacle and the promise for legitimate change. Along with the intense security on the ground — including x-ray machines for entire cars travelling in and out of Sharm el-Sheikh by road — delegates notice the repression of Egypt through limitations on their web usage, facilitated by the Conference’s wifi system. 

Secretary-General of the United Nations António Guterres begins proceedings by reminding those present (and those watching from home) that the world’s population is about to pass eight billion people, then references an AC/DC song. Al Gore yet again talks about pollution. President of the European Commission Ursula von der Leyen asserts Europe’s leadership in supporting climate adaptation and mitigation for the global south, which supports the growing motion for a clear framework for the long discussed Loss and Damage Fund. The Indigenous Peoples Forum on Climate Change contends that carbon markets and offsets, geo-engineering, “net zero” frameworks, “nature-based solutions”, “ecosystem services” are new forms of colonisation. As the midterms in the USA are happening alongside the Conference, Nancy Pelosi uses the stage to claim that most Republicans believe that climate change is a hoax. Eighty year old President Joe Biden celebrates young people around the world as the leaders of the climate movement, while making an emission promise that will be enacted well beyond his presidency. Alaa Abd el-Fattah’s sister Sanaa Seif speaks of her brother’s situation and the need for international support, which is interrupted by Egyptians in the crowd exclaiming that she is conspiring with foreign agencies against the state of Egypt. Newly elected Brazilian President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva tells a packed audience that combating climate change is the “highest profile of his next mandate” and vows to protect the Amazon rain forest. Indigenous-led organisation NDN Collective highlights that with 250 delegates, Indigenous peoples made up less than one percent of the 40,000 delegates at COP27, outnumbered more than two to one by fossil fuel lobbyists.

The COP concludes with the establishment of the Loss and Damage Fund, reflected by many delegates and throughout the media as the key success of this year’s meeting. Another success was President Biden and President Xi Jinping of China agreeing to reengage in climate negotiations between their countries. Time will tell whether funds are actually committed to the Loss and Damage Fund, just like whether the promise of talks between the USA and China actually evolve into significant action. Like the many COPs before this one, and like the many promises and proclamations through the Egyptian Revolution, people in power tend to say one thing and do another.

I call Isabella after the Conference’s conclusion telling her “I think we made the right decision not to attend.” I summarise the events, along the lines of the above, to which Isabella expresses her frustrations, “how is anything going to change?” It’s a good question that sparks a long conversation that reminds me of my question over dinner a few weeks ago: shouldn’t we be present for these kinds of conversations? Maybe the better question is what is the point of conversation more broadly? Sometimes it’s necessary to speak with those close to us and challenge them to see with a different perspective, or to express our concerns and let go of the anxieties we often hold within. But when this conversation becomes a yearly ritual, it makes me wonder whether the challenges are even being heard and if this cycle of Conferences is just a celebration of inaction that is creating more anxiety?

“What do you think the solution is?” I pause to reflect on her question. I hum so she knows I am still on the line. “Hmmm. Well,” I am still thinking, “I guess we need more action, and not just demand it from those in power, like it makes sense in Egypt where there was such limitations on the way the population could behave in 2011, and even more so now, but for us in the west, we have a lot of ability to create change in our personal lives and communities.” This sparks Isabella, “Totally! We should do something. Like surely we can do something?” “You and I?” I ask. “Yeah! And eco-nnect.”

Together we decide to shift focus for the website, to embody the change we feel is necessary, to engage in deeper discussions through longform articles, to profile people and organisations that inspire us, and to bridge corporate wealth and grassroots movements through consulting. This inspires one more question from Isabella, “but are we just like the COP, talking about change?” It’s an important question. “I guess we should stop talking then?” We hang up our phones to focus on the next steps.

Anton Rivette is a writer and photographer. He leads storytelling at eco-nnect.

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A 70% decrease in the world’s wildlife since 1970 was reported this week. Research into animal populations revealed how numbers have plummeted due to human-led behaviours. Revelations such as these are heartbreaking for humanity for we navigate the emotions of loss and guilt while looking for villains to blame.

The LPI condemns the loss of wildlife to common practices of deforestation, consumption beyond limits and pollution on an industrial scale. The Living Planet Index is conducted by a collaboration between the WWF and Zoological Society of London (ZSL). Two years ago the biennial Living Planet Report showed that the figure stood at 68 percent and in 2019 it was at 60 percent.

An extract from the report outlines the delicate tipping point between nature’s decline and climate change. The loss of biodiversity, according to the World Health Organization, has a direct impact on human health. Our ecosystems are unable to function in symbiosis with human needs, which affects livelihoods, economic income, and displacement of people that may result in further political antagonism.

The report confirms that the most dramatic decrease in average population size was in Latin America, the Caribbean and the vital Amazon region. This area saw a 94 percent drop in 48 years. Africa had the second largest fall at 66 percent, followed by Asia and the Pacific at 55 percent, and North America at 20 percent. The least amount of population decrease was seen in Europe and Central Asia with 18 percent.

In a recent statement, the chief executive at WWF-UK Tanya Steele drove home to audiences the consequences of wildlife decrease in the context of the Amazon rainforest. Disruption to the harmonious relationship between vital forestry and the increasingly vulnerable wildlife is dissolving the Amazon’s ability to “act as one of our greatest allies in the fight against climate change.”

Statistics confirm that nations that contribute the least amount of emissions feel the negative immediate effects of climate change on their natural habitats and species first. Populations are grappling with volatile food systems due to over-fishing and land removal. Those nations who are able to turn a blind eye concurrently will future be forced to reconcile with similar uncertainty in the near future.

To quote political activist and writer Angela Y. Davis  “If they come for me in the morning, they will come for you in the night.” Although some of these issues don’t impose on our day-to-day lives, if we continue to ignore social issues such as this prevalent decrease of animals and nature on earth, there will come a day that it is our livelihoods at stake.

Positive change-making, however, is being done, and the 2022 Living Planet report proposes a return to indigenous leadership in conservation and a reframing of global responsibility to a nature-positive society. While implementing persistent conservation policies will help us urgently preserve what wildlife remains.

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Denmark has become the first European country to pledge to pay other countries for any “loss and damage” caused by extreme weather. This commitment comes from Denmark’s Finance Act 2022, which aims to send 60 percent of its climate budget to countries suffering the most from extreme weather. Commenting on this historic humanitarian move, Denmark’s Development Minister Flemming Møller Mortensen stated “it is grossly unfair that the world’s poorest should suffer the most from the consequences of climate change.”

Loss and damage is defined as “the destructive impacts of climate change that cannot be avoided either by mitigation (avoiding and reducing greenhouse gas emissions) or adaptation (adjusting to current and future climate change impacts).”

Loss and damage has become an important topic at the United Nations Climate Conferences in recent years with the increased frequency of extreme weather events and the acknowledgement that poverty and climate change are intrinsically linked. Developing countries are more vulnerable to damage from extreme weather events due to over-reliance on natural resources (tourism, fishing etc.), as well as poor infrastructure. It has been estimated by The Vulnerable 20 – a coalition of the most climate-vulnerable states – that their countries have lost an estimated $525 billion in the last 20 years due to the consequences of climate change.

As it was put by the Danish Development Minister, it isn’t fair for countries that aren’t significantly contributing to global emissions to be paying entirely for the damage caused by climate change. Members of the V20 states only contribute five percent of all global emissions and their combined GDP is valued at USD 2.4 trillion, but they are the worst affected countries by extreme weather.

For example in coastal Bangladesh, salt farming is one of the major sources of employment, however due to the increased frequency of cyclones, heavy rains and rising sea levels, salt production has diminished. This has led Bangladesh to start importing salt in order to keep up with their domestic demand. So not only has climate change impacted the employment levels in Bangladesh, but also their self-reliance.

All the countries of the V20 have gone through colonialisation which has left them with insufficient infrastructure, and ill equipped to deal with the impacts of climate change, such as rising sea levels, flooding, heat waves, drought etc. The call for financial assistance from the developed world, countries which only succeed due to exploitation of their colonies, is only fair.

This move by the Danish government serves as a wake-up call for other countries in the developed world to wake up and also donate their share to the rest of the world that needs it the most. After witnessing the tragedies of the horrific flooding in Pakistan over the past month along with the devastation of Hurricane Fiona in Puerto Rico, it has been proven time and time again, that world’s largest polluters are not going to be the first ones to pay for their actions.

Another Article You Might Like: Why Are Extreme “One-In-A-Lifetime” Weather Events Becoming More Frequent?

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