It’s been two weeks since Khalil Abu Yahia, his wife, and two daughters were killed in an Israeli airstrike in Gaza.
Every day that passes, I try to put words to paper, as others have before me, to offer a tribute to this very special friend and partner.
But writing about Khalil, rather than writing with Khalil, is devastating. Writing about Khalil is impossible to do without him and without his words – words that defied those that tried to silence him and keep us apart.
I lit the Jewish ceremonial memorial candles last weekend in memory of Khalil, his family, and others who have been killed in this incomprehensible violence.
I recalled a message Khalil sent me on my birthday this year: “As they say, don’t count your candles, but see the light they give.”
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As I write this in disbelief, I know that Khalil would be comforted that his partners are holding on closely to his words as a source of light, and as a source of hope for a just future, and a climate resilient future, in all of this.
I first met Khalil in the summer of 2021. As regional climate specialists, Mor Gilboa and I were setting out to write an investigative report on the effects of climate change on life in Gaza.
While Mor is a long-time Israeli climate and environmental justice activist, and I had spent years working on water security in Gaza, it was clear from the start that we could not do justice to this issue without the guidance and partnership of a local expert.
A friend of mine suggested we reach out to Khalil, a passionate and curious student and researcher from Gaza.
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At that point, Khalil had been connected to friends and political activists across Israel and abroad through solidarity efforts with Gaza’s Great March of Return protests.
Khalil agreed to be a part of our reporting team. This decision was not a simple one – publishing with Israel-based co-authors was a major risk for Khalil.
Our initial conversations were spent getting to know each other, learning about our political outlooks, understandings of justice, and goals for this report.
We began a relationship building process that was made near-impossible by the barriers that prevented us from knowing each other in the first place.
Over the next six months, Khalil, Mor, and I began researching and writing. We wanted to understand and articulate what climate breakdown in Gaza looks like.
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We scheduled meetings based on when Khalil would have electricity access, while we wrote about the chronic instability of electricity supply in Gaza and how it affects the availability of essential services, including health, water, and sanitation.
Very quickly, we understood how deeply the very same barriers that made it difficult for us to know each other and work together – particularly the decades-old siege on Gaza and relentless cycles of Israeli bombardments – were also fundamentally changing the way Gazans can build climate resilience.
Under Israel’s uncompromising restrictions on the movement of people and materials in and out of Gaza, the most basic life-supporting infrastructure, including clean water and continuous electricity, have been under threat for years.
These resources are also the most susceptible to climate breakdown and are fundamental in building climate resilience.
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The blockade on Gaza, which has been maintained by Israel and Egypt since 2006, along with frequent rounds of violence, has fueled an economic and humanitarian crisis in Gaza for the past fifteen years. Gaza can barely ensure livable conditions at present, let alone in an increasingly uncertain climate future.
While Mor and I would try to meet together to co-write about this crisis from our homes in Tel Aviv/Jaffa – a city far more equipped to deal with climate breakdown than the Gaza Strip, we could only dream of meeting Khalil.
Meeting online was also challenging: his limited access to the internet reduced our ability to work efficiently, hold stable zoom calls, or co-work on the same document. But we made up for it in dozens of voice notes and messages.
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Khalil’s voice notes always started the same: “Hi Natasha! Hi Mor! How are you? I hope you are doing well.”
He would offer us a range of wishes, always attuned to whatever developments in our life we had shared with him.
He congratulated me on my sister’s wedding, he wished me a speedy recovery when I had Covid-19 while we were working to meet a writing deadline.
“I wanted to ask about you.” He said to me in one voice note, “I hope you are ok and that you are fighting this Corona. I am really very worried about you and thinking about you. I know it’s maybe a bit difficult to fight this Corona, but I also know that you are up to the task. Please, if you want anything, just don’t hesitate, just ask me. Regards, and sending love.”
Our process of writing together in many ways was an act of resistance to the systems we were writing about.
We built a friendship, first and foremost, and we also got to shed light on the situation in Gaza through our reporting.
Reflecting over these last couple of weeks, Mor reminded me about one of the conversations we had with Khalil while we were working together.
“During one of our video calls, I was sitting outside on a bench in Jaffa. Khalil shared about his grandmother who fled from Jaffa to Gaza in 1948, and how much he would like to come visit here. He asked me to show him the area around me on video. I remember his great excitement and also his desire to come and see Jaffa.”
“I was also excited to meet him,” Mor continued, “and in general to research climate and environmental issues in Gaza. This has interested me for many years, but is almost inaccessible to me as an Israeli… Getting to know him was a point of light in a very large and lasting darkness.”
I felt like we were defying the odds in building this partnership. In one of the tributes to Khalil published last week, Maya Rosen and Erez Bleicher reflected on Khalil’s belief in the radical potential of friendship, and how Khalil – whose name means friend in Arabic – reminded them that borders could be overcome and that the systems keeping us all apart could be broken.
“Khalil understood that a just solution must be found for everyone who lives here,” Mor shared with me. “Even as someone who lived for over two decades under blockade, poverty and oppression, his heart was wide, loving, open and optimistic.”
Khalil deeply embodied this in our work by showing curiosity, offering love and support, and letting us into his own experience. He shared openly when he was frustrated or upset in the process, inviting us to do the same, and through this we built a radical friendship that lived beyond our reporting.
Our report was published in +972 Magazine in January 2022. Through the voices of residents across Gaza, who Khalil took great efforts to meet and interview, we offered an analysis on the bleak future for Gaza.
We called it “a climate change hotspot within a hotspot that is being denied both its basic humanitarian needs, and the capacity and resources to prepare for and minimize the impacts of climate breakdown.”
Since we published the article, we kept closely in touch. We exchanged birthday wishes, photos, and other life updates, but also exchanged reflections on developments in our research.
Khalil would update me and Mor on things like Gaza experiencing the first day in a while of having 24-hours of electricity across the Strip, when a new water desalination plant was constructed but didn’t have the fuel to operate fully, or when he saw our article being posted or shared in networks he was connected to.
Over the past month, we also stayed connected. But we didn’t talk about the intersections of the climate crisis with the ongoing bombardment.
We didn’t talk about how safe water supplies are almost entirely inaccessible, how frequent electricity blackouts have devastated Gaza’s ability to provide essential services, or how toxic white phosphorous bombs are being used indiscriminately across the Strip.
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It is near impossible to think about the climate crisis amongst this much death and destruction; but the reality is, this last month has set Gaza even deeper into a humanitarian crisis, and its two million residents are more vulnerable to the impacts of climate change than ever.
With severely limited access to food, water, energy, and health services, and with the devastation to homes and shelters across the Strip, the population has very little capacity to cope with any major climate event or disaster.
On top of this, the increasing restrictions on Gazan movement or humanitarian support is barring their access to key adaptation strategies, such as migration or adaptive agriculture.
Plainly, whatever the end of this violence brings, Gaza will need to prioritise reconstruction and restoration over advancing climate resilience.
Khalil understood this, and in the messages I received from him before he died, he still held onto his vision for an alternative future.
He sent wishes of safety. He shared updates on his family and his efforts to escape the bombings.
Khalil shared his thoughts and reflections on this hope for something different. “I believe that my voice will hopefully change something,” he wrote, “to make people move or, at least, speak truth to power.”
Even with the barriers and systems that divided us higher than ever before, he also continued to share his love.
“I hug you deep inside my heart,” Khalil wrote to me. It was his last message to me before he was killed.
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Over ten thousand Gazans have been killed since October 7, and I keep asking myself how many other people like Khalil did we lose to this violence, who we never had the opportunity to meet, to work with, or to love.
In the same way that Khalil understood his own mortality as a Gazan, especially in these last few weeks, I also know that he believed that safety, justice, and freedom for all people was possible.
I hope that I, and the many others he inspired, will continue to be rooted in his optimistic yearning and unwavering commitment to solidarity and justice. Rest in power, Khalil.
Natasha Westheimer is researcher and practioner in the fields of climate change and water governance in Israel/Palestine
The post “I hug you deep inside my heart”: In memory of Khalil Abu Yahia appeared first on Climate Home News.
“I hug you deep inside my heart”: In memory of Khalil Abu Yahia
Climate Change
Marine Parks Explained
Australia’s network of marine parks is the largest in the world, covering more than half (52%) of Australia’s Commonwealth waters. You could be forgiven for assuming that a marine park is much like a national park on land: a highly protected place where people can enjoy nature while conservation efforts help habitats recover and wildlife thrive. You wouldn’t expect someone to bulldoze a national park, so why should they be allowed to bottom trawl in a marine park?
The reality is that not all marine parks are equally protected. Australia’s Marine Parks Network is divided into different zoning categories, with each zone determining which activities are permitted and the level of protection provided.
More than half of the Commonwealth Marine Parks Network allows industrial activities like oil and gas mining, and industrial fishing.
Our survival, and the survival of our planet, depends on the ocean. The ocean produces more oxygen than all of our forests combined, sustains communities and regulates the earth’s temperature. It’s home to wondrous wildlife and important ecosystems like coral reefs and kelp forests.
We love our big blue backyard
Australia’s ocean is teeming with life that is found nowhere else on earth. Schools of colourful fish, vibrant coral reefs, endemic shark nurseries, pods of dolphins, families of whales, playful seal pups and threatened Jurassic-era turtles call Australian waters home.
Since time began, from the turquoise waves to the deep blue, the ocean has connected our shorelines and communities, fed us, guided us and grounded us. We are intrinsically connected to our big blue backyard – more than 85% of us live within 50km of the shoreline. For tens of thousands of years, people have lived in harmony with the ocean and the wildlife within it, caring for and being sustained by its rich waters. Australia’s waters are some of the most unique and abundant places on Earth but our Marine Parks Network is falling short to properly protect them.
Australia’s marine parks aren’t living up to their name

The Australian Commonwealth Marine Parks Network covers commonwealth waters 5.5km from the coast. The network is divided into 7 regional management areas, overall the network contains 60 marine parks. Zoning types determine what activities are allowed in each area. Over half of the network allows industrial activities, risking our most precious and threatened ocean wildlife.
Within many of our marine parks, destructive industries are allowed to fish, trawl, dig and mine using barbaric and cruel methods. Here are some of the zones explained:
- Bottom Trawling: Special Purpose (trawl) zones allow bottom trawling. This covers 10 marine parks totalling almost 13 million hectares. Bottom trawlers bulldoze the seafloor with weighted nets, deforesting our underwater forests; a cruel, indiscriminate and inefficient way to fish.
- Other Industrial Fishing: Includes “Habitat Protection Zones, ““Multi Use Zones” and “Special Purpose Zones.” Fishing methods vary from park to park but many marine parks in these zones allow industrial fishing like longlining. Longlining involves setting lines that can be 100km long, bristling with deadly hooks designed to catch a specific fish species. But longlining is not a selective method of fishing – significant numbers of sharks, rays, turtles, dolphins and seabirds can be harmed or killed as bycatch in the process.
- Oil and Gas Mining: Many “Special Purpose” and “Multi Use” zones allow seismic blasting and oil and gas mining. 30 marine parks or 65 million hectares of Australia’s highest conservation value areas for ocean wildlife are open for mining and exploration of oil and gas.
- Ocean Sanctuaries: National Park and Sanctuary zones are fully and highly protected marine parks designed to conserve wildlife and their habitat, where fishing, mining, and other industrial activities are not allowed.
Industrial fishing is one of the biggest threats to the ocean

In May, Greenpeace Australia Pacific sailed our campaigning vessel Oceania through some of Australia’s most beautiful and threatened marine parks. Our crew visited Jervis and Hunter marine parks to document their beauty, showcase what’s at risk and aim to expose the industrial fishing activities in these protected waters. Both of these marine parks allow bottom trawling and longlining methods of industrial fishing.
Industrial fishing is ripping the ocean apart across the planet. Longlining, also known as longline fishing, is an industrial fishing method that involves the use of a fishing line with thousands of baited hooks. These fishing lines can stretch over 100 kilometers in length and are set to capture a fish species, often tuna or billfish species. But it is not a selective method of fishing and often results in significant bycatch. This includes a range of non-target species like sharks, rays, sea turtles, marine mammals, and seabirds which are often injured or killed as bycatch.
Bottom trawling involves dragging heavy weighted nets along the ocean floor. This fishing method is popular with commercial fishing companies, because it makes it easy to catch large quantities of fish in one go. But it also damages the seafloor, releasing carbon and can kill or injure non-target ocean life like coral, fur seals, dolphins and seabirds. You may have watched the reality of bottom trawling (and the benefits of ocean sanctuaries) in Ocean with David Attenborough, if not, add it to your watch list!
Fully protected ocean sanctuaries that ban industrial fishing and mining can protect ocean wildlife and underwater wonderlands for generations to come. Vast, robust sanctuaries create blue havens where ocean wildlife are safe from nets and hooks, and can truly rest, recover, thrive and replenish out into the surrounding waters. Ocean sanctuaries ensure a healthy ocean full of life.
A once-in-a-decade chance to fix what’s falling short
We have a unique opportunity to turn the tide.
The Australian Government is asking for your feedback on how our Commonwealth Marine Parks Network is managed. This is our once-in-a-decade chance to protect ocean wildlife, ban industrial fishing and create more ocean sanctuaries.
As part of the review the Government is asking for submissions from the public to hear from you on what improvements are needed to better protect our vast network of marine parks. Writing a submission is a powerful way to influence government decisions and create real change.
This is the moment to ban industrial activities like bottom trawling and oil and gas mining. But only if they hear from YOU. Add your name!
Greenpeace is calling on the Australian government to:
1. Ban industrial activities from Australia’s Marine Parks Network: Ban industrial activities, such as industrial fishing, seismic blasting and oil and gas mining, from Australia’s marine parks.
2. Create more ocean sanctuaries: Increase fully protected sanctuaries in Australia’s marine parks based on science principles.
3. Connect Australia’s Marine Parks Network to the High Seas: mCreate seascape connectivity by linking Australian marine parks to new high seas ocean sanctuaries.
References
Substantiation that more than half of the Marine Parks Network permits industrial activity comes from a peer-reviewed systematic literature review (Phillips et al. 2025, PLOS One, https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0307324). The study found that within the Commonwealth Marine Parks Network specifically, “all zones are considered partially protected areas, meaning areas where extractive activities are permitted, except ‘Pink zones’ (Preservation Zones; IUCN Ia) and ‘Green Zones’ (IUCN II).” In other words, every Commonwealth marine park zone type other than the network’s strict no-take sanctuary and national park zones (IUCN Ia and II) permits some form of extractive industrial activity. Since no-take zones are the minority zone type across the network by area, this supports the conclusion that the majority of the network’s area is zoned to permit industrial activity.
DCCEEW Australian Marine Parks spatial dataset (https://fed.dcceew.gov.au/datasets/erin::australian-marine-parks/explore), filtered by zone type. This confirms that 38.43% of the network’s area is zoned as Sanctuary or National Park zones (IUCN Ia and II). These are the no-take categories excluded from the peer-reviewed study’s definition of partially protected/industrial-permitting zones. The remaining 61.57% of the network falls within the zone categories the study classifies as permitting industrial activity (per The MPA Guide definition of “industrial” applied in Phillips et al. 2025), directly corroborating the peer-reviewed finding with current Commonwealth-specific spatial data.
For further information on activities permitted within the Marine Parks Network Zoning, you can refer to the Management Plans zoning and rules for each Marine Parks Network area, for example: Temperate East, Coral Sea, North.
Climate Change
Report: Trawling the Bottom Line
A new report from Greenpeace Australia Pacific advocates for the closure of bottom trawling in Australia’s Commonwealth Marine Parks Network. Bottom trawling continues to be a pervasive threat to ocean life in Australia, with 10 marine parks totalling almost 13 million hectares, allowing bottom trawling.
Australia’s network of marine parks, which is the biggest in the world, covers more than half (52%) of Australia’s Commonwealth domestic waters, but not all parks are created equal. Australia’s Marine Parks Network is divided into different zoning categories, with each zone determining which activities are permitted and the level of protection provided. More than half of the Marine Parks Network allow industrial activities like industrial fishing and oil and gas mining. This includes zoning types that allow destructive fishing by longliners and bottom trawlers, who pillage underwater wonderlands, rip up coral and indiscriminately and violently catch any animal in their path, including turtles, seals and dolphins, all within areas labelled a marine park.
The Federal government has commenced a review into the majority of Australia’s Commonwealth Marine Parks Network management plans. This presents an opportunity to ban industrial activities from our marine parks and create more ocean sanctuaries.

Climate Change
Sewing and Painting the Future

© Harriet Spark / Grumpy Turtle Film / Greenpeace
The banner drop is a distinctive part of the Greenpeace repertoire.
The moment of the unfolding is intrinsically dramatic. It is the reveal; when the moral and scientific truth of a situation is unveiled to the world. The wrong is being labelled—not through a written submission, or a social media post, or a statement in a meeting—but in words emblazoned in real physical space, chosen and occupied with precision, for all to see. There is jeopardy and transgression. And there are consequences—for the activists and for Greenpeace, as well as for the target of the communication. One of the reasons the banner remains such an effective tool in our toolbox is because of its undeniable clarity in cutting through, driving change and accountability in a way that few other tactics can. It is naming the wrong: in giant, clear letters.
We’ve hung these massive messages at environmental crime scenes, corporate headquarters, and iconic landmarks; on government buildings, ships and planes—in locations all around the world, for years.
My own memories unfurl even as I write this, but because the campaign to stop Woodside at Scott Reef is so pressing, what immediately springs to mind are two of our banners in that campaign: one on a crane outside their Perth HQ, and another on some of their corroding industrial junk at sea. What about you? Is there a particular banner that you picture when you think of Greenpeace?
The banners can attract global attention, but they have quiet beginnings. Each one is made by hand, often by volunteers. It is the invisible labour behind each spectacular public moment. One of the key pieces of equipment in our workshop at Rainbow Warrior House is the sewing machine. Sometimes our workshop is full of people and noise; at others it is quiet, the only sound being the gentle, purposeful, whir and buzz of a banner being sewn. It is usually our warehouse manager, Kieran Holmes, on the tools, head over the machine, carefully pouring over the raw canvas or tarp as the banner takes shape. Kieran’s one of those people who seems to be able to turn his hand to almost anything, but you wouldn’t know it because he’s old-school modest. In addition to being incredibly skilled, Kieran’s an all-round beaut human to have in the heart of our headquarters; never too busy to take the time to show a newcomer, or curious visitor, around his domain.
Once the banner is sewn up, the lettering needs to be outlined. This is done on a magnetic wall—a fit-for-purpose feature at Rainbow Warrior House, where the banner is held up with magnets, and the edges of the letters neatly traced from a projection.
Next comes the painting. It usually starts late in the afternoon, sometimes going into evenings and weekends, with volunteers, staff, mates crowded around, brushes in hand. It is a calming meditative feeling of shared purpose, giving each letter its visual heft, the colour building power and presence with each stroke.
Then you stand back, stretch, and look at the message, now ready.
S A V E S C O T T R E E F
Throughout history, every great push for social change has required some form of invisible labour; preparation in the form of quiet things seldom seen, but vital. It is the enabling work of love instantiated in action. And of course, so much of the time it has been women who have done this labour, so that the men could get the chance to make the speeches and stand on the podiums. The inaugural Greenpeace voyage to stop nuclear testing in 1971 had a male-only crew, but wouldn’t have happened without the ideas and work of women behind the scenes.
It is what we do together, after all, that changes the world. Sometimes that work happens on a stage, a ship on the wild seas, or up the side of a building. But mostly, it is the hidden diligence of those who care and contribute to all the enabling work that makes a change once thought impossible, inevitable. It is Kieran at his sewing machine. It was Dorothy Stowe doing the administrative work of the ‘Don’t Make A Wave Committee’ that became Greenpeace.
When we think of social change, it is the sturm and drang that we remember. The drop of the banner, the chant of the crowd, the raising of the new flag. But look behind the curtain, and there’ll be a crew of people who are taking responsibility for the administration, the sewing and the painting, making the food, checking the bus timetables, getting stuff done. And behind them are even more handsinvisibly donating time and trust; the financial, material and expert resources that make it all possible. There’s love, camaraderie and know-how at every stage.
We are social and cooperative creatures by nature. And we human beings have been stitching for millenia, sewing the possibilities of our common future. Political and corporate bullies and algorithmically manipulative platforms would have us forget this, and abandon who we are. But we should be in no doubt that the brighter prospects for ourselves and life on earth continue to be stitched and painted; collaboratively and with love, by the diligent hands of millions of people who care, each day, in every community and city across the world.
With Love,
David
Q & A
I always get great questions when interviewing prospective new team members. One that came up again recently was: “Is Greenpeace actually one organisation?”
Around the world, people know Greenpeace by our one global name, united by a shared mission: securing an Earth capable of nurturing life in all its magnificent diversity, with a particular focus on climate and biodiversity. Behind the scenes, though, we’re organised as a network of 25 legally autonomous national and regional offices, including Greenpeace Australia Pacific, working alongside Greenpeace International.
That structure gives us the best of both worlds: we work together leveraging the power of a global network on the issues that matter most, while each office remains legally independent and deeply connected to the communities, cultures and political realities where we’re embedded. Local knowledge informs global action, and global collaboration strengthens and supports local campaigns.
It’s a model that has enabled Greenpeace to take on some of the world’s biggest challenges for over five decades–while withstanding challenges and attacks from governments and corporations. Global enough to tackle global problems, local enough to understand our communities and the natural places we love.
If you’re curious to learn more, you can read about the Greenpeace Global Network structure here.
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