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Said Skounti is a researcher at the IMAL Initiative for Climate and Development based in Morocco.

Frontline communities around the world are shouldering the deleterious injustices of climate change, especially in Africa despite it emitting only around 4% of total global carbon emissions

A case in point is the nomadic Amazigh tribes in the southeastern reaches of Morocco. The Amazighs are the oldest known inhabitants of Northern Africa. Their ancestral lifestyle is threatened by climate change, manifest in consecutive years of drought, relentlessly eroding their rights, including access to water and education, and their heritage. 

The story is personal to me, as I am from this region, and these are my people. My father was a nomad but was forced to give up nomadic life and settle in a village due to drought in the early 1980s. 

Among our tribe, “we’ve gone from nearly 600 tents in 1961 to just a few dozen today”, my father declares. According to the national census, Morocco’s total nomadic population in 2014 stood at just 25,274, a 63% drop from 2004. 

“Great enabler of climate action” – UN urges Bonn progress on new finance goal

As pastoralists reliant on livestock, particularly sheep and goats, nomadic families depend on suitable pastures, but drought increasingly has rendered pastures and water sources barren. “This is the eighth consecutive year of drought, this situation is unprecedented,” a 91-year-old nomad told me. 

This is also a story of loss and damage to the nomads’ very culture and way of life. As someone familiar with the experience of displacement, I have witnessed how climate change strikes at the heart of our culture and identity. It’s not just about losing homes or livelihoods — it’s about losing the very essence of who we are.  

Each drought-induced exodus undermines our traditions, leaving us adrift in a world that seems less and less familiar.  

This is an existential crisis for my community. 

In search of water 

In Morocco, the frequency of droughts has increased fivefold, from one dry year in 15 between 1930-1990 to one dry year in three over the last two decades. Now, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change predicts a doubling of drought frequency in North Africa to come 

Water is being lost, and much is lost with it. As Moha Oufane, another nomad, said to me: “Water is everything. It’s the most important thing for us. We can buy food and feed livestock with what’s left in the mountains or by going into debt, but water can’t be bought. It’s priceless.”

Water shortages are disrupting traditional pastoral routes, forcing families to give up nomadism or put themselves at risk. In the past, the year would be structured around a well-defined nomadic pattern: summer months were devoted to Agdal-to-Imilchil, while winter months were spent on the Errachidia side, with a return to Assoul (a village in Tinghir) and the surrounding area when the cold set in.  

Today, this traditional route no longer exists. Nomads go where little water remains, to preserve their livelihoods and the lives of their livestock. 

Only one new water point exists on this traditional route, a project led by the Moroccan state. “This project is extremely beneficial for us,” Moha says. “Similar projects in other nearby areas would be of immense help to us.”

Loss and damage sub-goal

Many nomads are forced to go into debt to feed their livestock, their main source of income, which worsens their situation. According to Moha, some accumulated debts of nearly 30,000 dh ($3,000) between October 2023 and January 2024”. Debt has long been used by these communities, but this was when nomads were confident of being able to pay it back after good rainfall seasons, which is no longer the case. 

Conflicts over territory and diminishing water-dependent resources, once unthinkable, now disrupt the social cohesion and hospitality for which nomadic communities are renowned. 

The plight of Morocco’s nomads illustrates the need for international support for climate-affected communities. Rich historic-emitter countries must honour their obligations to provide climate finance under the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC).  

Quality – not just quantity – matters in the new climate finance goal

Economic costs of loss and damage in developing countries are estimated to reach $290-580bn/year by 2030. Grant finance, not debt, must be provided for communities to repair and recover. Developing countries should not have to spend a penny to cope with loss and damage they did not cause. However, despite the celebrations, the new UN Loss and Damage Fund has only received $725 million in pledges. 

We need a sub-goal for loss and damage in the New Collective Quantified Goal (“NCQG”) on climate finance, to be debated over the coming days at the mid-year UN climate negotiations in Bonn and the agreed at COP29 in Baku. It is immoral for developed countries to be blocking such a sub-goal. 

It is outrageous that nomads and frontline communities should be left to fend for themselves and see their ancestral lifestyles, identities and cultures eroded, while some wealthy nations prosper from investment in fossil fuels and find public finance for their own purposes but not for climate finance. We refuse to be collateral damage in a game of power and profit. 

The post North Africa’s disappearing nomads: Why my community needs climate finance appeared first on Climate Home News.

North Africa’s disappearing nomads: Why my community needs climate finance

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Low-Producing Oil Wells in Texas Cause Headaches for Landowners

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Jackie Chesnutt, who lives outside San Angelo, is tired of pollution from wells she says should have been plugged years ago. Experts say Texas rules allow companies to defer plugging wells for far too long.

Reporting for this story was supported by a grant from the Fund for Investigative Journalism.

Low-Producing Oil Wells in Texas Cause Headaches for Landowners

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America’s Dirty Secret

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An interview with author Catherine Coleman Flowers.

The fourth installment in our special Earth Day series

America’s Dirty Secret

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With love: Love to the researchers

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Greenpeace activists investigate the consequences of the severe explosions at the Nord Stream Pipelines. © Gregor Fischer / Greenpeace

When the sciences and the humanities; democracy and ecology, are all under common and increasing attack, the efforts of independent experts and researchers matter more than ever.

David Ritter

So often in life, our most authentic moments of joy are the result of years of shared effort, and the culmination of a kind of deep faith in what is possible.

A few weeks ago, I had the honour of being in Canberra, along with some fellow environmentalists and scientists, to witness the enactment of the High Seas Biodiversity Bill 2026 by our federal parliament.

This was the moment that the Global Ocean Treaty—one of the most significant environmental agreements of our time—was given force through a domestic Australian law

If you are part of the great Greenpeace family, you will know exactly why this was such a huge deal. The high seas make up around 60 per cent of the Earth’s surface and for too long, they have been subjected to open plunder. Now, for the first time in human history, there is an international instrument that enables the creation of massive high seas sanctuaries within which the ocean can be protected. This is a monumental collective achievement by Greenpeace and all the other groups who have campaigned for high seas marine sanctuaries for many years.

But as momentous as the ratification was, the parliamentary proceedings were distinctly lacking in drama or fanfare–so much so, that Labor MP backbencher Renee Coffey felt the need to gesture to those of us in the gallery with a grin, to indicate that the process was over and done.

The modesty of the moment had me thinking about the decades of quiet dedication by many hands that are invariably required to achieve great social change. In particular, I found myself thinking about researchers. So much of the expert academic work that underpins achievements like the Global Ocean Treaty is slow, painstaking, solitary—and often out of sight.

I think of the persistence and tenacity of researchers as an expression of love, founded in an authentic sense of wonder and curiosity about the world—and frequently linked to a deep ethical desire to protect that source of wonderment.

Crew operates underwater drone to document Woodside’s sunken oil tower. © Greenpeace

In 2007, one of the very first things I was given to read after starting with Greenpeace as an oceans campaigner in London was a report entitled Roadmap to Recovery: A global network of marine reserves. Specific physical sensations can tend to stick in the mind from periods of personally significant transitions, and the tactile reminiscence of holding the thin cardboard of the modest grey cover of that report is deeply embedded in my memory. I suspect I still even have that original copy in a box somewhere.

Written by a team of scientists led by Professor Callum Roberts, a marine conservation biologist from the University of York, the Roadmap provided the first scientifically informed vision of a large-scale global network of high seas marine sanctuaries, protecting the world’s oceans at scale. Of course, twenty years ago, this idea felt more like utopian science fiction, because there was no Global Oceans Treaty. But what seemed fanciful at the start of this century is now possible-–and I have every confidence the creation of large scale high seas marine sanctuaries will now happen through the application of ongoing campaigning effort—but we would never have gotten this far without the dedication of researchers, driven by their love of the oceans. And now here we are, with the ability for humanity to legally protect the high seas for the first time.

Campaigning and research so often work hand in hand like this: the one identifying the need and the solutions; the other driving the change. Because in a world of powerful vested interests, good science alone doesn’t shift decision makers—that takes activism and campaigning—but equally, there must be a basis of evidence and reason on which to build our public advocacy.

So, I want to take a moment to think with love and appreciation for everyone who has contributed to making this possible. I’ve never met the team of scientists who authored the original Roadmap, so belatedly but sincerely, then, to Leanne Mason, Julie P. Hawkins, Elizabeth Masden, Gwilym Rowlands, Jenny Storey and Anna Swift—and to every other researcher and scientist who has been involved in demonstrating why the Global Oceans Treaty has been so badly needed over the years—thank you for your commitment and devotion.

And to everyone out there who continues to believe that evidence and truth matter, and that our magnificent, fragile world deserves our respectful curiosity and study as an expression of our awe and enchantment, thank you for your conscientiousness.

When the sciences and the humanities; democracy and ecology, are all under common and increasing attack, the efforts of independent experts and researchers matter more than ever. You have Greenpeace’s deepest gratitude. Every day, we build on the foundations of your work and dedication. Thank you. 


Q & A

I have been asked several times in recent weeks what the ongoing war means for the renewable energy transition in Australia.

While some corners of the fossil fuel lobby and the politicians captured by these vested interests have been very quick to use this crisis to call for more oil exploration and gas pipelines, the reality is that the current energy crisis has revealed the commonsense case for renewable energy

As many, including climate and energy minister Chris Bowen have noted, renewable energy is affordable, inexhaustible, and sovereign—its supply cannot be blocked by warmongers or conflict. People intuitively know this; it’s why sales of electric cars have climbed to an all-time high, it’s why interest in rooftop solar and batteries has skyrocketed in recent months.

The reality is that oil and gas are to blame for much of the cost-of-living pain we’re feeling right now; fossil fuels are the disease, not the cure. If Australia were further along in our renewable energy transition and EV uptake, we would be much better insulated from petrol and gas price shocks and supply chain disruptions.

Yes, we need short-term solutions to ease the very real cost-of-living pressures that Australian communities and workers are facing as a result of fuel shortages. While replacement supplies is no doubt a valid step for now—Greenpeace is also backing taxes on the war profits of gas corporations to fund relief measures for Australians—in the long term, we will only get off the rollercoaster of fossil fuel dependency and price volatility if we break free from fossil fuels and accelerate progress towards an energy system built on 100% renewable energy, backed by storage.

With love: Love to the researchers

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