Originally published on Global Voices

A data center. Image via Canva.

This post is part of Global Voices’ April 2026 Spotlight series, “Human perspectives on AI.” This series will offer insight into how AI is being used in global majority countries, how its use and implementation are affecting individual communities, what this AI experiment might mean for future generations, and more. You can support this coverage by donating here.

Data centers are largely invisible behemoths that power today’s digital age. The facilities are made up of huge warehouses that house servers and other IT infrastructure necessary to process the so-called new oil: data. With the current boom in generative artificial intelligence (AI), the demand for data centers is projected to rise exponentially, around 20 percent every year until 2030, says UNDP.

This urgent demand for data centers has been driven by AI and tech companies, which have been aggressively lobbying different governments and pushing narratives that this technology will drive economic growth and progress. As a result, data centers are emerging in regions where they were not historically prioritized, particularly in the Global South. As UNDP mentions, within Latin America and the Caribbean, for example, digital infrastructure is concentrated in just a handful of countries and is mostly privately owned and backed by US investment groups. 

Steven Gonzalez Monserrate, ethnographic researcher of cloud infrastructures and author of the book “Cloud Ecologies,” calls this process “Terraforming,” changing Earth and the specific way humans live to accommodate computers. He explains: 

We are seeing again the flow of resources these data centers produce to the global north through Western companies. This way, they are entrenching inequalities and creating new colonialism. They are taking land. They are taking natural resources. They might not themselves be countries, but they are behaving like states. Google and Amazon are increasingly behaving like states. They are spending a lot of money to influence politicians. They are spending a lot of money on building infrastructure for their workers and creating these little enclaves within countries for their workers.

Indeed, in one investigation, “Big Tech’s Invisible Hand” by Centro Latinoamericano de Investigación Periodística (CLIP), together with Agência Pública and 15 media partners, found that tech executives held thousands of meetings with government officials from around the world between 2012 and 2025. And, among the matters discussed, AI, data centers, tech infrastructure, energy, taxes, and government regulation took the center stage — especially in Latin American countries such as Brazil, Chile, Mexico, and Argentina.

A resident in Uruguay grapples with the ongoing drought. Screenshot from YouTube.

Data centers nearly always affect nearby communities, and the impact is rarely positive. This is because the facilities generally require substantial energy, land, and water resources, and those built specifically to sustain generative AI even more so. These immense demands have already overwhelmed countries in the Global North. So how are countries in the Global South faring? Particularly those with lower GDPs, which already struggle with infrastructure challenges, water shortages, and electric grid management.

In this cross-border, collaborative article, Global Voices is sharing stories from several countries in Latin America where communities are pushing back against AI-driven data center development. Find a collaborative piece on how AI development is affecting communities in Asia here.

The cost of data centers

According to the Data Center Map, Brazil has 206 data centers from 34 markets, leading the Latin America ranking. The federal government has implemented a National Data Center Policy and estimates USD 3 trillion in investments in this sector over the next five years. Officials have also introduced a special tax scheme to incentivize new enterprises to invest in data centers.

“Brazil needs a clear policy to attract data centers,” said Márcio Elias Rosa, minister of Development, Industry and Commerce, in an interview with the EBC, a state-owned Brazilian media group, in April. “We must be careful when doing a policy to incentivize attracting data centers with the need to be compatible with environmental issues. Because a data center consumes a lot of energy and hydric resources, water for refrigeration.” 

One of the most striking examples of how these incentives can disadvantage surrounding communities is the “AI City” project, which will be launched in  Eldorado do Sul, Brazil, by Scala, a company that already operates data centers in Brazil, Chile, and Mexico. Eldorado in Rio Grande do Sul was one of the cities devastated by a historic flood in 2024, in the southernmost state of Brazil. The floods are considered the worst climate disaster ever recorded in the state, as an estimated 90 percent of its territory was underwater for days. Residents remain terrified that the disaster could repeat itself, as flooding is an annual reality in the region, even in less severe years.

The project was first announced in 2024, and once complete, Scala’s venture will be the largest data center in Latin America. This structure is estimated to occupy an area of 7 million square meters and cost at least USD 50 billion. 

Ambiental Media published an exclusive story in March 2026 reporting that the state government agreed to simplify the environmental licensing process to push project permits through “in the shortest time possible.” The outlet also stated that, by simplifying it, “the company is not required to do an Environmental Impact Study (EIA), nor public hearings.” The Ministry for Mining and Energy authorized access to 1.8 GigaWatts of power, which equals the energy consumed by a city with 6 million inhabitants.

Representatives from the energy sector and tech companies are pressuring the federal government to introduce more incentives. A study by IDEC (Consumers’ Defense Institute) entitled “We are not data centers’ backyard,” analyzed cases in Latin America to find a scenario of “communities running out of water, pricier electric bills and projects approved without consulting the population.” The document stresses the need for effective and clear regulation policies to limit the expansion of projects that could bring social and environmental threats:



A ausência de diretrizes robustas pode contribuir para a reprodução de modelos de desenvolvimento que geram impactos socioambientais significativos, os quais, conforme apontado por diferentes levantamentos e estudos recentes, tendem a se concentrar em países do Sul Global, como o Brasil, em razão de marcos regulatórios menos restritivos.



The absence of robust guidelines could contribute to reproducing developmental models that generate significant social-environmental impacts, which, as reported by numerous reports and studies recently, tend to concentrate in Global South countries, such as Brazil, due to less restrictive regulatory marks. 

Developments in Chile, Uruguay, and Argentina

In 2017, there were six data center projects in Chile. In 2026, there will be 66. In Argentina, there are currently 42 data centers, and in Uruguay, 10. The tech giants that are caught in the AI race, Microsoft, Amazon, Google, and to some extent, Oracle, are all investing in data centers in Latin America.

Steven Gonzalez Monserrate, who is researching the environmental and political impact of data centers, said in an interview with Global Voices that when tech companies approach politicians, they often offer glamorous promises to local authorities and communities about job creation, economic gains, and technological advancements. As Monserrate explains:

Think of data centers as the future. They think of computers and A.I. This is the future. And why would you want to stop the future? And that’s kind of the narrative. But very few people actually understand how these work. And the mayor doesn’t understand how the data center works. They just see dollar signs, and they get really excited, and they want to have an economic incentive.

But in reality, AI data centers do not bring that many economic rewards to local economies. Once they’re built, most require a dozen or a few dozen people to operate, rather than the thousands politicians envision.

A worker in a Google data center. Screenshot from Google Sustainability’s YouTube video.

They also consume vast amounts of utilities: energy, water, and land. This strains local infrastructure, raises electricity prices, and can even create shortages — particularly in times of scarcity, such as the one caused by oil shortages from the US’s war on Iran. Moreover, because they have to function 24/7, 365 days a year, operators are now relying on diesel or gas backup generators, which create air pollution. In addition, they create noise pollution, which can stress communities and create mental and physical problems for nearby residents. Gonzales says:

Most data centers have air chiller units on top of the facility. And those air chillers make a loud kind of rattling, humming noise. And since the data center doesn't stop running, it’s a constant operation, you’re going to get that noise constantly. And there’s been a number of really compelling studies on the effects of noise pollution over time on human bodies.

Some of those effects are psychological, but they affect your sense of well-being: anxiety, high blood pressure, and stress.

Communities are right to be concerned about the introduction of new data centers. An investigation by Amenaza Roboto, produced in partnership with the Pulitzer Center’s AI Accountability Network, found that the environmental impact goes beyond water and electricity usage. Using 25 years of NASA satellite data, reporters found that a data center operated by Antel, Uruguay’s state telecommunications company, creates a heat island visible in satellite imagery, raising temperatures measurably above the surrounding area. Google is currently building a data center just 11 kilometers away that will be five times larger than the Antel center, yet the environmental impact assessment made no mention of the heat island effect.

Community resistance

In Chile and Uruguay, local communities actually managed to stop Google from building two data centers — at least temporarily. 

In February 2024, local residents and activists in the town of Cerrillos, on the outskirts of Santiago, Chile’s capital, stopped Google from building a data center, preventing it from using water to cool its servers. They took the issue to the environmental court, which partially blocked Google’s permit (issued in 2020), preventing it from building a data center in the town. The court urged the tech giant to revise its application and consider the environmental impact.

The cooling system at a Google data center. Screenshot from Google Sustainability YouTube.

Google had announced it would modify the cooling system to use less than the planned 169 liters of water per second. However, following the court decision, it suspended the project and a USD 40 million investment in what would have been the country’s second data center. The other, built in 2015 and still operating, is situated in Quilicura, on the outskirts of Santiago. At the time of writing this article, there was no news about whether Google would resume construction.

Droughts have affected various regions of Chile over a 40-year period, from 1979 to 2019. Furthermore, northern Chile is one of the driest regions in the world, and the central region, which is home to 70 percent of the national population, has had a permanent water deficit since 2010. 

In 2023, in the midst of Uruguay’s worst drought in 74 years, Google bought 29 hectares (72 acres) of land to build a data center in the Canelones department, in southern Uruguay, reported The Guardian. This data center would have used 7.6 million liters of water per day to cool its servers, equivalent to the daily domestic use of 55,000 people. The water would come directly from the public drinking water system. Public anger remained widespread, and citizens blamed the country’s economic policy, saying that more than 80 percent of water goes to industry.

A Google data center under construction. Screenshot from Google Sustainability YouTube.

Google had paused the construction shortly after it started in 2023. It is still listed as “under construction” on Google’s data centers web page. However, the construction was approved after Google agreed to change the cooling system to an air conditioning-based method, rather than water-based. “Protests by civil society achieved important changes in the Google project, which was initially going to use large quantities of water.” However, the new plan “has been approved under time pressure, making it hard to assess its impacts,” said Ana Filippini, from the Movement for a Sustainable Uruguay (MOVUS). 

Argentina is grappling with its own data center conundrum as it struggles to balance ecological preservation, with fear around missing out on the AI race. The Stargate Argentina project was announced by OpenAI CEO Sam Altman (via video appearance) and Argentina’s President, Javier Milei, in October 2025 as a historical milestone.

Indeed, while Open AI would not build or sustain the planned data center itself, the tech giant promised to invest (or rather, as Buenos Aires Times points out), agreed to purchase everything produced by the data center, which would be built by the local company. 

However, experts warn that Argentina does not yet have a regulatory framework tailored to the installation and operation of large-scale data centers. In practice, the only applicable regulation is the Incentive Regime for Large Investments (RIGI), which offers tax, customs, and financial benefits to attract capital. While this regime may attract investments, it does not address key issues such as environmental safeguards, water use, energy consumption, or long-term planning. 

Patagonia, Chile. Image from Wikimedia Commons. License CC BY 2.0

Patagonia is seen as an attractive location because of its energy resources, including natural gas and renewable sources such as hydropower and wind energy. But there are many environmental concerns. Overall, Neuquén province appears to be among the most favorable locations for initial deployment, given its growing shale gas industry and clean energy assets. But data centers require significant amounts of water, especially for cooling systems. In regions like Neuquén, water scarcity is already an issue and is expected to worsen with climate change. 

Communities in the region have raised alarms about cumulative environmental impacts. They point to existing problems linked to oil and gas extraction, such as spills, contamination, and insufficient infrastructure. 

Originally published on Global Voices

The tail feathers of a Rufous-vented chachalaca. image via Canva Pro.

At Global Voices, we’re often amazed at how seemingly random things remind us of how interconnected we are. Last year, it was the quality and symbolism of light; this year, after our Venezuelan contributor Estefanía Salazar shared a photo of the country's stunning national bird — the Venezuelan Troupial (Icterus icterus) — much to the delight of the rest of us in the region, it’s birds.

Not only do our feathered friends travel long distances with no consideration for the risks posed by man-made borders, but they also share our spaces, contribute to the well-being of our environment — even as their habitats are threatened by development, hunting and more — and, because they move so effortlessly between earth and sky, are powerful symbols of freedom and transformation.

According to the president of BirdLife Jamaica, Justin Saunders, “Birds, and especially our national birds, represent the resilience, pride, and significance of our countries and of the Caribbean region as a whole. Though we are small island nations, we continue to have an outsized impact, and birds reflect that strength and identity in a powerful way. They also remind us of how interconnected we are across the region […] Birds are one of the few parts of nature that are truly accessible to almost everyone, regardless of age, background, or even disability, and that unifying quality is part of what makes them so meaningful to the people of [the] Caribbean.”

This Earth Day, we offer you a glimpse at some of the region’s favourites…

Antigua and Barbuda’s magnificence

The Magnificent frigatebird. Image via Canva Pro.

The national bird of these small islands is the Magnificent frigatebird; in fact, Barbuda is home to the largest frigatebird colony in the western hemisphere.

Locally, they are called “Weather birds” — whenever they circle inland, this behaviour is often interpreted as a reliable warning that a storm is approaching. Excellent hunters, fishermen often observe them to locate the best fishing grounds.

Posing prettily in The Bahamas

The Caribbean flamingo; image via Canva Pro.

A perfect match for its blue waters and white sand beaches, the national bird of The Bahamas is the Caribbean flamingo (Phoenicopterus ruber), and its Inagua National Park, established in 1965, boasts the largest breeding site of Caribbean flamingos in the world — about 70,000 — quite an impressive figure, considering the species was once considered in danger of extinction.

The popular pelican

The Brown pelican. Image via Canva Pro.

Various regional nations have adopted the Brown pelican (Pelicanus occidentalis) as their national bird, including Barbados, St. Kitts and Nevis, the Turks and Caicos, and St. Maarten, where it adorns the respective countries’ coat of arms. The bird can also be seen perched atop the crest of the University of the West Indies.

Up until the 1950s, there was a small island off Barbados’ west coast, aptly named “Pelican Island” after the brown pelicans that nested there in large numbers. However, the waters between Barbados and Pelican Island were reclaimed to build the Bridgetown Deep Water Harbour, and today, you only get rare glimpses of them. In St. Maarten, meanwhile, the main pelican nesting site at Fort Amsterdam has been showing declining numbers.

Phenomenal parrots

The Imperial amazon or sisserou parrot adorns Dominica’s national flag. Image via Canva Pro.

Dominica, widely known as “The Nature Island,” has a national bird found nowhere else. Known as the Imperial amazon (Amazona imperialis) or Dominican amazon parrot, fondly called the sisserou by locals, it is unfortunately a critically endangered species, with a current population trend of just 40-60 mature parrots in the wild. Their numbers have been declining due to threats such as habitat loss, climate change, and hunting.

The St. Lucia parrot. Image by Aaron Michael via Wikimedia Commons (CC BY-SA 2.0).

St. Lucia also has a parrot as its national bird — its namesake, the Saint Lucia amazon (Amazona versicolor). Endemic to the island, it is considered a vulnerable species. Locals call it the Jacquot and, as one birdwatching blog recalls, the bird was in rapid decline in the 1970s because of hunting, until local environmentalists launched an awareness campaign and started going into schools dressed as parrots: “Their aim was to stress to pupils that the bird should be honoured, not hunted.” The following year, the country’s parliament passed a law making it illegal to kill the St. Lucia parrot. Such an offence is now considered unthinkable and comes with a hefty fine and jail time.

The St. Vincent parrot. Photo by David J. Stang via Wikimedia Commons (CC BY-SA 4.0)

St. Vincent and the Grenadines’ parrot of choice is the indigenous Amazona guildingii, or St. Vincent parrot, which struggled in the wake of the 2021 Soufrière volcano eruption. It is currently listed as vulnerable, though the date of that assessment preceded the series of volcanic eruptions. The bird, locally called “Vincie,” is regarded as a national treasure.

More endemic species

The Grenada dove. Photo by Mark Stevens on Flickr. (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0).

Grenada is another regional territory whose national bird, the Grenada dove (Leptotila wellsi), is native to the island where it lives. Sadly, it is also listed as critically endangered. The most recent assessment in 2021 determined the presence of just 136–182 mature birds in the wild. Its numbers are being compromised by development and the negative impacts of the climate crisis, including pollution and invasive species. Many Grenadians have been trying to save the dove, citing its ecological significance and its role in heritage and national pride.

The Hispaniolan trogon; image via Canva Pro.

Haiti also honours a species endemic to the island of Hispaniola — the Hispaniolan trogon (Priotelus roseigaster) — as its national bird, underscoring the unique biodiversity of the species and the need to preserve it. Despite threats to its habitat, the Kanson wouj (“Red underpants”), as it is called in Haitian Kreyòl, is currently a species of least concern on the International Union for Conservation of Nature’s (IUCN) Red List of Threatened Species, contributing to Haitians’ perception of the trogon as a symbol of resilience. The bird is often depicted in Haitian art and folklore.

Jamaica’s ‘Doctor Bird’

The Red-billed streamertail hummingbird. Image via Canva Pro.

When Jamaica gained its independence from Britain in 1962, the country’s National Birds Act declared the Red-billed streamertail (Trochilus polytmus) — the most common of Jamaica’s hummingbird species — as the national bird, thanks to both its endemic status and its popularity. Jamaicans fondly refer to this hummingbird as “Doctor Bird.” It has been the topic of many a Jamaican folklore tale and folk song, and forms a significant part of the island’s cultural identity.

Twin islands, two birds

The Scarlet ibis (L) and Rufous-vented chachalaca (R). images via Canva Pro.

At the southernmost end of the Caribbean archipelago, Trinidad and Tobago may be one nation, but it has two national birds — Trinidad’s Scarlet ibis (Eudocimus ruber) and Tobago’s Rufous-vented chachalaca (Ortalis ruficauda), commonly called the Cocrico, after the sound of its call. Both species enjoy a current status of least concern.

As BirdCaribbean Executive Director Lisa Sorenson told Global Voices via WhatsApp, “Caribbean birds, especially our endemic species, connect people to place, culture, and nature. The Caribbean is home to 185 endemic bird species; by protecting [them] and their habitats, we safeguard the health and well-being of our communities and the ecosystems we all depend on.

Birds are among the most visible symbols of our natural heritage, inspiring national pride and reminding us that our islands are home to extraordinary biodiversity found nowhere else on earth. Our islands also provide essential habitat for migratory birds, offering food, water, and shelter during their long journeys between breeding and wintering grounds.

On Earth Day, we celebrate the beauty and diversity of the natural world — and the joy, wonder, and peace that birds bring to our lives every day.”

Originally published on Global Voices

Image by Gabriela Mesones Rojo for Global Voices.

The Global South — from Sub-Saharan Africa to the Pacific Islands, from the Amazon Basin to Western Asia — is at the forefront of a crisis that was largely created by just a few wealthy nations. These regions are facing the most severe and immediate consequences of climate change: rising oceans, prolonged droughts, accelerating deforestation, disrupted food systems, and mass displacement. Yet these same communities are generating some of the world’s most innovative, locally rooted, and human-centered climate solutions.

While global attention on climate justice in the Global South has never been higher, the lens used is disproportionately centered on the perspectives of Western nations and large international institutions. Additionally, much of this coverage only focuses on the massive scale of the problem, overlooking those working tirelessly to combat it and the consistent progress that has been made. That is why, for our May 2026 Spotlight, we’re launching the series “Global crisis, local solutions.”

Global Voices Spotlight shifts that narrative. Rather than framing the Global South as a site of climate vulnerability and victimhood, our reporting will center the ingenuity, agency, and leadership of communities, activists, scientists, and entrepreneurs across Africa, South and Southeast Asia, Latin America and the Caribbean, Western Asia and North Africa, and the Pacific. We focus on the people making brilliant advancements in green research, launching impressive conservation plans, harnessing Indigenous knowledge and wisdom, and achieving concrete victories in the fight to restore the planet’s ecosystems.

We have so many stories to tell, and not enough budget for all of them. The global funding crisis — controlled by many of the same actors opposing climate action — has made it harder to report on these issues, even as that reporting is more and more vital. Donate now, and your contribution will go towards paying our editors and other staff so that we can offer you more of these urgent insights from around the world.

Rewards

Each individual donation of $25 or more will receive an eBook copy of the full Spotlight issue once it’s complete.

Stretch goals (cumulative)

$1,000: An additional Undertones column analyzing narrative trends – we have more ideas for fascinating narrative analysis stories than we can produce at our current budget, help us add another one!

$1,500: An additional online panel, bringing together experts, journalists, and analysts to discuss an aspect of the theme!

$3,000: A podcast including follow-up interviews with editors and contributors, highlighting some of the most interesting stories in the Spotlight issue)

$10,000: An additional article from each of our regions. Most of our editors have far more article ideas on this topic than they can complete in their paid hours. Help us pay them more, and you get more fantastic insights into Positive Action on Climate!

$15,000: Surprise! Based on the topic and our learnings from it so far, we’ll choose an add-on that we think will add the most to our understanding of the Spotlight theme.

Any funds that don’t make it to a stretch goal level will still be used to support the Global Voices newsroom!

You can also support additional translation of all of our stories by donating to Lingua.

Originally published on Global Voices

Image by Ibrahim Kizza for the Association for Progressive Communications (APC), used with permission.

This article is part of the series “Don't ask AI, ask a peer,” a collaboration among Global Voices, the Association for Progressive Communications, and GenderIT.  The series aims to re-emphasize the importance of knowledge sharing among people, as has been done for decades. You can follow the series on APC.org, GenderIT.org, and globalvoices.org. It is also part of Global Voices’ April 2026 Spotlight series, “Human perspectives on AI.” You can support this coverage by donating here.

Since the current AI hype began after Open AI made its ChatGPT available to billions of users worldwide in November 2022 (at the time, without any existing regulation or ethical frameworks or guardrails), we have heard numerous predictions of how AI will change everything for humans: human labor would be replaced; human creativity not needed anymore; human connection would be so much better with chatbots; governments would apply strict AI algorithms that eliminate human bias in social services; we will have break-through science available in just a few years and many more.

Over three years later, how has the appearance of Generative AI changed for us? It has brought unnecessary and harmful disruptions to our education system, it has given some coders some more tools to write code, and it has been used, almost without human supervision, in war.

It is 2026, and AI companies still do not have profitable business models and cannot give businesses meaningful proposals on how to use their products. Yet the AI people — CEOs, financial directors, research directors and even ethics directors — keep selling us their magical, anthropomorphising vision of their models. Please note also that most of these companies are connected to the “previous generation” of tech oligarchs: Google is developing Gemini; Microsoft invested in both Anthropic and Open AI; Mark Zuckerberg’s Meta has its very own Llama; Elon Musk not only bought and crushed Twitter but also has the famously porno-oriented Grok, and Jeff Bezos is investing in not one but seven AI companies, including Perplexity AI and Dutch- based AI startup Toloka.

AI narratives from tech companies are purposefully deceptive

Researchers and journalists have already done some work to show the way narratives around AI are constructed, and how this shapes not only our anxiety and misperceptions of AI, but also governments’ panic around “losing in the AI race.”

When OpenAI introduced ChatGPT, it was described as being “trained” on a vast “corpus” of data, using a “neural network” capable of generating “natural language.” This terminology, while technically grounded, also framed the system in human-like terms, suggesting something more than merely “artificial” intelligence.

At the same time, the system’s errors were labeled “hallucinations,” a term that evokes imagination or magical thinking, and also belongs to the human domain. But these are not hallucinations; these are real errors that models built on statistical probability make. And they make a lot of them: some researchers estimate models being wrong in 25–30 percent of cases.

Nonetheless, the combined effect of this terminology, the surrounding hype, and Altman’s own widely publicized concerns about advanced AI, has shaped public perception in a different direction. Together, they contribute to an understanding of generative AI as something dynamic, expansive, and difficult to control, at times even framed as a potentially existential threat to humanity.

Another example of humanizing chat bots comes from Anthropic

Recently, Anthropic, an AI company founded by former OpenAI researchers, released a document entitled Claude’s Constitution. In it, as legal scholar Luisa Jarovsky observes, Anthropic relies heavily on anthropomorphic framing, advancing what can be read as a pretentious, controversial, and legally questionable account of the nature and social role of AI systems.

For instance, the document states: “We encourage Claude to approach its own existence with curiosity and openness, rather than trying to map it onto the lens of humans or prior conceptions of AI.”

This language frames the model as a quasi-conscious entity, one capable of reflecting on and “approaching its own existence.”

From a governance perspective, claims Jarovsky, Claude’s Constitution represents a concerning development. It risks subordinating human values, legal norms, and rights by attributing undue philosophical and moral status to AI systems.

Finally, LLM models themselves are designed to produce text that is first-person, informal, and conversational, while synthetic voices are engineered to sound human. In addition, says Caleb Sponheim, a former computational neuroscientist, these systems produce responses filled with unnecessary pleasantries, sycophantic agreement, and anthropomorphizing language that prioritizes engagement over utility.

Moreover, one of the authors of this document, Anthropic’s in-house philosopher Dr. Amanda Askell, has said that she was “building Claude’s personality.”

AI is not your friend

Emily Bender, a professor of linguistics at the University of Washington, and Nanna Inie, an Assistant Professor at the IT-University of Copenhagen, state: “AI is not your friend. Nor is it an intelligent tutor, an empathetic ear, or a helpful assistant. It can not ‘make up’ facts, and it does not make ‘mistakes.’ It does not actually answer your questions.”

It does not have “creativity”, it does not “think” or “connect.” It can only repeat what it has already been “trained” on, and that was produced by humans. Generative AI does not write, design or paint: it generates statistically closest patterns; these are probabilistic automation systems, which make them fundamentally different from human cognition or creativity. Yes, they probably could be useful tools in some occupations.

But in order to understand that, we have to change the language around AI models and the technology itself. Journalists and media need to stop repeating tech companies’ marketing pitches, and policymakers must stop prioritizing the imagined urgency over safety and human rights.

So the answer to the question “Why is it vital to value human creativity and connection in the age of AI?” is that there is no other creativity or connection than that of humans, no matter what tech companies are trying to sell us.

Originally published on Global Voices

Artists are demanding tech companies to uphold transparency and fairness when rolling out AI to scrape and mine local content. Photo from X post of Media, Entertainment & Arts Alliance.

This post is part of Global Voices’ April 2026 Spotlight series, “Human perspectives on AI.” This series will offer insight into how AI is being used in global majority countries, how its use and implementation are affecting individual communities, what this AI experiment might mean for future generations, and more. You can support this coverage by donating here.

Artists, journalists, and Aboriginal cultural workers in Australia have initiated the “Stop AI Theft” campaign to demand stronger protection for their creative output amid the rising use of generative artificial intelligence (generative AI).

The Tech Council of Australia reported in August 2025 that 84 percent of Australians in office jobs use AI at work. According to Tech Council research, AI in Australia could create up to AUD 115 billion (over USD 79 billion) in economic value annually and 200,000 jobs by 2030.

But the widespread adoption of AI has also raised concerns about its potential harm to society, including significant disruptions to the creative industry. In recent years, artists have argued that AI has been undermining their livelihoods and, in some cases, stealing their work altogether. Many of the most popular generative AI models illegally scraped content from the internet without creators’ permission, which the models then use to generate “new” content. In some cases, the models spit out nearly identical materials to the original copyrighted item.

A group of voice actors said their work was cloned without their knowledge. Local journalists said their reports were plagiarized and used on AI-generated news websites. A January 2026 report published by the University of Sydney warned that journalists are increasingly being rendered invisible in Generative AI search results. Meanwhile, Indigenous activists say people have used generative AI models to produce and sell fake Indigenous art.

Citing the need to counter the detrimental impact of AI, artists and media workers have banded together in launching the “Stop AI Theft” campaign. Media, Entertainment and Arts Alliance chief executive Erin Madeley summed up the rationale of the campaign.

For the big Silicon Valley tech companies that own these machines, their business model is built on taking others’ work and selling it as their own and what we’ve seen so far is the thin end of the wedge.

It is theft, plain and simple – theft of people’s voices, their faces, their music, their stories and art.

If left unchecked, the increased use of AI tools in the media, arts, and creative industries will lead to mass job losses and the end of intellectual property as we know it.

It will also drive the erosion of our news and information to the point where the community cannot tell fact from fiction.

Activists launched the campaign with the hashtag #PayUp, to emphasize how big tech companies are profiting off artists’ work while the artists themselves are continually losing business.

Support our campaign to stop AI companies using your likeness without consent or compensation. It’s time for big tech companies to #PayUp! https://t.co/W6skZlkgla#StopAITheft @midjourney pic.twitter.com/o5i3pMaRhR

— MEAA (@withMEAA) February 3, 2026

Creative and media workers have bills to pay and mouths to feed. We can't afford to have our work stolen by Big Tech companies.

Show your support to #StopAITheft here and make Big Tech #PayUP! :https://t.co/W6skZlkgla pic.twitter.com/d8ibviX4es

— MEAA (@withMEAA) January 15, 2026 

As authorities seek to boost AI-related investments, they initially considered revamping copyright laws to allow AI to mine and train local online content. This was opposed by local content creators and media institutions.

In July 2024, MEAA appeared at the Senate Select Committee hearing on Adopting Artificial Intelligence and raised the following demands to the government.

Give users the power to opt-out of having their work used for training AI.

Legislate to force companies to compensate creative and media workers for the work that has been used to train AI.

Enact rules around transparency forcing companies to publicly disclose what materials they’ve used to train AI.

Aside from lobbying for the enactment of policy measures, the “Stop AI Theft” campaign also encouraged local artists to sign an open letter addressed to Silicon Valley tech companies.

Dear CEOs and owners of Amazon, Google, Meta, Microsoft, Open AI and X,

We are the enablers of cultural production and dissemination, in all communities and across the generations. Our work is the essential lifeblood of healthy democracies and functional societies.

Our output is unique and original, and you are stealing it.

We are not going to sit idle while you devalue our work and degrade our society. Our work is not a free input to be fed into your machines.

We demand to be paid when our work is used by your company, and we demand compensation for the work you have stolen from us.

“We already know that big tech has been profiting from stealing the work of Australia’s creative workers and journalists, and calls to legitimize this theft are incomprehensible,” said Joseph Mitchell, assistant secretary of the Australian Council of Trade Unions.

The “Stop AI Theft” campaign held a dialogue with tech companies in August 2025 about the demand for transparency and remuneration.

It celebrated the Federal government’s announcement in October 2025 to maintain copyright laws to protect local artists and creative workers.

We need strong protections to protect the work of artists, creatives and media workers to ensure the future of our culture.

Show you support here: https://t.co/W6skZlkgla #stopAITheft #PayUp pic.twitter.com/1nSwnqY39i

— MEAA (@withMEAA) January 19, 2026

This commitment was reflected in the National AI Plan unveiled by the government in December 2025.

Australia has strong protections in place to address many risks, but the technology is fast-moving and regulation must keep pace. That’s why the government continues to assess the suitability of existing laws in the context of AI.

The government has provided certainty to Australian creators and media workers by ruling out a text and data mining exception in Australian copyright law.

The latest update in the “Stop AI Theft” campaign acknowledged the success in blocking the push of tech companies to change copyright laws that would have given them free access to Australian creative works to train AI.

Originally published on Global Voices

Design by Sophie Holland via Uncloseted media. Used with permission.

By Emma Paidra

This story is part of Global Voices’ April 2026 Spotlight series, “Human perspectives on AI.” This series will offer insight into how AI is being used in global majority countries, how its use and implementation are affecting individual communities, what this AI experiment might mean for future generations, and more. You can support this coverage by donating here.

The story is from Uncloseted Media and GAY TIMES was first published on March 14, 2026. It is republished here as part of a content-sharing partnership with Global Voices. 

When Pornhub released its most-watched categories of 2025, queer-themed content held the top two spots: “Lesbian” was the most viewed category, and “Transgender” was the second most viewed, up five spots from 2024.

The global appetite for LGBTQ+ adult content is increasing in tandem with the explosion of AI porn. Over the last year, Google searches for “AI porn generators” have steadily climbed, with one site receiving 8.57 million visitors in January. But unlike porn made up of real people, AI porn is largely unregulated, opening the door for the exploitation of queer bodies.

A ranking of the most viewed categories of 2025 according to PornHub. Screenshot from PornHub 

“More often than not, AI-generated pornography falls under this umbrella of ‘non photo-realistic media,’ or ‘non hyper-realistic adult content,’ not unlike illustration,” Aurélie Petit, a postdoctoral researcher at the Quebec research chair on French-language artificial intelligence and digital technologies, told Uncloseted Media and GAY TIMES. “And the moment you don’t know how to address this kind of content, then you don’t know what to do with a big part of AI adult productions.”

Though there have been steps taken to regulate the AI porn industry, there is still a long way to go. Last year, the U.S. Congress passed the TAKE IT DOWN Act, which bans the publication of intimate, non-consensual images in the U.S., including AI-generated images. And the sharing of these images, known as deepfakes, is now a felony in Tennessee.

But much of AI porn isn’t based on one person’s likeness. Rather, it’s generated from a vast database of preexisting content used to teach the AI model. So any user who wants to create porn can simply ask an AI model to create their dream scenario, and — in a matter of minutes — a video to their liking depicting realistic people is created.

“There’s a very real concern that some of the worst types of content on the internet — hateful content, non-consensual content of children … those exist on the internet, and we cannot verify that data sets [used to power AI algorithms] don’t include those images,” says Miranda Wei, postdoctoral fellow at Princeton University’s Center for Information Technology Policy.

Outside of deepfakes, U.S. laws leave AI-generated porn in a legal gray area, often varying by state or municipality. In California, Governor Gavin Newsom signed a bill cracking down on deepfakes and requiring AI-generated content to be watermarked. But there is yet to be a consistent policy across the board on how to legislate AI porn.

“When you have real people, or images that look like real people, we understand harm,” says Petit. “But most platforms do not know what to do. … It’s really a legal blur, a policy blur.”

Depictions of trans women

Because transphobic people make up a significant chunk of porn consumers, mainstream trans porn is often designed in a way that leans into prejudice. Videos using slurs or harmful tropes perform well on porn websites, and Google trends show that searches for “tranny porn” and “shemale porn” remain high. On Reddit, the largest trans-related subreddit is r/traps, a porn-sharing group named after a derogatory term that describes trans women as “traps” for cis men.

“[The internet] is still often reflecting a very heteronormative mindset. … Those preexisting biases for what kinds of content exists on the internet informs the data that is fed into those AI models,” Wei told Uncloseted Media and GAY TIMES.

A quick search for “AI trans porn” produces countless generated images of hyper-feminine trans women with unrealistically large penises, often the same length as their torsos. Other videos show trans women being penetrated by men with penises so large that, in real life, they would inevitably cause physical harm.

“When they say trans, you need to really understand it’s trans women, and a trans woman who still has a penis … it’s really a fetishization of trans women pre-operation,” Petit says.

One of Google’s first search results for “AI trans porn” is for CreateAIShemale. On the site, users can build a trans woman from a wide variety of options. They can choose her age, the size of her breasts, butt, and penis, and select from nearly 70 modifiers including “bimbo,” “spanked, hand print,” “impregnation,” and “pony cock.” The site also lists 42 options for “race,” with strange inclusions such as “goblin” and “green skin.”

On a separate but similar site, the owners write: “Your fantasy, your rules. With Trans AI customization, you can design every detail of your AI companion — from physical characteristics and outfits to voice tone and personality traits. … Our shemale AI models can generate images and videos on demand, making your interactions more vivid and exciting. … Shemale AI makes it possible instantly.”

Brandon Robinson, associate professor of Gender and Sexuality Studies at the University of California, Riverside, says these infinite customization options are concerning: “[It] can further the objectification of trans women, as it treats them as just sex objects that can be changed and customized to one’s own likes and desires,” they say. “It also erases that trans women are real, actual human beings, with their own wants, needs, and desires.”

Beyond the fetishization lies a celebration of violence against trans women. A quick search yields videos with headlines that include “AI Generated Shemale Getting Destroyed by a Massive Dick.”

Robinson says these depictions exacerbate preexisting stereotypes. “A lot of men come into dating or hooking up with trans women with these stereotypes.”

A ranking of the most searched for “gay terms,” according to PornHub. Screenshot from PornHub.

Depictions of gay men

While deepfake laws in the U.S. now offer some protection, AI porn that isn’t based on one person’s likeness is harder to prosecute. And that’s concerning when you look at the global appetite for gay porn. In 2025, Pornhub reported that “femboy” and “twink” were the site’s two most searched for gay terms. And “Femboy Fixation” was one of the top five trends that defined 2025, with searches for “cute femboy” and “sexy femboy” up 79 percent and 93 percent, respectively.

What’s concerning is that AI has the ability to produce depictions of categories — which are code words for skinny, younger men — that take it to the next level. Many AI-generated depictions of these men show very thin, often emaciated, bodies. “It’s giving very unrealistic body ideas,” Robinson told Uncloseted Media and GAY TIMES. “And we know that there’s a history of eating disorders and body dysmorphia within the gay community.”

A ranking of the most searched for “gay categories,” according to PornHub. Screenshot from PornHub

Depictions of children in AI porn are another space that has opened the door for bad-faith actors. A 2026 issue brief from UNICEF found that across 11 countries, at least 1.2 million children reported having had their images manipulated into sexually explicit deepfakes through AI tools in the past year. And while there have been regulations on deepfakes, groups devoted to creating twink and femboy AI porn can create videos that depict youthful, small bodies, potentially making content that blurs the lines between adult content and child pornography.

While some may find it hard to believe that something as sinister and criminalized as child pornography could be informing AI models, Wei says it’s happening. “Using Child Sexual Abuse Material (CSAM) is definitely not legal. It is awful. But lots of illegal things still happen,” she says. “People do use generative AI to generate AI CSAM, because the models have probably ingested CSAM before.”

Lesbian porn and AI

Unrealistic depictions of lesbian sex are also popping up in AI porn. One AI-generated lesbian porn video shows a woman licking semen out of another woman’s vagina — inserting an invisible male presence into sex between women.

Another disturbing part of AI’s representation of lesbians has to do with how it often makes women look identical. In one AI-generated image, two lesbians in matching black bikinis sit on the beach. Their haircuts, facial features, and bodies are the same. Through these kinds of images, AI risks encouraging viewers to overlook women’s individuality or — worse — lean into the fetish of incest.

In addition, many of the AI-generated depictions of women are feminine, extremely thin, white, and often have unrealistically large breasts and butts. While these attributes are already sought after in conventional porn, AI generators have the ability to produce depictions of women with impossible body proportions.

AI-generated porn can be harmful for those who watch it, especially for young people: Pornography is already highly addictive, with one study finding a 91 percent increase in pornography consumption since 2000. Another study found that between 17 and 24 percent of adolescents have experienced a dependency on AI.

Wei finds this troubling because much of how AI porn is generated is a black box. “​From a consumer standpoint, you don’t really have the ability to audit how this tool was made,” she says.

Because of this, users may unknowingly consume media that is based on abusive imagery or even child pornography. This is because the massive amount of data that tech companies use to feed their AI models is gathered from across the internet, making it impossible for individuals to vet each piece of information. “It feels more risky to use it when you don’t know who created [the AI porn], what their intentions were, or how they collected the data that was used to make it.”

Wei says what is most concerning is that the data that tech companies use to feed their AI models is not always publicly available. “Large tech companies can be very protective of where they get their data. That is part of their business,” she says. “The scale at which these data sets are being collected means that you cannot have a human manually go through and verify that every piece collected was consensual [or] that a queer person was accurately depicted.”

What can be done?

Some popular generative AI models say there are safety regulations in place. ChatGPT’s website states that the model cannot be used for the creation of “illicit activities” or “sexual violence.” But Petit says that bad-faith actors may still succeed in skirting regulation. “There’s so many AI generators, and there’s people whose entire game is to break the generation,” she says. “You can tweak it more and more and can make the AI do something it doesn’t want.”

In one Reddit thread, a user of Elon Musk’s Grok expressed frustration about newly implemented moderation methods making it harder to generate explicit images. In response, another user seemingly confirmed they were able to find a workaround: “Right now I’m generating realistic videos of completely naked men with tentacles and fluids and non-con sex talk and moans and it works great,” the user wrote.

The potential for nefarious uses of AI came to light when it was revealed that, starting in December 2025, Grok produced and shared upwards of 1.8 million sexualized images of women over the course of nine days. “As we’ve seen with Grok and the numerous scandals over the past few years, the ability to stop an AI model from creating explicit imagery of someone is … unsolved,” Wei says.

Wei doesn’t have a bulletproof solution. “I’m not necessarily aware of a universal technique that could prevent, 100 percent of the time, the creation of images of other people,” she says.

There are, however, strategies that help safeguard AI models. For example, red teaming, which consists of prompting an AI model to generate illicit content, is an ethical tool companies can use to spot regulatory weaknesses. “[It’s] a way to adversarially test, to attack a model and see if it can do harmful things which you are trying to prevent it from doing,” says Wei.

With some companies like Google employing hackers to red team in hopes of identifying security concerns, Wei thinks other AI companies should do the same.

Another approach lies in public model cards, which are small files accompanying AI models that provide information about the data the model was trained on, as well as the AI’s intended use and limitations. Both of these methods are in pursuit of transparency, which Wei sees as necessary to safer AI use. “There should be a way to make technologies safe when people want to use them. … Transparency is needed in order to make progress on safety issues, but that’s again, ongoing.”

In the meantime, Wei says that “tech companies and lawmakers need to step up” and implement greater regulation around AI porn. “Effective regulation also needs the input of people who already have lived experience with pornography, like sex workers and adult actors, and anyone who would be depicted in this imagery.”

Originally published on Global Voices

Transgender people in Banaras gather on March 20, 2026, to express concern over the proposed Transgender Rights Amendment Bill 2026. Image by Varanasi Queer Pride (Instagram). Used with permission.

A Bill has been proposed in India’s lower house of Parliament that strikes at the core of transgender people’s right to bodily autonomy and privacy as guaranteed by the Supreme Court of India in a landmark 2014 judgment, National Legal Services Authority (NALSA) v. Union of India. Activists have therefore called the bill “unconstitutional” and “dangerous,” and as it is expected to soon become law, it has also heightened concerns and uncertainty about its impact.

Proposed amendments to existing legislation

The Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Amendment Bill, 2026 (“2026 Bill”) has been newly introduced in India’s ongoing Parliamentary Budget Session, proposing to amend the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act, 2019 (“2019 Act”), much to the chagrin of India’s transgender community.

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According to activists, the proposed amendments to the 2019 Act threaten trans people’s safety and privacy in two ways. First, they narrow the definition of who counts as “transgender” by effectively excluding a wide range of identities, including, but not limited to, transgender men, non-binary and gender-fluid persons who do not fit into rigid gender categories, as well as many intersex and trans-feminine identities. Second, the amendments delete the provision of the law that explicitly guaranteed, within the text of the statute, the right to self-identification of one’s gender. Instead of self-identification, a person would now need to provide medical proof of gender change through surgery and submit a certificate issued by the Medical Superintendent or Chief Medical Officer to the District Magistrate, who, upon being satisfied with the correctness of the certificate, may issue a certificate indicating a change in gender.

Gatekeeping gender identity

The amendments also envision the creation of “medical boards” to certify gender identity. These boards are to be headed by a Chief Medical Officer or a Deputy Chief Medical Officer, and mandate that the District Magistrate issue certificates only after examining the recommendation of this board. The provision also allows the District Magistrate to seek the assistance of other medical experts if required.

Comics channel Sanitary Panels weighs in:

#TransRights #RejectTransBill2026 pic.twitter.com/bsQERim8Qj

— Sanitary Panels (@sanitarypanels) March 16, 2026

These provisions pathologize transgender identity by subjecting it to mandatory medical certification and raise serious concerns about privacy. It should be noted that the 2019 law and its accompanying Rules did not mandate medical or physical intervention. Instead, they allowed transgender persons to directly apply for recognition based on their self-perceived gender identity. If they later chose to undergo surgery to change their gender, they may apply for revised documentation. The proposed amendments fundamentally alter this process by inserting a medical board at the very beginning of the recognition procedure, effectively eliminating the possibility of recognition based solely on self-perception.

Furthermore, the inclusion of a provision allowing the District Magistrate to seek the assistance of other medical experts raises additional privacy concerns. By granting such broad discretion, the law risks allowing the District Magistrate to discuss an applicant’s case with multiple medical professionals. It does not specify that these consultations must take place confidentially, nor that they require the informed consent of the individual concerned.  But these concerns are all secondary. Even if confidential, consent-centered, and trans-affirmative procedures were to be put in place, the very requirement of a medical board for certification of gender identity strikes at the core of the Supreme Court’s ruling in NALSA and violates it.

Criminal offences introduced: protection or policing?

Under the 2019 Act, Section 18 criminalized specific acts such as forcing a transgender person into bonded labor, denying access to public places, forcing them to leave their residence, or subjecting them to physical, sexual, verbal, emotional, or economic abuse. The proposed amendments retain these offences without any attempt at rationalizing the disproportionately low punishments for certain offences, such as sexual abuse committed against a transgender person, when compared to punishments provided under India’s general criminal law. On the other hand, it introduces new provisions to criminalize acts such as forced labor, employment in begging or solicitation, kidnapping and grievous hurt or injury inflicted through compelling a person to “assume, adopt, or outwardly present a transgender identity” or even to “dress, present, or conduct themselves outwardly as a transgender person” through allurement, inducement, deception, force, or the like.

Outwardly, these insertions may appear to provide a remedy against aggravated forms of coercion. However, the conduct that falls within their scope remains equivocal. It is wholly unclear what the law perceives to be the “presenting, dressing or conducting” of oneself as transgender, especially in the context of the newly medicalized definition. These terms are not defined or characterised, and remain open to (mis)interpretation by the police and State.

The line is blurred between situations involving actual violence or abduction, and those involving voluntary co-opting into community networks and norms (such as within hijra gharanas — traditional kinship-based community structures among transgender persons in South Asia). This gives rise to concern regarding the misuse of criminal law in contexts where transgender persons receive shelter and support from their community, especially in the absence of support from the state, their natal families, and larger society. The further invocation of criminal law appears to have been made without conducting any stakeholder consultations or impact assessments of the law’s social, fiscal, and judicial implications.

There is a lack of evidence available in the public domain indicating the necessity of such criminalization. It is thus unclear whether the problem that the State seeks to solve is a problem that currently exists.

A comparable insertion was controversially proposed in the 2019 Act, and then ultimately dropped. In the broader context of the 2026 Bill, these proposed introductions further the colonial narrative of viewing expressions of transgender identity with suspicion, especially where they occur outside narrowly defined categories recognized by the law. This possibility has contributed to fears that provisions intended as protective measures could instead be used to police identity and community relationships, rather than to prevent genuine harm.

The Way Forward

The Bill has not yet been signed into law, meaning there are several ways it could proceed. The Bill could be passed by the lower house of Parliament, withdrawn by the government, or sent to what is known as a Parliamentary Standing Committee — a group of Members of Parliament that would examine the proposed law in detail and may also consult experts and community stakeholders before submitting a final report with recommendations.

Activist Prakhy posts in X (formerly Twitter)

Today, at the press conference in Delhi regarding the Transgender Amendment Bill 2026. Hope we can collectivise and resist. #Nogoingback #Rejecttransbill2026 #Rejectbill79 pic.twitter.com/wyH1a4JaC5

— prakhy (@prakkhy) March 16, 2026

Another possible path is litigation through the courts after the Bill gets signed into law. However, petitions challenging several provisions of the Transgender Persons (Protection of Rights) Act, 2019, have already been pending before the Supreme Court since 2019, which means that relief through this route, if it comes at all, is unlikely to be immediate.

In the meantime, activists and members of the transgender community remain committed to ensuring that the Bill is withdrawn, allowing the law to return to the first principles outlined by the Supreme Court in NALSA.

Originally published on Global Voices

Screenshot of Bad Bunny’s Apple Music Super Bowl Halftime Show taken from the NFL YouTube video. Fair use.

Super Bowl halftime shows are always a spectacle, but at Super Bowl LX, Puerto Rican artist Bad Bunny did something unusual: he crafted a compelling masterclass in energy communications by turning electricity infrastructure into perfectly timed choreography.

As he performed his song “El Apagón” (“The Blackout”), dancers dressed as line workers climbed utility poles while sparks flickered along power lines. For millions watching around the world, it was a striking visual moment. For Puerto Ricans, it reflected an everyday reality, a fragile electricity grid and recurring power outages that have — for years — shaped daily life on the island.

As Diana Hernández, professor and co-director of the Energy Opportunity Lab at Columbia University, later noted to Straight Arrow News, “For the public that might have forgotten, Bad Bunny climbing the poles gave voice and visibility to an unforgettable instance of being powerless in Puerto Rico in a very literal sense.”

Without once referring to terms like “climate change,” the performance illustrated a moment of energy communication that millions could immediately comprehend, not just locally but globally:

The production on the Bad Bunny halftime show was off the charts. From the cane fields to the broken power lines, it was rich in symbolism and Puerto Rican pride. And pounded to a relentless beat. #SuperBowl

— Tom Harrington (@cbctom) February 9, 2026

Because of the urgent and far-reaching nature of the issue, climate science and the resulting communication about the situation are often linked to an increase in existential anxiety. Yet, programs like the Yale Program on Climate Change Communication and children’s books by authors like New York-based writer Ian Hunt, aim to tackle the problem at a systemic level.

Strained grid

Puerto Rico’s electricity system has faced repeated crises since Hurricane Maria devastated the island in 2017. The storm destroyed much of the grid and triggered the longest blackout in modern U.S. history, leaving some communities without power for nearly a year. Nearly nine years later, outages still remain a routine occurrence.

Federal data show that between 2021 and 2024, Puerto Rican customers experienced roughly 27 hours of electricity interruptions annually, excluding major storms — far higher than mainland U.S. averages. In 2024 alone, residents averaged more than 70 hours without power, including storm-related outages.

Meanwhile, electricity prices also remain among the highest in the United States, ranging from USD 0.24 to 0.49 per kilowatt-hour in recent years, significantly above mainland averages. These figures reflect decades of underinvestment, ageing infrastructure, and a grid exposed to intensifying climate risks — but numbers alone cannot capture what a blackout means in lived terms: spoiled food, stalled dialysis machines, closed businesses, and children slouching under the flashlight to complete school homework.

Dying energy systems

Puerto Rico’s electricity system relies heavily on centralised fossil-fuel generation plants located in the south of the island. Electricity must travel long distances across mountainous terrain to reach major population centres in the north. These transmission corridors are particularly vulnerable to hurricanes, landslides, and extreme weather events.

Meanwhile, the American Society of Civil Engineers’ 2019 Puerto Rico Infrastructure Report Card gave the island’s energy system a grade of F, citing deteriorating equipment, insufficient redundancy, and limited resilience planning. Energy scholar Cecilio Ortiz García described the system bluntly: “The grid that Maria found was already on its knees.”

Climate change has since intensified the risks. Warmer ocean temperatures contribute to stronger storms, and subsequent hurricanes such as Fiona in 2022 again triggered widespread outages. In a system already weakened by decades of underinvestment, even smaller disturbances can trigger cascading failures for locals.

Investment challenges

In 2021, Puerto Rico transferred management of its transmission and distribution network to LUMA Energy, a U.S.–Canadian consortium, in an attempt to modernise operations. However, the privatisation effort has been controversial.

Locals have protested frequent outages and rising electricity bills, while critics argue that improvements in reliability have been slow. Supporters counter that rebuilding an ageing grid requires time and sustained investment.

Financial constraints further complicate the situation. Puerto Rico’s public power utility, PREPA, carries billions of dollars in debt, making large infrastructure upgrades difficult to finance. Federal assistance has also fluctuated. In 2023, the U.S. Department of Energy launched a USD 1 billion Puerto Rico Energy Resilience Fund aimed at expanding rooftop solar and battery storage for vulnerable households, but later reporting indicated that portions of this funding were delayed or redirected.

Despite these challenges, a transformation is underway, and rooftop solar and battery storage have expanded rapidly across Puerto Rico. By mid-2025, the island had installed more than one gigawatt of rooftop solar capacity, supplying a growing share of electricity demand.

Communities step up

Community-led initiatives have also emerged. In the mountain town of Adjuntas, the nonprofit Casa Pueblo has pioneered solar microgrids that allow neighbourhoods and businesses to continue operating even when the central grid fails. One local business owner described the change simply: “Now I have stability. I don’t run out of power, and I can continue to provide service.”

Engineers increasingly advocate what they call a “bottom-up grid” approach, building resilience through distributed energy systems that connect households, neighbourhoods, and eventually larger networks. For island regions vulnerable to hurricanes and extreme weather, distributed systems offer both decarbonisation and energy security.

Pop culture as climate communication

This is exactly what made Bad Bunny’s halftime show so critical. Climate communication often relies on statistics, policy debates, or projections about future risks. While important, those messages can feel abstract — but cultural storytelling works differently.

By placing “linieros” — the workers who repair Puerto Rico’s power lines — at the centre of a global performance, Bad Bunny made the island’s infrastructure and its failings visible. Transmission poles became stage props; blackouts became lyrics.

As Hernández observed, the moment represented “an ascension to power despite all the challenges, and really in many ways against all odds.” Millions watching the Super Bowl suddenly saw what was usually hidden: the physical systems that keep societies running, and the consequences when they fail.

Meanwhile, Puerto Rico’s energy future remains uncertain. Debates continue over privatisation, fossil-fuel dependence, renewable deployment, and how quickly the island can transition to a more resilient energy system, but the halftime show revealed something unexpected: infrastructure can capture cultural attention. The electricity grid — normally invisible to the public — briefly became the focus of a global conversation.

Puerto Rico’s grid crisis is not unique. Around the world, energy systems face mounting pressures from climate change, outdated infrastructure, and rising demand. The difference is that most grids do not get a Super Bowl moment. Bad Bunny did not lecture audiences about climate change or energy policy. Instead, he showed what vulnerability looks like — and sometimes, that’s the most powerful communication of all.

Originally published on Global Voices

Tropical forest around Sibiti, Lekoumou Department, Republic of the Congo. Image from Wikimedia Commons(CC BY-SA 4.0.Deed).

The Central African region, also known as the Congo Basin, is the largest rainforest on the continent with 300 million hectares, making it the world’s second largest rainforest after the Amazon. It is home to many Indigenous peoples whose names vary depending on the country or sub-region they live in. Many of these people rely on the forest’s products to support their traditional ways of life.

Some of these Indigenous groups who occupy the forests of countries such as the DRC, Gabon, Angola, Rwanda, and the Congo, have not come into direct contact with foreigners but rather have done so through the Bantus (an Ethnolinguistic group some 350 million strong who occupy parts of Sub-Saharan Africa) or other communities who live in villages bordering the forests. Other Indigenous peoples live inside the forests but work in or near surrounding villages, returning to the forest after work. 

The Indigenous peoples, initially dubbed “pygmies” at the end of the 19th century, have seen this name banned by the government of the Republic of Congo, which considers the name “pygmee” to be pejorative, with a connotation that is both negative and degrading towards these first occupants of the sub-region. 

While Indigenous families often live in forests or their surroundings, as the NGO Association pour le Respect des Peuples Authoctones, du Développement Durable et des Droits de l'homme (APRA2DH) said in an interview with Global Voices, their way of life is under threat. The Republic of Congo has awarded licenses for logging to some Chinese who have accelerated deforestation, and according to research from Mongabay, this is putting these groups’ traditions and way of life at risk. 

The decline of the forest, following extractive work, deforestation, agricultural expansion, illegal logging, and other activities in the forest areas of Congo, is shrinking the habitat of Indigenous peoples.

This reduction in forest areas has also taken away Indigenous peoples’ ability to apply their traditional knowledge on environmental protection, leading to further harm to the forest. Their skills are being thwarted in the face of the over-industrialized production and extraction, especially in recent days.

In Congo, as in other African countries, relations with China are at their zenith, driven by a series of projects known as the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI), Beijing’s large-scale international investment and connectivity plan. China has made inroads in diplomatic cooperation, mining, investment, construction, and many other fields in Africa. It is difficult to estimate how many projects or investments China has launched in the Congolese Republic, but China’s presence in this country of 6.2 million dates back to the years when most African countries were gaining independence.

China in the Republic of Congo

With relations dating back to the 1960s, China has become one of the Republic of Congo’s main diplomatic and economic partners. According to the Foreign Affairs Minister of the Congo government, Jean-Claude Gakosso, trade between the two countries reached USD 6.57 billion in 2023. 

In Congo Brazzaville, Chinese companies are particularly interested in agriculture, minerals, wood, and also in digital technology.

However, civil society rights groups in the region have bemoaned the Congolese Government’s failure to implement regulations or guardrails to protect local people, as noted by Blanchard Cherotti Mavoungou in an interview with RFI. He added that Chinese companies are often not monitored or regulated, leading to negative consequences for Indigenous groups, as some have been expelled from their own lands. 

Cooperatives created by Bantus and other partners, including Chinese nationals, have been able to provide work to the Indigenous peoples of this country, thus helping them make a living as their traditional way of life disappears. But at some levels, Indigenous peoples remain second-class citizens, and are treated like sub-humans or slaves or even “pets.”

It is rare to read in the Chinese media about how Chinese companies reconcile their interests with those of Indigenous peoples in Africa. Congolese media reported on  September 9 that a prominent local figure in Bolomba, Equateur Province, had asked the Congolese government to confiscate more than 3,000 cubic meters of timber belonging to two Chinese companies because the Chinese had harvested it without a logging permit.

One of the companies involved in the logging is the Wanpong Group (万蓬集团) from China. The vision on the front page of the company’s official website reads: “Wanpong is the Chinese company that knows Africa best.”

Honey and other natural products

While some Indigenous peoples have agreed to leave the forests to live in cities or villages bordering their forests, these first occupants are reluctant about practices that do not correspond to their traditional way of life and strain their families in the bush. 

The division of tasks among Indigenous peoples means that traditionally, men and often children become active in collecting honey and hunting, while women remain active in gathering and transporting the products of the gathering.

In recent years, an unusual movement has emerged among the communities of Indigenous peoples in Congo, namely their return to the depths of the forest. While China has just invested in the industrialization of honey production, the Congolese Government welcomes this initiative, which will undoubtedly, according to China and the Congolese Government, bring foreign currency into the state coffers, although the expected figures are not clear.

A press release from the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs in the Congo said that China donated supplies to local honey cooperatives and will strengthen its cooperation with the Congo in poverty reduction and agricultural benefits, as well as green development in the future. However, there was no mention of how co-development would be carried out in consideration of the rights and interests of the local Indigenous population.

While honey remains an essential element in the lives of Indigenous families and at the same time an exportable product prized by local and foreign consumers, defenders of Indigenous peoples’ rights see it rather as a malicious way of driving the Indigenous peoples from their places and erasing their know-how in collecting honey from forest trees.

Maixent Animba Emeka, a member of the Forum for Governance and Human Rights and a defender of autochthones families, said in an interview with RFI: 

Honey is one of the primary sources of protein for indigenous peoples and one of the economic sources for them. But, they exploit it rationally, in reasonable and sustainable quantities.

He went on to say that, when you come to do industrial harvesting systems, you can create scarcity in the forest, and therefore affect the livelihoods of Indigenous peoples and reinforce their poverty.

Emeka said that autochthones are known for their traditional technique of climbing tall trees and chasing bees with non-toxic smoke before extracting honey, fearing that this practice could disappear. 

Anger from rights groups

Displeased by the Congolese government’s openness to Chinese operators, local NGOs have claimed that some Chinese companies do not respect the environment and the rights of Indigenous peoples. 

Blanchard Cherotti Mavoungou, president of ARPA2DH, is sounding the alarm:

Indigenous populations do not benefit from the agreements signed between Congo and various partners, including China. On the contrary, if these companies come, they are in complicity with certain authorities, such as in the mining sector. These companies do not carry out environmental and social impact studies. Indigenous populations are not taken into account.

The rights group leader believes that there is no respect for what is written in the specifications because there is no follow-up. “Our Indigenous populations are set aside, and Indigenous people do not benefit from relations between China and the Congolese government,” he continued. 

It is this situation that makes the natives decide to take refuge in the forests. However, they are the first protectors of forests because of their traditional know-how against climate change. There is also often a lack of compensation for the natives, who are chased away from their lands and homes, like in the north of Congo, for example, where natives are chased away to extract gold. 

Originally published on Global Voices

Emily Wanjiru Nderitu, posing for a picture, during the COP30 Climate Conference in Belém, Brazil, in November 2025. Photo by Seth Onyango, Bird Story Agency. Used with permission.

This story was originally published by Bird Story Agency on November 13, 2025. This revised version is republished below as part of a content-sharing agreement.

Every village in Africa has a story about the rain. Some are prayers, some are warnings, all are memories of what the land once gave freely, and now it doesn’t. Emily Wanja Nderitu has built a career helping those stories find their way into the world’s climate conversation, in a way Africans can relate to. Nderitu is part of a vital, growing contingent of young African change-makers ensuring the continent’s narratives do not get overlooked in the global discourse. Her weapon: film.

The humid air of the Amazon hangs heavy as dusk settles over the sprawling city of Belem, Brazil, during the 2025 United Nations Climate Change Conference (COP30), a world away from the familiar heat of her native Kenya.

Yet for Emily Wanja Nderitu, the setting feels familiar in another way: it is a frontline in the global climate struggle, a place where local stories must be told if justice is to be achieved.

Nderitu, who works with Doc Society, a global organization supporting independent storytellers, believes that Africa’s climate narrative must be reclaimed from the margins.

“COP is an event. Climate is not an event,” she said with the calm assurance of someone who has spent years watching headlines fade faster than droughts end.

In the crowded halls of the conference center where global climate diplomacy is brokered, promises are often made, and just as often broken.

Changing how the world talks about the planet’s crisis

For nearly a decade, Nderitu has been trying to change how the world talks about the planet’s crisis and examining who gets to tell that story.

As an impact producer at Doc Society, she works behind the scenes, connecting filmmakers, activists, and cultural institutions across Africa to help them build stories that don’t just stir emotion but move policy, shift power, and stay in communities long after the cameras leave.

Her work revolves around two initiatives: the Democracy Story Unit and the Climate Story Labs — both designed to fuse art, science, and politics. She explained:

We bring together storytellers, scientists, and policymakers to ask: what are the stories we need right now, in this place? And how do we make sure those stories live beyond the screen — that they create real impact?

It’s an unconventional approach in a world that often treats climate communication as a technical affair. But Nderitu’s lens is deeply human and unapologetically African.

She first stepped into the field in 2016 as the impact producer for Thank You for the Rain, an award-winning documentary following Kenyan farmer Kisilu Musya as he transformed from a struggling grower into a climate campaigner. She recalled:

That film changed me. It made me realise storytelling could be the missing piece… the bridge between lived experience and global policy.

Since then, she’s worked with filmmakers across the continent to spotlight what she calls the wisdom in the everyday.

In Africa, we don’t always say ‘climate change.’ We talk about delayed rains, the cows, and the crops. Climate is part of our daily conversation… part of who we are.

Africa’s secret weapon in the climate fight

That intimacy with the land, she says, is Africa’s secret weapon in the climate fight — but one the world rarely listens to. She said:

Nature is not out there; it’s intertwined with how we live, how we farm, how we pray. Our rituals, our seasons, our songs — they all tell you how deeply connected we are.

For Nderitu, the task isn’t to romanticize ancestral knowledge, but to modernise how it’s valued.

We have generations of wisdom on how to adapt — on when to plant, how to share water, how to rebuild after loss. But when global platforms talk about ‘solutions,’ they often ignore that. They speak science; we speak survival.

She believes African voices must shape the climate narrative not just as witnesses but as strategists. She explained:

We need to tell our stories in our own way — through our realities, our languages, our humour, even our pain. And then we need to show the world what our vision for the future actually looks like.

That conviction drives the Climate Story Labs she helps run across the continent. Part creative incubator, part movement-building experiment, the labs bring together everyone from scientists to poets to local chiefs. “We treat stories as living organisms,” Nderitu explained.

Impact doesn’t have to trend. It just has to work

She recounts moments where storytelling has already led to change. A film screening on land rights in Kenya sparked a town hall that pushed local leaders to revise an outdated water policy. In South Africa, a community photo project on drought inspired a new school garden programme. None of these made international news, but they mattered.

“Impact doesn’t have to trend,” she said. “It just has to work.”

That quiet philosophy sets her apart from the noise that surrounds global climate conversations, especially the performative chaos of COP meetings.

I respect the ambition, but if all we do is talk here, we’re missing the point. The real work begins after COP — in the fields, in the films, in the small rooms where people decide what to do next.

For all its pledges, the world’s premier climate summit has yet to match the urgency felt in places like Machakos, Kilifi, or Karamoja, where the line between survival and loss is drawn by the next rainfall.

Still, Nderitu remains optimistic — and her optimism is infectious. She affirmed:

We’re not short of knowledge or courage in Africa. We’re short of recognition. Storytelling can fix that. It can close the gap between visibility and value.

As COP30 unfolds, she and her colleagues are pushing for a new kind of climate diplomacy — one that begins not with targets but with truth. They envision a world where local stories shape global priorities, where a grandmother’s memory of past droughts is treated with the same respect as a scientist’s model of the future.

“If you want to change how people act, change what they believe,” she said. “And belief begins with story.”

In a conference dominated by numbers, Nderitu’s weapon of choice — empathy — feels almost radical. But in her world, it’s also the most pragmatic tool available. Stories, she insists, can make people care. And people who care, act.

Originally published on Global Voices

TV host Luciano Huck asking Indigenous people of the Xingu Indigenous Park to ‘clean up their culture’ for a photo. Art by Global Voices on Canva with screenshot from @txaigibran's Instagram and map from ISA (Social-environmental Institute). Fair use.

Back in August, Luciano Huck, a TV host who in the past has flirted with the idea of running for Brazil’s presidency, went to shoot an episode of his Sunday show at the Parque Indígena do Xingu (Xingu Indigenous Park), one of the main Indigenous reserves and the first Indigenous land demarcated by the federal government in the country.

Almost four months later, behind-the-scenes footage posted on Instagram showing him sitting next to singer Anitta went viral across social media, sparking backlash and highlighting issues with non-Indigenous people’s perceptions of native communities.

In the video, which lasts around a minute and 20 seconds, as people take pictures and prepare to record, you can see some Indigenous individuals holding mobile phones to capture the moment. One of them, posing in front of the host, also has his own telephone in his hand. Huck calls them out — “Cell phone!” — and asks for those wearing “non-traditional clothes” to step away. He then proceeds: “Yep, clean up your culture there,” explaining further:

É o seguinte, a gente está cheio de câmera. Quanto mais celular de vocês aparece, eu acho que menos é a cultura de vocês. Quanto mais a gente conseguir preservar as nossas cenas, sem celular…Porque assim, quando aparece celular, mexe na cultura originária. Quando a gente estiver gravando, se puder segurar o celular, eu acho que quem tiver que ver valoriza mais vocês. Se você puder falar isso para o povo é bom.

Here is the thing, we have lots of cameras here. The more cell phones from you show up, I guess is less of your culture. As much we can preserve our scenes without cell phones…Because when a cell phone is shown, it messes with original culture. When we are recording, if you can hold back with the phones, I think anyone who sees it will appreciate you more. If you can tell that to the people would be good.

The Indigenous man goes on to translate the message to his community.

The comments led Indigenous organizations in Brazil, such as Apib (Indigenous People of Brazil's Articulation) and other regional associations linked to it, to issue a joint statement shared on their Instagram pages.

Screenshot of a post by @coiabamazonia on Instagram. Fair use.

Indigenous cultures do not need to be “cleaned up.”
Our presence is political, historical, current and does not fit into your anti-Indigenous racism.

In the statement, they note that Indigenous people do not exist solely for “pretty pictures,” as museum pieces answering to certain expectations, and that the phrase “cleaning up their culture” reinforces a mistaken and dangerous view of their peoples. In the caption they also wrote:

O acesso à tecnologia deve ser um direito garantido a todos os cidadãos brasileiros. Possuir um celular não torna um parente menos indígena.

A tecnologia e a internet têm sido fundamentais para os povos indígenas na luta por seus territórios, auxiliando no monitoramento e gestão ambiental, no acesso a oportunidades de educação e trabalho, na comunicação entre comunidades, organizações e o Estado, além de possibilitar denúncias de violações de direitos indígenas que foram historicamente invisibilizadas.

Access to technology should be a guaranteed right to all Brazilian citizens. Having a cell phone doesn’t make a relative (term used to refer to other Indigenous people) less Indigenous.

Technology and the internet have been fundamental to Indigenous people in their fight for their territories, helping in monitoring them and with environmental management, accessing educational opportunities and work, in the communication between communities, organizations and the State, besides making possible to denounce Indigenous rights violations that were historically made invisible.

Apib republished the statement a few days later, expressing “indignation” over Huck's words. The image posted on their Instagram also says:

Podemos usar o que vocês usam, sem deixar de ser quem somos.
Ser indígena nunca foi sobre negar o presente, mas sobre existir com dignidade em qualquer tempo até nas telas que insistem em nos enxergar errado.

We can use what you use without stopping being who we are.
Being Indigenous was never about denying the present, but about existing with dignity at any time even in screens that insist on seeing us wrongfully.

After the backlash, Huck posted on his Instagram stories that he was misunderstood and highlighted his longstanding relationship with Indigenous people, as reported by news portal Terra:

Sobre a imagem em questão, registrada nos bastidores de uma gravação, é importante esclarecer: não se tratou de impor qualquer tipo de limitação cultural ou de consumo. Foi apenas uma decisão de direção de arte, um ajuste pontual dentro do contexto de um set de filmagem, nada além disso.

About the image in question, taken behind the scenes during a shoot, it is important to clarify: it was not about imposing any kind of cultural or consumption limitation. It was just an art direction’s decision, a punctual adjustment within the context of a film set, nothing beyond that.

Located in the state of Mato Grosso, in the center-west region of Brazil and within the Legal Amazon region, with a territory of around 27,000 square kilometers (10.4 square miles), the Xingu Indigenous Park was recognized by a federal government decree in 1961. It was the first official Indigenous land demarcated in the country. The process, however, faced resistance from the local state government and the land was only established in 1978, as noted in a story by Brasil de Direitos.

Today, Xingu’s Park is home to a population of 6,177 people from 16 Indigenous ethnicities, according to the Terras Indígenas do Brasil info page: Aweti, Ikpeng, Kalapalo, Kamaiurá, Kawaiwete, Kisêdjê, Kuikuro, Matipu, Mehinako, Nahukuá, Naruvotu, Tapayuna, Trumai, Waurá, Yawalapiti and Yudja. Its conservation is under federal government management.

The latest census, conducted by IBGE (Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics) in 2022, found that the country now has an Indigenous population of 1,694,836 (less than 1 per cent of the total Brazilian population) and 391 ethnic groups; three out of four Indigenous individuals declared their ethnic group.

Two years after the Supreme Court ruled the proposal of a time marker for demarcation of Indigenous land as unconstitutional, the National Congress is trying to reverse the scenario in a vote that could happen this month. If the time marker is approved for insertion into the Constitution, Indigenous people would only have the right to claim lands they were occupying or under dispute at the time of the current Constitution, in October 1988.

Originally published on Global Voices

Global March during COP30, in Belém, Brazil. Photo by Bruno Peres/Agência Brasil, used with permission.

The author, Isabela Carvalho, is the director of knowledge at Ashoka, a global network of social entrepreneurs, and part of the board of directors of the think tank Washington Brazil Office (WBO). She attended the United Nations Climate Change Conference as a civil society delegate.

For those who walked through it, COP30, the United Nations Climate Change Conference held in 2025 in Belém, Pará state, in the Brazilian Amazon, was marked by the strong presence of organized civil society in the official spaces, parallel events, and in the streets.

After several conferences marked by restrictions and tensions between governments and social movements, the Brazilian edition created space for grassroots organizations, urban collectives, Indigenous peoples, “quilombola” communities (descendants of enslaved Africans organized in traditional territories), and “ribeirinhos” (traditional communities living near rivers) to make their agendas visible across the city.

Hosting the conference in Brazil likely contributed to this environment, at a moment when the participation of social groups is again gaining institutional weight. Belém also sets its own rhythm, since it is impossible to be here without noticing the communities that have long carried the direct impacts of environmental policies and who now feel legitimized to speak in the first person.

Belém is an Amazon capital of 1.3 million people, located at the mouth of the Guamá River, near its encounter with the Amazon River, one of the largest in the world. Traveling by river marks daily life, connecting Indigenous, quilombola, and riverine communities to the city. This diversity is visible in the food, public markets, languages, and sounds, and helps explain the strength of territorial voices at this year’s COP.

The People’s Summit played a central role in this process. It worked as a political space to articulate positions and build consensus around collective demands that often do not reach the formal negotiations, led by social movements, urban collectives, and local and Indigenous communities working on climate and territorial justice.

At the closing, representatives delivered a letter outlining the main demands of these movements to COP officials and members of the Brazilian government.

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The People’s Summit made history at Amazon’s COP, with country, forests and city communities from diverse territories around the world. This Friday, the summit continues its program with interactions, positioning people as a factor of resolution in global crisis.

The contrast with past COPs is clear. In Glasgow, Scotland, in 2021, participation by civil society from the Global South was constrained by costs, quarantines, and visa delays. In Sharm el-Sheikh, Egypt, the following year, government restrictions made protests almost impossible. In Dubai, United Arab Emirates, in 2023, the dominant presence of the fossil fuel sector reduced the political space for social movements. Last year, in Baku, Azerbaijan, despite progress in climate finance, civil society had limited visibility.

In Belém, there was a sense of reconnection with the streets and with the idea that a climate conference can go beyond government negotiations.

“The demands appeared in a well-articulated way, showing that society is watching and creating concrete solutions,” said Rafael Murta Reis, director at Ashoka Brazil, a global social organization of which I am also a part.

Indigenous voices

Indigenous people at the Global March during COP 30. Photo by Bruno Peres/Agência Brasil, used with permission.

Indigenous participation was also a major highlight. Some of these voices arrived by river: the Yaku Mama Flotilla, made up of more than 60 Indigenous leaders from Brazil and neighboring Amazon countries, traveled 3,000 kilometers (1,864 miles) for over a month from Ecuador, Peru, and Colombia to Belém. In boats and canoes, the journey added a symbolic dimension to the climate debate on rivers and territories.

According to COP organizers, more than 900 Indigenous participants were accredited for the official negotiation zone (the Blue Zone), a significant increase over the previous record of just over 300. The final text of the conference included an important political mark by recognizing that Indigenous territorial rights are part of the global climate strategy, a long-standing demand of Indigenous movements.

Panel: Kuntari Katu Program, at the COP 30 Green Zone. Photo by Isabela Carvalho, used with permission.

“Brazil now has a new Indigenous peoples’ diplomacy,” said Lucas Marubo, of the Marubo people in the border region between Brazil, Peru, and Colombia, during a panel in the COP30’s Green Zone. “We leave the COP30 with the same certainty we walked in with: any mechanism, funding or agreement only has legitimacy if it is anchored in Indigenous territorial sovereignty. Our vigilance continues because we are not fighting for profit, we are fighting for life.” Lucas is part of the Kuntari Katu Program, a Brazilian government initiative that prepares Indigenous leaders for international conferences.

“Our main urgencies are securing our territories as the basis for adaptation, strengthening food sovereignty and care for our rivers, supporting community infrastructure created for these times, strengthening adaptation plans built by us, and recognizing that health, traditional knowledge, and well-being are also adaptation policies. All of this is already being done by our peoples, with very little [resources],” said Josimara Baré, of the Baré people of the Rio Negro region, on the border between Brazil and Venezuela, also part of Kuntari Katu.

The tone in the March and in the rooms

Young people at the Global March, in Belém, at COP 30, announce their demands. Photo by Bruno Peres/Agência Brasil, used with permission.

The Global Climate March, held in the early days of COP30, was the most visible moment of this renewed civic presence. Around 70,000 people walked through Belém, bringing together demands for climate, territorial, racial, and economic justice.

Along the march, banners called for protection of the Cerrado and Amazon (Brazilian biomes), land demarcation, an end to illegal mining, defense of the rights of Black and Indigenous women and children, corporate accountability, agrarian reform, an end to fossil fuels, and an end to investments in war. The People’s Summit, whose manifesto was signed by more than 1,000 organizations worldwide, helped to coordinate these voices.

The Tropical Forests Forever Facility (TFFF), a fund designed to create a permanent flow of resources for conserving tropical forests, with more than 50 countries joining, was presented as an ambitious COP30 announcement. The idea is that countries with tropical forests that keep them standing will receive payments per hectare protected or restored.

The Global March united social movements in Belém, November 15, 2025. Photo by Isabela Carvalho, used with permission.

Indigenous leaders welcomed the announcement as recognition of the importance of forests, but responded cautiously. The enthusiasm came with a longstanding demand: that these resources reach communities directly and in ways that respect their governance systems. Concerns about intermediaries and bureaucracy, which often block access to funds, surfaced throughout the conference.

Another key topic, the global roadmap to phase out fossil fuels, did not advance as expected because of disagreements among governments. In response, Brazil announced that it would continue developing its own proposal through the BAM (Belém Action Mechanism), aimed at guiding a just transition to low-carbon economies without leaving behind workers or local communities.

Amid victories and frustrations, the sense is that COP30 was marked by the strong presence of actors rooted in territories rather than offices. The term “systemic change” appeared often to argue for a new paradigm in which development and nature are not treated as separate fields. A message repeated across panels and statements was that real development cannot exist without nature at the center of decision-making.

Debates on fossil fuels, mitigation, adaptation, and finance fell short of what many leaders expected, generating visible frustration. Even so, looking at the process as a whole reveals something meaningful. Voices that were once barely heard occupied the rooms this time, influenced conversations, and took on concrete roles in the flow of the conference. This does not resolve the impasses, but it broadens what is possible for those who participate and those who observe.

Originally published on Global Voices

Feature image created using Canva Pro elements.

Gilbert Martina is an ancestral health educator and former healthcare executive who was deeply affected by Curaçao and St. Maarten’s ENNIA crisis. This sparked his search for deeper healing through shamanic practices, nervous system regulation, and ancestral teachings, and his mission to help people reconnect with ancient wisdom in order to heal physically, emotionally, and culturally.

We are living in an age of great turbulence, noise, and distraction. Every day we are flooded with information, yet somehow we seem to be losing connection to ourselves, to one another, and to the deeper roots that hold us together as Caribbean people. When I look at the social and emotional challenges our region faces today, such as violence, stress, inequality, depression, and chronic disease, I cannot help but wonder what lies beneath the surface. For me, the answer begins in a place both ancient and intimate: the wounds carried by our ancestors.

Modern science is finally beginning to catch up with what many traditional societies have always known. Traumas are not only emotional; they can become biological. Studies on Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACE) show that early trauma affects the body’s stress systems for a lifetime. It changes how our brains process fear and memory and how our immune systems respond to the world. Chronic stress floods the body with hormones like cortisol, creating inflammation that has been linked to heart disease, diabetes, and even cancer.

Neuroscientists have identified the pathways between the brain and body that make this possible, showing that emotional pain can be felt as real, physical suffering. We know from science that the mind can create psychosomatic disease — there is an immense amount of scientific research about the mind and body connection — and we also know from recent scientific research that the mind can create psychosomatic health.

These findings mirror what Caribbean elders have long said in simpler words: when the mind is not at peace, the body cannot be well. The Roman emperor and philosopher Marcus Aurelius once wrote, “The nearer a man comes to a calm mind, the closer he is to strength.” Science now agrees. Practices that calm the mind, such as meditation, mindfulness, and time in nature, help to regulate stress and restore balance to the nervous system. What our grandparents practised instinctively through prayer, song, and time spent in the natural world, neuroscience is now validating with brain scans and data.

As someone who once worked in the healthcare and financial sectors, I was trained to look at problems logically and systematically. But when I went through a personal crisis years ago, no spreadsheet or medical treatment could explain why I felt such deep pain in my body. It was only when I turned inward, through meditation, shamanic wisdom and ancestral practice, that I began to see how unhealed experiences, both my own and those carried by generations before me, were shaping my sense of safety, identity, and belonging.

Across the Caribbean, I see signs of this same inheritance. Colonisation, slavery, displacement, and social inequality have left marks not only on our economies and institutions but also on our collective psyche. Many of us carry inherited fears, anger, or survival patterns that were once necessary but no longer serve us. This is ancestral trauma, and it shows up in everything from how we relate to authority to how we handle conflict or trust. Pain is inevitable; all of us will be exposed to some kind of pain during our lifetime. Most times, traumatic events happen beyond our circle of influence or power, but they often lead us to the key for spiritual growth — we have to embrace our pain and ask ourselves what we can learn out of it.

Across the region, communities are finding ways to reconnect with ancestral wisdom as a path to healing. The Caribbean Reparations Commission has sparked a wider conversation about historical accountability and emotional repair. The Bocas Lit Fest, the Calabash International Literary Festival, and other events are reclaiming storytelling as a way to process pain and reimagine who we can be. In Curaçao, community projects are using drumming, dance, and ritual to restore a sense of shared identity. Across the diaspora, younger generations are returning to traditional herbs, music, and ceremonies to ground themselves in culture and memory.

Modern research supports these approaches. A 2022 study in Alzheimer’s & Dementia found that among Indigenous Amazonian communities in Bolivia, dementia rates are less than one percent in adults over 60, compared to eight to eleven percent in Western countries. These communities live with strong social ties, unprocessed diets, daily physical activity, and a deep connection to nature. Their way of life protects the brain not only through lifestyle but through belonging and meaning. These findings are not a call to romanticise the past, but to remember that emotional, physical, and social health are inseparable.

For centuries, Western medicine has separated the mind from the body, the spiritual from the scientific. In truth, there is no such division. The brain communicates with the immune system, the gut, and the heart through constant chemical conversation. When trauma disrupts that harmony, illness follows. Healing must involve more than medicine; it must involve memory. Ancestral healing helps us make peace with the past by acknowledging what came before us — grief, loss, courage, resilience — and integrating it into the present. In essence, ancestral healing is about making peace with the past to free the present and future.

When I work with people or speak to audiences about this, I often ask a simple question: “What story do you carry that is not yours, yet still lives in you?” Sometimes the answer comes in tears, sometimes in silence. But once that story is named, it can be transformed. Through rituals, guided reflection, or community work, ancestral healing allows people to release inherited pain and access inherited strength. It is not about worshipping the past, but about freeing the future.

If we want to build healthier Caribbean societies, we must move beyond treating symptoms and start healing the root cause of these symptoms. This means teaching children emotional intelligence as much as academic success, giving communities access to mental health care that honours culture, and creating spaces where elders can share wisdom before it disappears. It also means recognising that the same scientific discoveries now being made in universities and laboratories have long existed in our oral traditions, our songs, and our ceremonies.

Our ancestors survived the unimaginable. They left us not only their scars but also their strength. By understanding the biology of trauma and the wisdom of ancestral healing, we have a chance to bring those two worlds together. In doing so, we can restore something that has been missing for far too long: a sense of belonging to ourselves, to our communities, and to the generations yet to come.

Originally published on Global Voices

One of the signs carried by Indigenous people at the march reads: ‘Climate emergency, the answer is us.’ Photo by Alberto César Araújo/Amazônia Real, used with permission.

This article was written by Nicoly Ambrosio and originally published on Amazônia Real’s website on November 12, 2025. An edited version is republished here under a partnership agreement with Global Voices.

During a debate in the Blue Zone at COP30, the 30th United Nations Conference on Climate Change, climate scientist Sineia Do Vale — also known as Sineia Wapichana — argued that the first step toward effective climate policy is to ensure the rights of Indigenous peoples over their territories. The reason is simple: they can be part of the solution by integrating traditional and scientific knowledge effectively.

COP 2025 was held in Belém, in Brazil's northern state of Pará, from November 10 to 21. The state capital, over 400 years old, is regarded as a gateway to the Amazon region, the world’s largest rainforest, which spans the territories of nine countries.

Do Vale also speaks as co-president of the Indigenous Caucus, a group that brings together Indigenous representatives in intergovernmental fora, as an official representative of Indigenous Peoples for the COP30 Presidency, and as coordinator of the Department of Territorial, Environmental, and Climate Change Management (DGTAMC) of the Indigenous Council of Roraima state (CIR). She has been working for over 30 years using Indigenous peoples’ traditional knowledge to protect the Amazon from extreme weather events.

“We have been following this whole issue of climate change, and we are working on the adaptation of Indigenous peoples [to it],” she said in an exclusive interview with Amazônia Real.

On November 12, Do Vale led the event “From on the ground to the world — and back: Indigenous pathways to adapting to climate change,” with the participation of the Norwegian Ministry for the Environment (NICFI), United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC), Green Climate Fund, Global Partnership of Indigenous Peoples for Climate Change, Forests, and Sustainable Development (Elatia) and the organization Tenure Facility.

“We have developed our plans to address climate change so that they can actually be implemented, mainly by Brazil’s Climate Plan, to show them as solutions,” the scientist explained.

According to Do Vale, communities see the impacts of high temperatures, droughts, floods and fires and then develop their own coping plans, using Indigenous knowledge alongside non-Indigenous institutions, such as the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC). Tradition has given them solutions based on their own knowledge systems.

Natural indicators of adaptation

World March of Indigenous Peoples in the streets of Belém, a parallel event to COP30, on November 17, 2025. Photo by Alberto César Araújo/Amazônia Real, used with permission.

Indigenous peoples rely on natural indicators to assess the impacts of the climate crisis. The signs show in the forests, the plants, and the waters. The birds singing and the planting and harvesting cycles are part of their ethnological calendars, and also help Indigenous people to monitor climate change. They can observe and understand the behaviour of aninga, a plant that grows abundantly along Amazonian riverbanks, in flooded forests, and in streams. This plant indicates flooding and drought in rivers, helping prevent disasters.

“It is in these natural indicators that we are increasingly looking to for guidance, observation, so that Indigenous people can continue to do all this maintenance of biodiversity, of the forest, the water,” the scientist observed. When she was recounting examples of drastic climate changes, she mentioned the case of Roraima state, where rural areas with cultivated biomes suffered severe fires in 2024, which hit 80 percent of the zone.

In early 2024, the number of fires in Roraima, northern Brazil, broke historical records. Between February 1 and 23, the National Institute of Space Research (Inpe) detected 1,692 fire outbreaks. This figure surpasses the 1,347 outbreaks during the same month in 2007, which, up to that point, was the highest number recorded since the federal agency began monitoring fire outbreaks in the Amazon. In comparison, the increase between periods was 449 percent.

“When you have this high number of fires, it destroys the biodiversity that we have there. Medicinal plants, various types of birds that live in this ecosystem. For us, this has a big impact on the Indigenous communities,” Do Vale said.

The loss of biodiversity and plant species, such as the buriti palm, represents a profound and irreparable harm to Indigenous peoples. “When a buriti tree is burned, for some people it may not have any value, but for us it is an important plant. It has leaves for making houses, fruit that feeds [us], and a spiritual connection with the forest, the water, and the animals that Indigenous people have from a long coexistence,” she said.

Indigenous action against climate warming

Indigenous firefighter Ana Paula Wapichana. Photo by Juliana Pesqueira/Amazônia Real, used with permission.

Ana Paula Wapichana works with a community brigade of Indigenous people in Roraima and has dedicated her work to fire prevention in Indigenous territories. In conversation with Amazônia Real, she emphasised that climate adaptation is an urgent challenge for Indigenous peoples.

“We are here to seek solutions on how to contain the climate changes that are happening. We want the world to be on alert. We try to improve so this no longer happens, so that in the future our children can live better,” she said.

Wapichana explained that her work focuses on controlled burning techniques used to control and prevent forest fires, especially in agriculture in Roraima, one of Brazil’s ecological regions most affected by droughts and fires in recent years.

While noticing the lack of other Indigenous representatives from the Amazon at the decision-making tables, Wapichana nevertheless highlighted the shared sense of Indigenous presence at COP30. “I consider that each of us represents our peoples. I know not everybody was given entry [to COP], but we are here representing the lived experiences of those who were left out as well,” she said.

Mitigation and adaptation

Sineia Do Vale, scientist and climate expert. Photo by Juliana Pesqueira/Amazônia Real, used with permission.

During her public speech, Sineia Do Vale stressed the urgency of ensuring the presence of and listening to Indigenous peoples in decision-making spaces on climate, as well as funding to continue their work mitigating the impacts of the climate crisis.

“There needs to be funding to continue doing what Indigenous people have always done voluntarily. The funds are mechanisms which we are preparing for, mainly to directly get the [necessary] resources for working on the issues that we are already dealing with, which relate to adaptation, but Indigenous lands are also [important to] mitigation [strategies], so we work on these two areas without disconnecting them,” she explained.

The panel at COP30, attended by Amazônia Real, sought to create a space for strategic dialogue to build policies and mechanisms that ensure direct financing for climate adaptation actions implemented by Indigenous peoples in their territories. Among the expected lines of work are the development of practical policy recommendations aimed at the UNFCCC, the Global Goal on Adaptation (GAA), and national adaptation plans, as well as the development of ethical and equitable pathways to include Indigenous peoples in climate finance mechanisms.

Originally published on Global Voices

Ebo Forest in the Littoral Region of southern Cameroon. Screenshot from the video de la chaîne YouTube de France 24

Far removed from major global climate change meetings and conferences, some vulnerable communities bear the brunt of the climate impacts, often combining innovation with determination to cope.

From November 10 to 21, 2025, various figures in the fight against climate change gathered to discuss the world’s climate future at the 30th United Nations Climate Change Conference (COP30) in Belém, Brazil. The main speeches and discussions featured the initiatives yet to get off the ground. At the grassroots level, poor communities are struggling to cope with the everyday impacts of climate change and are fighting for their survival.

While COP30 took place on the outskirts of the Amazon rainforest, forest conservation took top priority. On November 17, 2025, a Cameroon-based organization, the Network of Sustainable Development Actors (RADD), offered women a unique forest-immersion experience in this country, which has over 40 percent forest coverage. Marie Crescence Ngobo, the RADD Executive Secretary who strives for inclusive and sustainable development and fights for people's sovereignty in their resource management, explained the motivation behind this initiative to Global Voices.

Jean Sovon (JS): What inspired RADD to conduct this forest immersion, and how does this experience fall within your vision for sustainable development and nature conservation?

Marie Crescence Ngobo (MCN) : Pour comprendre ce qui nous a inspiré d’organiser cette immersion en forêt, il faut aller chercher dans les origines du RADD et son parcours. Le RADD naît de la volonté des jeunes de pérenniser le projet ‘Kids For Forest’, initié dans le Bassin du Congo par Greenpeace International en 2009. ‘Kids For Forest’ a été un projet de plaidoyer qui permettait aux jeunes de se mobiliser dans leur pays pour demander aux décideurs de protéger et de gérer les forêts tout en pensant aux générations futures. A son terme, les jeunes ont créé Réseau des Acteurs du Développement Durable (RADD) pour continuer à promouvoir les idéaux du fondés sur la gestion durable, équitable et inclusive des ressources naturelles et particulièrement des forêts. Sur la base de cette vision, le RADD devait trouver des acteurs stratégiques capables de porter et d'incarner des missions de développement durable et inclusif. Les femmes, de part leur relation avec la nature, la terre et la forêt, sont les plus indiquées pour jouer ce rôle.

A travers l'imprégnation dans la forêt, le RADD revient à ses missions originelles qui consiste à s’investir pour garder et protéger les forêts. Nous sommes dans le bassin du fleuve Congo, et cette année la COP 30 a mis un accent particulier sur la forêt qui constitue le poumon de la terre. La nécessité de préserver les forêts est encore plus pressante. Malheureusement, la modernité, le colonialisme, les industries extractivistes, les agroindustries, l’extraction de mines, les barrages et autres grands projets qui dévastent les forêts travaillent à éloigner la femme, et les jeunes de toute la richesse que regorge la forêt en leur ôtant toute volonté de contribuer à sa conservation. Cette immersion va renouveler l’alliance des femmes du bassin du Congo avec la forêt et inspirer leur volonté de conserver cet écosystème. On va rappeler les rôles que la forêt a toujours joués pour l’homme, et insister sur la nécessité de la préserver pour les générations présentes et futures afin d'atténuer les changements climatiques.

Marie Crescence Ngobo (MCN): To provide some context for why we conducted this forest immersion, we must examine RADD’s origins and its background. RADD originated from young people’s desire to continue the ‘Kids For Forest’ project initiated by Greenpeace International in the Congo Basin in 2009. ‘Kids For Forest’ was an advocacy project that enabled young people to come together and urge decision-makers to protect and manage the forests for future generations. At its conclusion, the young people created the Network of Sustainable Development Actors (RADD) to continue promoting the sustainable, equitable, and inclusive management of natural resources, especially forests. Based on this vision, RADD had to find strategic agents capable of pursuing and representing sustainable, inclusive development. Because of their relationship with nature, land, and forests, women are best suited to this role.

Through forest immersion, RADD is returning to its original mission of preserving and protecting the forests. We are in the Congo River basin, and this year COP30 laid special emphasis on forests, the earth’s lungs. The need to conserve forests is even greater. Unfortunately, modernity, colonialism, extractive industries, agro-industries, mining, dams, and other large-scale projects that adversely affect forests seek to keep women and young people away from the forest’s vast wealth, eroding any desire they may have to contribute to its conservation. This immersion will renew the women of the Congo Basin’s alliance with the forest, instilling in them a desire to conserve this ecosystem. We shall remember the role forests have always played for humans and insist on the need to preserve them for present and future generations and mitigate climate change.

JS: How does this training activity effectively contribute to the COP30 objectives and Cameroon’s climate efforts?

MCN : En prélude à cette immersion, nous avons eu deux panels où nous avons discuté de “l’avenir du monde sans la forêt et les eaux” et du “Genre et finance climatique”. Il y a eu une soirée en forêt, une foire d’exposition des semences paysannes agroécologiques,des objets artisanaux de la forêt, marche sportive, une rencontre virtuelle avec l'équipe à Belém, un plantation de quelques arbres pour marquer notre passage à la Sanaga Beach, une projection des films documentaires et une rencontre avec les seigneurs de la Forêt.

Cette imprégnation renforce les capacités des femmes dans la compréhension et l’intégration des enjeux du climat en lien avec les forêts et forme ces femmes à s’investir dans les dynamiques d’adaptation et d’atténuation des changements climatiques. Les femmes qui subissent les effets deschangements climatiques peuvent proposer des solutions pertinentes qui doivent être capitalisées à la COP 30. L’Amazonie et le bassin du Congo représentent des solutions aux changements climatiques et il faut les préserver. Une bonne préservation des ces écosystèmes ne doit pas se faire sans ces femmes. Ce sont elles qui doivent apporter les solutions et non l’inverse.

Pour le Cameroun, c’est une main tendue aux décideurs afin qu’elles prêtent une oreille attentive à ce qui est fait par les femmes et les considèrent comme des acteurs de premier plan dans la rédaction et l'implémentation des plans nationaux de lutte contre les changements climatiques.

MCN: In the run-up to this immersion, we held two panels discussing “the world’s future without forests and water” and “Gender and climate finance.” There was an evening in the forest, an exhibition fair with native agroecological seeds and forest handicrafts, a hike, a virtual meeting with the team in Belém, tree planting to mark our visit to Sanaga Beach, a documentary screening, and a meeting with forest representatives.

This training strengthens women's ability to understand and acknowledge forest climate issues. It trains them to engage in climate change adaptation and mitigation efforts. Women experiencing the impacts of climate change could propose relevant solutions that should be put to good use at COP30. We must preserve the Amazon and Congo Basin as they offer solutions to climate change. We cannot achieve an effective conservation of these ecosystems without women. They are the ones who must provide the solutions, rather than the other way around.

Cameroon is reaching out to decision-makers, urging them to listen carefully to what women are doing and to see them as leading actors when drafting and implementing national plans to combat climate change.

Image of Marie Crescence Ngobo. Used with permission.

JS: Who was selected for this forest experience, and what changes do you hope to see in them after this immersion?

MCN : Plus de six catégories de personnes sont sélectionnées. Les femmes riveraines des agro-industries parce que les plantations de monoculture de palmier à huile, de canne à sucre ou d’hévéa ont littéralement détruit la forêt et ces femmes sont en première ligne de lutte pour l’accès à leur terre ou les forêts leur donnaient tous les moyens de vivres . Mais également les femmes des cases communautaires de semences paysannes qui sont les gardiennes de la semence locale, car sinon la forêt ne se maintient pas. Les Africains doivent renforcer leur souveraineté semencière et éloigner les semences hybrides qui sont accompagnées d'engrais chimiques de synthèse qui sont aussi une cause de changement climatique.

De même, les transformatrices de produits agricoles pastoraux et produits forestiers non ligneux (les produits issus des forêts, à l'exception du bois) qui donnent de la valeur à nos produits locaux pour concurrencer les produits manufacturés qui envahissent nos marchés et nous éloignent de nos valeurs culturelles, cultuelles et traditionnelles.

Aussi, les femmes urbaines qui ont besoin de se ressourcer afin de reprendre contact avec la mère forêt source de valeurs sur le plan alimentaire, de la santé et de l'environnement.

Les peuples autochtones ou les premiers habitants de la forêt, habiles conservateurs gardiens de cette forêt et de toute sa richesse.

Engin, les “seigneurs de la forêt” soit un un groupe de jeunes issus des forêts qui s'investissent pour sa valorisation.

MCN: More than six categories of people were selected, including women living near the agro-industries. As palm oil, sugarcane, and rubber tree monoculture plantations have destroyed the forests that provide their livelihoods, these women are at the forefront of the fight for land access. This also includes women from community seed banks, who are the local seed guardians. Otherwise, the forest cannot sustain itself. Africans must strengthen their seed sovereignty and move away from hybrid seeds, which use synthetic chemical fertilizers that also cause climate change.

Likewise, female processors of agricultural, pastoral, and non-timber products (products from forests, other than wood) add value to our local products, enabling them to rival the manufactured goods swamping our markets and distancing us from our cultural, religious, and traditional values.

Also, urban women who need to recharge to reconnect with Mother Forest, a source of nutritional, health, and environmental values.

Indigenous people, or the first inhabitants of the forest, who are skilled conservationists and guardians of this forest and its wealth.

Lastly, the ‘forest representatives’ are a group of young people from the forest committed to its development.

JS: How does RADD intend to build on this experience? Do you plan on creating nature ambassadors or new local initiatives based on this momentum?

MCN : Nous allons agir à plusieurs niveaux à travers le renforcement du groupe des seigneurs de la forêt qui sera présent au Hub COP 30 pour les doter de ressources afin de continuer à oeuvrer pour la protection et la valorisation des forêts. Nous prévoyons aussi d'intégrer les semences forestières dans le programme de promotion des systèmes semenciers gérés par le RADD.

MCN: We will take a multilevel approach by strengthening the group of forest representatives who were at the COP30 Hub, giving them the resources to continue striving for forest protection and development. We also plan on including forest seeds in the seed system development program that RADD manages.

JS: Which institutions support you in this undertaking?

MCN : Au niveau local, nous avons la Convergence des Femmes Camerounaises contre les Changement Climatique (COFECCC); le Ministère de l’Environnement, de la Protection de la Nature et du Développement Durable ; et  l’Office National sur le Changement. A l'international, il y a l’AWID qui est le principal partenaire nous apporte un appui financier, technique et dans la communication; l’Africa Climate Justice Movement (ACJM), un mouvement des femmes africaines soutenu par le Global Fund for Women (GWF). Nous avons aussi à nos côtés l’Agroecology Fund et Global Voices.

Nous voulons solliciter plus d’appui pour soutenir nos initiatives et continuer par renforcer les capacités des femmes dans la compréhension des enjeux climatiques au niveau mondial. Il existe des solutions endogènes que les femmes camerounaises ont proposé, elles cherchent des partenaires pour les accompagner dans la réalisation des ces actions.

MCN: Locally, we have the Cameroonian Women’s Convergence against Climate Change (COFECCC), the Ministry of Environment, Nature Protection, and Sustainable Development, and the National Office on Climate Change. Internationally, the Association for Women’s Rights in Development (AWID) is our main partner, providing financial, technical, and communications support, and the Africa Climate Justice Movement (ACJM), an African women’s movement supported by the Global Fund for Women (GWF). We also have the Agroecology Fund and Global Voices backing us.

We intend to seek more support for our initiatives and continue strengthening women’s ability to understand the global climate challenges. Cameroonian women have proposed some endogenous solutions and are seeking partners to support their implementation.

Read more: Global resistance beyond COP30

This story was supported by AWID.