Title: Let the Pacific Islands Co-Design Solutions to Climate Change

But for native Samoans like myself, this is hardly a surprise. Subtle changes to the local environment have been appearing for decades now. First, the Samoan community noticed differences in the soil quality (making it harder to grow crops), the fresh water supply, local fisheries, and eventually even personal safety, with natural disasters becoming ever more frequent and far more fatal.

Agriculture and tourism are the two largest industries, and fears of an impending climate crisis could threaten the backbone of our economy, denying future generations much needed growth and development.

Climate justice—like its sister, social justice—is underpinned by the idea that the poorest of the poor, and the most remote, are the first to lose. In the Pacific, these communities are predominantly indigenous.

Samoans have been practicing sustainable development for centuries, planting mangroves to fight soil erosion and water pollution and to protect against natural disasters. A recent World Bank study backed this strategy, affirming that, without natural coastal protections such as mangroves, natural disasters could cause as much as 25 percent more damage. Coastal wetlands additionally serve as carbon storage units, and can hold carbon for thousands of years. The latest research found that they store up to four times more carbon than the average forest. They are also critical to marine biodiversity and seafood, a staple of the Samoan diet. However, due to rapid urbanization in the South Pacific, most mangroves have been cleared to make room for commercial expansion.

Indigenous communities do not always appreciate how damaging urban development has been, especially for remote islands and their fragile ecosystems. The quest to solve climate change at the local level is currently largely a technological one, when it should be a natural one. Much like the human body, the planet has a natural immune response and ability to heal when given the chance. The beauty of recognizing traditional knowledge is that it holds the ancient wisdom of indigenous ancestors who were seasoned experts at preserving the natural world.

Eighty percent of the world’s biodiversity sits under indigenous land. What indigenous societies lack in technology or science, we more than make up for in green credentials. This is where indigenous communities can have the greatest impact on climate change.

Climate justice wrestles with an ethical dilemma over responsibility. Those least responsible for climate change are suffering the most. The Pacific island-nations set an ambitious target of 100 percent renewable energy by 2020 or 2030, depending on their size and performance. Small islands are determined to lead the global discourse on climate change by modeling the kind of behavior that actually makes a difference. Some say these remote islands are too small to make a difference, but locals believe that their size is actually an asset, allowing them to take radical action.

Still, despite a strong business case for renewable energy, cash-strapped governments cannot afford to subsidize renewable energy imports—let alone advanced technological solutions. In the Pacific, 95 percent of fuel is imported, costing more than 40 percent of GDP, and local investors will not engage without public sector financing.

Aid donors make the gap worse by preferring to look elsewhere for projects. Energy is the least-funded sector in the Pacific, with most aid directed toward governance. The poor collaboration between aid donors and recipient countries further delays climate resilience, making it less cost-effective over the long-run. China has made no secret of its disdain for energy independence, preferring to fund lavish infrastructure projects instead. Beijing’s reluctance to invest in local capacity is fueling accusations of debt-trap diplomacy. In stark contrast, Australia and New Zealand have prioritized technical capacity programs and grants rather than concessional loans. If we are serious about climate justice, it must involve the further co-design of policy and reallocation of resources.

Nature-based solutions informed by indigenous experts will give the green economy a much needed human face-lift amid fears that climate solutions are an exclusive domain for the rich and educated. In Samoa, hydropower is the most popular renewable energy source. During the dry season, however, it is all but useless. Solar and wind options are expensive and require careful maintenance. There is potential for an innovative solution such as a man-made water reservoir, but our best and brightest prefer to leave Samoa to try their luck elsewhere. Climate justice acknowledges how some countries are simply disadvantaged from the outset, especially very small countries such as Samoa.

Contrary to public opinion, climate justice is not a protest. It is a revolution. Populism is sweeping the globe on a scale not seen since the Second World War. The election of climate skeptics like Donald J. Trump and Jair Bolsonaro undermines the international consensus on climate science. Samoans cannot afford to wait for someone else to save us.

In 2015, I followed the case for what might have been the first climate refugee in the world. A Kiribati man and his family filed for asylum in New Zealand, citing climate change. His legal team argued that the rising sea level had reached more than a meter above the seawall near his home, and that the lack of safe water was causing his children skin problems. His bid was ultimately unsuccessful, and they were subsequently deported. On return, the man and his family were forced to live with a relative on higher ground, and with national unemployment at 30 percent, he remains jobless. Thus, homelessness, overcrowding, ill health, and poverty are as much symptoms of climate change as they are of war and famine.

For indigenous communities left behind in the fight against climate change, this begs the question: if not now, when?

The current UN Convention for Refugees does not address climate change or the environment, but that could soon be challenged. In fact, there are already over a thousand lawsuits relating to climate change scattered across every corner of the globe. Some parliaments have gone as far as declaring a climate emergency.

After a recent cyclone in Samoa, twenty villages along the coast were wiped out, their residents forced to relocate to higher ground. But their arrival did not proceed smoothly. According to my Samoan friends and other contacts on the ground, nearby villagers were worried about losing land, and violent struggles quickly ensued. Village chiefs and church elders, along with international partners such as UNESCO and the International Federation of Association Football (FIFA), were brought in to mediate and arrange activities to reconcile the village communities. Thankfully, the skirmishes were rare and limited to a few families at most. Nonetheless, climate change, conflict, and forced migration affect marginalized communities disproportionately, which is why climate justice is so significant. We know that conflicts like this one will occur more frequently as we go forward. Water and land-related conflicts are already worsening.

All too often, the narrative around climate justice is about welfare—not security or responsibility. The Pacific is the first line of defense against climate change. Our islands are sinking, and no amount of money is going to save them. What we need most of all is your faith in our ability to manage together. Your sympathy alone does nothing for us.

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Fale Andrew Lesa is a policy consultant at the Asian Development Bank and a senior fellow at the Asia Europe Foundation (ASEF). Indigenous to Samoa, he studied policy at the University of Auckland and is a former city councillor.