The Top Climate Leaders Are Now in The Global South

Posted on November 11, 2025 by admin

Biodiversity, Climate Action, Climate Change, Conferences, COP30, Development & Aid, Economy & Trade, Energy, Environment, Global, Green Economy, Headlines, Labour, Natural Resources, TerraViva United Nations

Opinion

As climate leaders gather in the Amazon, the world’s green transformation is speaking with a southern accent—powered by markets, technology, and a new economic logic.

Belém—30th Conference of the Parties (COP30). Credit: Antônio Scorza/COP30

OSLO, Norway, Nov 11 2025 (IPS) – When world leaders now gather in Belém, Brazil for the UN climate conference, expectations will be modest. Few believe the meeting will produce any breakthroughs. The United States is retreating from climate engagement. Europe is distracted. The UN is struggling to keep relevant in the 21st century.

But step outside the negotiation tents, and a different story unfolds—one of quiet revolutions, technological leaps, and a new geography of leadership. The green transformation of the world is no longer being designed in Western capitals. It is being built, at scale, in the Global South.

Ten years ago, anyone seeking inspiration on climate policy went to Brussels, Berlin or Paris. Today, you go to Beijing, Delhi or Jakarta. The center of gravity has shifted. China and India are now the twin engines of the global green economy, with Brazil, Vietnam and Indonesia closely behind.

Erik Solheim

This is not about rhetoric; it is about results. China accounts for roughly 60 percent of global capacity in solar, wind, and hydropower manufacturing. It dominates in electric vehicles, batteries, and high-speed rail. China’s 93 GW installation of solar in May 2025 is a historic high and exceeds the monthly or short‐term installation levels of any other country to date.

China has made the green transition its biggest business opportunity, turning green action into jobs, prosperity and global leadership. China is now making more money from exporting green technology than America makes from exporting fossil fuels.

India, too, is reshaping what green development looks like. I was in Andhra Pradesh last month, when I visited a wonderful six-gigawatt integrated energy park—solar, wind, and pumped storage. It delivers round-the-clock clean power. There is nothing like that in the West. In another state, Tamil Nadu, an ecotourism circuit is protecting mangroves and marine ecosystems while creating local jobs in tourism. The western state of Gujarat, long a laboratory for industrial innovation, has committed to 100 gigawatts of renewables by 2030, with the captains of Indian business – Adani and Reliance – driving large-scale solar and wind investments with the state government.

These are not pilot projects. They are national strategies. And they are succeeding because the economics have flipped.

The cost of solar power has fallen by over 90 percent in the last decade, largely thanks to the intense competition between Chinese solar companies. Battery storage is now competitive with fossil fuels. What was once an environmental aspiration has become a financial inevitability. In Indian Gujarat, solar-plus-storage projects are already cheaper than coal. Switching to clean energy is no longer a cost—it is a saving.

That is why climate action today is driven not by diplomacy, but by economics. The question is no longer if countries will go green, but who will own the technologies and industries that make it possible.

Europe, long the moral voice of the climate agenda, now risks losing the industrial race. After years of blocking imports from developing countries on grounds of “inferior” green quality, it now complains that Chinese electric vehicles are too good— too cheap and too efficient. Europe cannot have it both ways. The world cannot build a green transition behind protectionist walls. The markets must open to the best technologies, wherever they are made.

President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva of Brazil understands this new reality. That is why he chose Belém, deep in the Amazon, as the site for climate talks. The location itself is a statement: the future of climate policy lies in protecting the rainforests and empowering the people who live within them.

Forests are not just carbon sinks; they are living economies. When I was Norway’s environment minister, we partnered with Brazil and Indonesia to reward them for reducing deforestation. Later, Guyana joined our effort—a small South American nation where nearly the entire population is of Indian or African origin.

Guyana has since turned conservation into currency. Under its jurisdictional REDD+ programme, the country now sells verified carbon credits through the global aviation market known as CORSIA. In the third quarter of this year, these credits traded at USD 22.55 per tonne of CO₂ equivalent, with around one million credits sold through a procurement event led by IATA and Mercuria.

The proceeds go directly to forest communities—building schools, improving digital access, and funding small enterprises. It is proof that the carbon market can deliver real value when tied to real lives. You cannot protect nature against the will of local people. You can only protect it with them. Last year in Guyana, I watched children play soccer and cricket beneath the jungle canopy—a glimpse of life thriving in harmony with the forest, not at its expense.

That, ultimately, is what Belém should represent: not another round of procedural debates, but a vision for linking markets, nature and livelihoods.

The Global South has also sidestepped one of the West’s greatest political failures: climate denial. In India, there is no major political party—or public figure, cricket star or Bollywood artist—questioning the reality of climate change. Leaders may differ on ideology, but not on this. Across Asia, from China to Indonesia, climate action unites rather than divides. Because here, ecology and economy move together.

Prime Minister Narendra Modi of India puts it simply: by going green, we also go prosperous. President Xi Jinping of China and President Lula of Brazil share that same message—a vision that draws people in, instead of lecturing them. It is this integration of growth and sustainability that explains why the Global South is moving faster than most of the developed world.

None of this means diplomacy is irrelevant. The UN still matters. But its institutions must evolve to reflect the realities of the 21st century. The Security Council, frozen in 1945, still excludes India and Africa from permanent membership. Without reform, multilateralism risks losing its meaning.

Yet, while negotiations stall, transformation continues. From solar parks in Gujarat to high-speed rail across China, from mangrove tourism in Tamil Nadu to carbon markets in Guyana—climate leadership is happening in real economies, not in press releases.

Belém will not deliver a grand agreement. But it doesn’t need to. The world is already moving—faster than our diplomats.

The story of Belem will not be written in communiqués, but in kilowatts, credits, and communities.

The real climate leaders are no longer in Washington or Brussels.

They are in Beijing, Delhi, São Paulo, and Georgetown.

The future of climate action is already here.

It just speaks with a southern accent.

The author is the former Executive Director of the United Nations Environment Programme and Norway’s Minister for Environment and International Development.

IPS UN Bureau

The Top Climate Leaders Are Now in The Global South

Posted on November 11, 2025 by admin

Opinion

As climate leaders gather in the Amazon, the world’s green transformation is speaking with a southern accent—powered by markets, technology, and a new economic logic.

Belém—30th Conference of the Parties (COP30). Credit: Antônio Scorza/COP30

Erik Solheim

These are not pilot projects. They are national strategies. And they are succeeding because the economics have flipped.

That, ultimately, is what Belém should represent: not another round of procedural debates, but a vision for linking markets, nature and livelihoods.

Belém will not deliver a grand agreement. But it doesn’t need to. The world is already moving—faster than our diplomats.

The story of Belem will not be written in communiqués, but in kilowatts, credits, and communities.

The real climate leaders are no longer in Washington or Brussels.

They are in Beijing, Delhi, São Paulo, and Georgetown.

The future of climate action is already here.

It just speaks with a southern accent.

The author is the former Executive Director of the United Nations Environment Programme and Norway’s Minister for Environment and International Development.

IPS UN Bureau

Rajagopal PV’s Blueprint for Another World: Peace

Posted on November 4, 2025 by admin

Active Citizens, Africa, Asia-Pacific, Civil Society, Conferences, Editors’ Choice, Featured, Global, Headlines, Human Rights, Humanitarian Emergencies, Peace, Population, Sustainable Development Goals, TerraViva United Nations

Peace

Rajagopal P.V. at the International Civil Society Week (ICSW2025) in Bangkok. Credit: Zofeen Ebrahim/IPS

BANGKOK, Nov 4 2025 (IPS) – “If nations can have defense ministries, why not peace ministries?” asks Rajagopal PV, the soft-spoken yet formidable founder of Ekta Parishad. “We are told to see issues through a gender lens—why not a peace lens? Why can’t we imagine a business model rooted in non-violence or an education system that teaches peace?”

Founded in 1989, Ekta Parishad—literally Forum for Unity—is a vast people’s movement of more than 250,000 landless poor, now recognized as one of India’s largest and most disciplined grassroots forces for justice.

To Rajagopal, these aren’t utopian dreams—they’re blueprints for a possible world.

Over the decades, Ekta Parishad has secured land rights for nearly half a million families, trained over 10,000 grassroots leaders, protected forests and water bodies, and helped shape key land reform laws and policies in India.

All this has been achieved not through anger, but through disciplined, nonviolent marches that stretch across hundreds of kilometers. Along the way, many leaders have walked beside him—among them, the current Prime Minister of Armenia.

In an age marked by deep disorder—where wealth concentrates in few hands, poverty spreads, and the planet itself trembles under human greed—the 77-year-old Gandhian remains unshaken in his belief that peace alone can redeem humanity.

“We must rescue peace from the clutches of poverty and all its evils,” he told IPS on the sidelines of the International Civil Society Week, standing on the football ground of Bangkok’s Thammasat University.

“And it can be done,” he insists—and his life is proof. In 1969, the centenary year of Mahatma Gandhi’s birth, the Government of India launched a unique exhibition on wheels, a ten-coach train carrying Gandhi’s life and message across the nation. Rajagopal was part of the team that curated and travelled with it.

“For an entire year, we journeyed from state to state. Thousands of schoolchildren would gather at railway platforms, their faces lit with curiosity, waiting to meet Gandhi through our displays,” he recalls.

Yet somewhere along those long railway tracks, Rajagopal began to feel that displaying Gandhi’s ideals wasn’t enough. “The exhibition was beautiful,” he says, “but what was the use of preaching non-violence if we couldn’t live it, breathe it, and bring it to life?”

That realization led him to one of the most daring experiments in peacebuilding India had ever seen—negotiating with the feared bandits of the Chambal valley. “It was 1970,” he recalls. “We moved cautiously, first meeting villagers on the periphery to build trust. Once we had their confidence, we sent word to the dacoits: we wanted to talk. With the government’s consent, we ventured into what we called a ‘peace zone’—often by night, walking for hours through deep ravines—to meet men the world only knew as outlaws.”

The dialogues continued for four years. Eventually, as many as 570 bandits laid down their arms before a photograph of Mahatma Gandhi—a sight India had never seen before. The government, in turn, promised they would not face the death penalty and would receive land and livestock to rebuild their lives. Rehabilitation took another four painstaking years, but it was a victory of conscience over fear.

“They didn’t just surrender their weapons—they surrendered their anger,” Rajagopal says quietly. “There was real repentance, and that takes time—but it lasts.” His commitment came at a cost. At his ashram—a spiritual retreat he had founded—he was threatened, beaten, and ordered to abandon his peace efforts. He talked them through to accepting his presence.

“Today that same region is heaven,” he smiles, his eyes crinkling with memory. “Fifty years ago, people trembled at sunset—terrified of the bandits. Today, you can travel at 2:00 pm in the night, where fear ruled once.”

The mass surrender may have looked like a triumph for the state, but Rajagopal urges people to look deeper. “It’s the invisible violence—poverty, injustice, and oppression—that breeds the visible one: dacoities, kidnappings, and killings,” he explains.

Though Rajagopal and his companions had ended one form of violence, the deeper, quieter kind—born of poverty and neglect—still festered. Until that was confronted, he knew, peace would remain incomplete.

Years of working alongside the poor had taught him one truth: non-violence needs structure. If India’s Indigenous and landless communities were to be heard, they had to be organized.

“We began training young people from dozens of villages,” he says. “They went door to door, teaching others not only about their rights—especially the right to land—but also how to claim them peacefully.”

With that foundation, a five-year plan took shape. Each village home chose one member to take part. Every day, the family set aside one rupee and a fistful of rice—a humble but powerful act of commitment.

They even created a “playbook” of possible scenarios—how to stay calm under provocation, how to respond to setbacks, and how to practice non-violence in thought and action. “In one of our marches, a truck ran over three of our people, killing them,” he recalls softly. “There was grief, but no retaliation. Instead, they sat in silence and meditated. That was our true test.”

In 2006, 500 marchers walked 350 kilometers from Gwalior to Delhi, demanding land rights. Nothing changed. But they didn’t stop.

A year later, in 2007, 25,000 people—many barefoot—set out again on the national highway. “Imagine that sight,” Rajagopal says, eyes gleaming. “Twenty-five thousand people walking for a month, powered only by hope.”

The march displayed not just India’s poverty but also its power—the quiet power of the poor united. It was among the most disciplined mobilizations the country had ever seen. “There was one leader for every hundred people,” Rajagopal explains. “We walked by day and slept on the highway by night. Those in charge of cooking went ahead each morning so that by sundown, a single meal was ready for all.”

In a later march, Rajagopal recalls, the government sent a large police force. “I was worried,” he admits. “I called the authorities to tell them this was a non-violent protest—we didn’t need protection. The officer replied, ‘They’re not there for you; they’re here to learn how disciplined movements should be.’”

Along the route, villages greeted them like family—offering bags of rice, water, and prayers. “There was never a shortage of food,” Rajagopal smiles. “When your cause is just, the world feeds you.”

By the time the march reached Delhi, the government announced a new land reform policy and housing rights and agreed to enact the Forest Rights Act.

The government dispersed the marchers with hollow promises and the reforms never happened.

So Ekta Parishad planned an even larger march—a Jan Satyagraha of 100,000 people in 2012.

“Halfway through, the government came running.”

Rajagopal’s face lights up as he recalls the event. “They agreed to our ten-point agenda and signed it in front of the people. That moment was historic—governments almost never do that; the Indian government certainly never does it!”

The agreement included land and housing rights, a national task force on land reform, the prime minister’s oversight of policy implementation, and fast-track courts to resolve land disputes.

Today, because of these long, barefoot marches, more than three million Indigenous people in India now have legal rights to land and housing. The struggle also gave birth to India’s Land Acquisition, Rehabilitation, and Resettlement Act—a landmark in people’s movements.

“The Act also safeguards fertile land,” Rajagopal explains. “Before the government can acquire any area, a social impact study must be done. And if farmland is taken, the owners receive four times its value in compensation.”

“The purpose of our marches,” Rajagopal says, “is not to fight the government, but to win it over. The government is not the enemy; injustice is. We must stand on the same side of the problem.”

For Rajagopal, peace is not a sentiment but a system—something that must be built, brick by brick, through dialogue and respect. “Non-violence,” he says, “isn’t passive. It’s active patience—listening, accepting differences, never policing thought.” The same principle, he believes, can heal families, neighborhoods, nations—and the world itself.

His next mission is to create a Youth Peace Force, ready to enter conflict zones and resolve disputes through dialogue. He has also launched the Peace Builders Forum, or Peace7, uniting seven countries—South Africa, Japan, Costa Rica, Switzerland, Canada, India, and Armenia. His dream is to expand it to Peace20, where, as he smiles, “wealth will never be a criterion for membership.”

IPS UN Bureau Report

Vanishing Wisdom of the Sundarbans–How climate change erodes centuries of ecological knowledge

Posted on October 15, 2025 by admin

Asia-Pacific, Civil Society, Climate Change, Climate Change Finance, COP30, Development & Aid, Editors’ Choice, Environment, Featured, Headlines, Human Rights, Migration & Refugees, Natural Resources, Sustainable Development Goals, TerraViva United Nations

Climate Change

Bapi Mondal and his wife Shanti in Bangalore. Climate change has forced the couple from their traditional livelihoods in the Sundarbans. Credit: Diwash Gahatraj/IPS

BANGALORE & PAKHIRALAY, India, Oct 15 2025 (IPS) – Bapi Mondal’s morning routine in Bangalore is a world away from his ancestral village, Pakhiralay, in the Sundarbans, West Bengal. He wakes before dawn, navigates heavy traffic, and spends eight long hours molding plastic battery casings. It’s not the life his honey-gathering forefathers knew, but factors like extreme storms, rising seas, and deadly soil salinity forced the 40-year-old to abandon centuries of family tradition and travel miles away to work in a concrete suburban factory.

Bapi still remembers his traditional skills—walking through a mangrove forest to find a tree with a honeycomb, mending boats and fishing nets, and singing and acting in the traditional plays. His 19-year-old son, Subhodeep—working alongside in the factory—has lost the heritage.

Bapi’s home, the Sundarbans—the world’s largest mangrove forest—is on the frontlines of climate change, and local livelihoods are taking the hit. In this watery maze where land and sea meet, villagers who once relied on fishing, honey collection and farming are now grappling with rising tides, saltier water, and more frequent storms. For many, life is becoming a struggle to hold on to centuries-old ways.

Sea levels in the Sundarbans are rising nearly twice the global rate, flooding villages and forcing families out. Saltwater ruins rice fields and ponds, making farming and fishing harder. Mawalis, the honey gatherers, also struggle as climate change disrupts flowering and damages mangroves, reducing wild bee populations.

A fisherman in Sundarbans. Credit: Diwash Gahatraj/IPS

A fisherman in the Sundarbans. Credit: Diwash Gahatraj/IPS

The crisis doesn’t end with the water. Salinity, once held at bay by freshwater flows, is climbing year after year, disrupting both fishing and farming. Pollution, ill-managed embankments, and overexploitation of resources add to the challenge. As incomes shrink and lands disappear, thousands leave for nearby cities, hoping for work but often finding only life in urban slums.

City life is unforgiving for migrants like Mondal. He spends eight grueling hours on his feet, molding battery casings six days a week in harsh factory conditions. At the end of each day, he returns to a small one-room apartment. He shares this space with his wife Shanti and son, Subhodeep. The family struggles financially. Bapi earns ₹19,000 per month (about USD 215)—barely enough to get by. Despite the hardships, he says the work is still his choice.

“A hard choice, but a choice,” he explains.

Morning rush is hectic for the Mondal family. He points to the wall clock and asks his wife to pack lunch quickly. “All three of us work in different factories in the area,” Mondal says. “We all have to reach work by 8 am.”

Gopal Mondal and his family in the Sundarbans. Credit: Diwash Gahatraj/IPS

Gopal Mondal and his family in the Sundarbans. Gopal still ventures into the forests to collect wild honey. Credit: Diwash Gahatraj/IPS

Shanti, Bapi’s wife, spends her days at a garment factory pressing clothes with a hot iron. She works eight-hour shifts with just one weekly break, earning ₹15,000 per month (about USD 169). Their 19-year-old son, Subhodeep, has also joined his father at the plastic factory. All three now work in Bommasandra, Bangalore’s industrial belt, pooling their wages to survive.

The migration has split their family apart.

“We have an 11-year-old daughter who lives with my in-laws in the Sundarbans,” Shanti explains. The cost of city life forced them to leave their youngest child behind. “It breaks my heart to be apart from my daughter, but we want her to have a good education and life—that’s why we sacrifice,” says Shanti. Her daughter attends school back in the village.

Her job gave her economic independence and a voice in family decisions, like building their new house. Bapi’s family, rooted in the village for centuries, were Mawalis, honey gatherers who knew the forest through knowledge passed down generations.

Still Rooted

Bapi’s father, Gopal Mondal, still ventures into the dangerous forests of Sunderbans. He risks tiger attacks and deadly cyclones to collect wild honey. But the forest that once fed families is now failing them.

Climate change has disrupted everything. Cyclones strike more often and with greater force. The natural flowering cycle has gone haywire. Fish populations in the waters have crashed.

“The honey harvest keeps shrinking and prices keep falling,” Gopal explains.

As Gopal tried to hold on to tradition, his son Bapi could no longer see a future in the same waters and forests.

“The forest no longer provides enough honey or fish,” Bapi shares. The rhythms his ancestors lived by for centuries suddenly made no sense. Faced with shrinking opportunities, Bapi tried other work back home. Besides going to the jungle for honey with his father during the season (April-May), he operated a van gaari—a battery-powered three-wheeler with a wooden platform for passengers. But even that barely paid enough to survive. “There was a time when I struggled to buy a saree for my wife,” he recalls. Migration was the only choice left.

A boat ferries passengers in Sundarbans. Credit: Diwash Gahatraj/IPS

From Forests to Factories

Apart from forced migration, climate change erodes memory, identity, and ancestral knowledge. Leaving the Sundarbans has cost the family more than a homeland.

Bapi still carries traditional skills—navigating treacherous waters by boat and collecting honey deep in the forest.

“I know how to catch shrimp and crabs from the river and sea,” he says. “My father and uncles taught me these skills when I was young.”

His wife, Shanti, nods, adding that she was an expert crab and shrimp collector back in the Sundarbans. “I think I still have it in me,” she says with quiet pride.

But the chain of knowledge is breaking. “I could not pass on that wisdom to my son,” Bapi admits with regret.

Subhodeep represents this lost generation. He finished tenth grade and left his village to join his parents in Bangalore. He has not learned the skills that defined his family for generations. “I have never entered the forest to collect honey or fish back in the village,” Subhodeep explains. “My parents were against it.”

Bon bibi temple in Pakhiralay village. Along with losing traditional livelihoods, religion and cultural life are also in jeopardy. Credit: Diwash Gahatraj/IPS

The irony is stark. Bapi’s parents encouraged him to learn these ancestral skills. But when environmental collapse made these traditions dangerous and unprofitable, Bapi chose to shield his son from them.

For the Mondals, the forest has become too dangerous and unreliable.

“Going to collect honey or catch fish is very unpredictable now,” Bapi explains. Catch volumes have fallen, and tiger attacks have grown. Bapi’s family knows the risk; his grandfather was killed while gathering honey in the forest.

Years earlier, a tiger also attacked Gopal Mondal. He was luckier—he escaped alive but still carries scars on his hand.

These brutal realities shaped Bapi’s decision about his son’s future. “I don’t want my next generation to have such a risky occupation,” he says. The choice is clear. Families can either cling to dangerous traditions that no longer pay enough to survive or abandon their ancestral practices for safer work in distant cities.

Are there other reasons behind the changes in the Sundarbans?

“We can’t just blame climate change and ignore human activities making things worse,” says Professor Tuhin Ghosh of Jadavpur University’s School of Oceanographic Studies. Human activity and climate change create a deadly combination.

People cleared mangroves for farms and fish ponds and built embankments that blocked tidal flows. The result is salt contamination, poisoned soil and water, vanishing species, and a broken landscape.

Uninhabitable Home

About 4.5 million people live across the Sundarbans region in Bangladesh and India. A recent survey reveals the massive scale of climate migration: nearly 59% of households have at least one family member who has moved away for work.

Some studies report 60,000 people migrated from parts of the Sundarbans by 2018. But household surveys show much higher rates because they measure affected families, not just individuals.

These local figures reflect a much bigger crisis. Across Bangladesh, weather-related disasters displaced 7.1 million people in 2022 alone, showing how climate change drives mass movement.

On the Indian side in West Bengal, researchers document large seasonal and permanent migration flows to cities and other states. Families routinely send members to work elsewhere, though official counts are scarce.

Loss Beyond Dollars

Over the past two decades, the Sundarbans has been hit by cyclones made stronger by climate change. They uprooted thousands and caused millions in losses. But beyond disaster relief and migration, a quieter crisis unfolds: the erosion of centuries-old ecological wisdom, culture, and tradition.

Gopal Mondal, in his early sixties, sits outside his modest home in Pakhiralay. When asked about protective equipment for his dangerous work collecting honey in the Sundarbans forest, he holds up a small amulet—a tabeej.

“This and my prayers to Bon Bibi are my protection,” says Mondal, who leads a team of honey collectors into the mangrove forests. “They shield us from storms and babu (tigers).”

The elderly collector recites mantras passed down through generations—teachings from his father or cousins, though he cannot recall exactly who taught him.

“The whole community worships Bon Bibi,” he explains simply

For Sundarbans communities like Mondal’s, Bon Bibi—the “Lady of the Forest”—is a guardian of the mangroves. For centuries, fishermen, honey collectors, and wood gatherers have sought her protection in tiger territory and cyclone-prone waters. Her worship is more than faith; it reflects the people’s bond with a dangerous yet life-sustaining environment, offering both comfort and identity where safety tools are scarce.

When asked about traditional knowledge slipping away from his family, Mondal’s weathered face shows a faint smile.

“Earlier, every fisherman’s family had someone —a son or grandson—who knew how to repair torn nets or mend boats,” he explains. “But in my family, things are slowly changing. My grandsons and sons live too far away, and their visits home are too short to learn these skills.”

The honey collector pauses, watching the distant mangroves. “The younger generation shows very little interest in our profession,” he adds quietly.

Climate migration expert M. Zakir Hossain Khan of Change Initiative, a Bangladesh-based think tank focused on solving critical global challenges, warns that climate-driven displacement from the Sundarbans is destroying centuries-old ways of life that depend entirely on deep knowledge of the forest and rivers.

Fishermen carry rare knowledge of tides, breeding cycles, and mangrove routes, passed down through years of practice. With youth leaving for city jobs, few inherit it. Honey gatherers know how to find hives, protect bees, and survive in tiger territory. As young people turn away, honey collection is fading from the Sundarbans.

A Vanishing Heritage

This generational shift reflects a broader transformation across the Sundarbans. Traditional skills that once defined coastal communities—net weaving, boat building, reading weather patterns, and forest navigation—are disappearing as young people migrate to cities primarily for employment and a few for education.

“Similarly, mangrove-based handicrafts and boat-making using leaves, bamboo, and mangrove wood to make mats, roofing materials, and small boats demand both ecological understanding and artisanal skill, which are now rarely passed down,” comments Khan from Change Initiative.

He adds that herbal medicine and spiritual rituals practiced by local healers using plants like sundari bark and hental are also at risk, as migration and urbanization erode the cultural setting that sustains them.

Culture at Crossroads

Ghosh, who has spent over 30 years working in the Sundarbans, points to a troubling pattern.

“Migration is killing our folk arts,” he says. “Bonbibi stories, jatra pala theater, fishermen’s songs—they’re all disappearing. The people who used to perform during festivals are getting old. And there’s no one to replace them.”

The Sundarbans face a cultural crisis. Traditional performances that once brought villages together during religious festivals now struggle to find performers. Young people who might have learned these arts from their elders are instead leaving for cities for a better life

Once central to life in the Sundarbans, folk traditions like Jatra Pala, Bonbibi tales, and fishermen’s songs now fade with their aging performers. With few young apprentices, a rich cultural heritage risks disappearing—leaving behind a region not just economically changed, but culturally empty.

Note: This story was produced with support from Internews’ Earth Journalism Network

IPS UN Bureau Report

Source

Kerala’s Human-Elephant ‘Conflict’: Time To Understand a Complex Relationship

Posted on September 5, 2025 by admin

Asia-Pacific, Biodiversity, Civil Society, Conservation, Environment, Featured, Headlines, Natural Resources, TerraViva United Nations

Conservation

Elephants at the Kappukadu elephant rehabilitation center in Kottoor.

NEW DELHI, Sep 5 2025 (IPS) – In the early part of this year, two deaths in Kerala garnered major media attention. A farmer in Wayanad and a female plantation worker in Idukki were killed in two separate events, within a matter of a few days, by wild elephants.

Arikomban, another wild elephant, has become a media favorite recently due to his brushes with human settlements near his habitat. Named so because of his love for ari (rice), the elephant had been relocated from Kerala to Tamil Nadu in 2023 following constant protests from people who also claimed him to be ‘life-threatening.’ Kerala’s news outlets widely covered Arikomban’s relocation.

These aren’t one-off cases in Kerala, which has seen a spike in human–wildlife conflict, especially involving elephants.

According to a news report, 451 people have been killed in wildlife conflicts in the past five years alone in the state, with 102 of them caused by elephants.

However, wildlife biologists and environmentalists have been at odds with the narratives promoted by the media and society regarding what constitutes conflict.

“I think we shouldn’t be using the terminology ‘wildlife conflict’ itself. I would prefer addressing it as ‘negative wildlife interaction,’” says Dr. P.S. Easa, who holds a PhD on Elephant Ecology and Behavior and is a member of the National Board for Wildlife and the IUCN, Asian Elephant Specialist Group.

The conflict between wild animals and humans has been going on for centuries, and what we witness in the current era has been influenced by the transformation in the behavior of both these groups, as well as humans’ perception towards wildlife in general, he adds.

In Kerala’s social framework, the rising phenomenon of human–elephant conflict takes on a much deeper and more complex meaning than the broader topic of conflict with wildlife. Elephants have been an integral part of Kerala’s culture and tradition for centuries—domesticated not just for heavy labor but also as part of temple festivals. In the last few decades, machines have replaced elephants in much of the labor environment in the state, yet the land giants continue to be a part of the festival parades. Animal behavioral experts and activists have been consistently raising their voices against this practice in this century, citing the need to treat elephants as solely wild animals.

Easa refuses to even use the term “domesticated” for them.

“Captive elephants are the only right way to address them in this age and time,” he says.

In 2024 alone, there had been nine reported deaths in Kerala by such captive elephants. The Hindu reported six such deaths, including an elephant mahout, within the first two months of this year. Although there have been stricter rules and regulations in recent years on using captive elephants for temple festivals, they have mostly been restricted to paper. The religious nature of the festivals that these elephants are made to be a part of makes the topic even more sensitive, and political parties tend to stay away from addressing the issue.

Kerala’s elephant reserves have been categorized mainly into four regions, namely Wayanad, Nilambur, Anamudi, and Periyar. Periyar Reserve had the highest count of elephants, followed by the Anamudi Reserve. According to the Kerala Government’s Forest Statistics and the report of the ‘Wild Elephants Census of Kerala,’ the four reserves have a combined total extent of 11,199.049 sq. km., out of which only 1,576.339 sq. km. is assessed to be devoid of elephant population. According to a 2024 official assessment, Kerala had an elephant population of just under 1800, a decline of more than 100 from the previous year.

As Kerala’s elephant reserves border the neighboring states of Tamil Nadu and Karnataka, natural factors that affect the elephant population, like extreme drought and heavy, abrupt rainfall, influence the elephants’ migration across the states during the year.

In Kerala, particularly, shrinking forest habitats caused by deforestation and the increasing presence of human settlements in regions historically occupied by elephant populations, coupled with climate change and the invasive plant species erasing the elephants’ natural food sources, are some of the factors causing unnatural elephant migration, according to experts, and as a consequence, resulting in frequent interactions with humans.

The phrase “descent of wildlife into human settlements” itself is a misnomer, Eesa says.

“In almost all such cases, human settlements had crossed over to those places where the wildlife had existed peacefully before. Wayanad and Idukki are classic examples of this.”

“There was a report that I had come across a while ago—of an ‘elephant attack’ that happened in Sholayar Forest Reserve. Look at the irony of that news. It’s a forest reserve—the habitat belongs to the elephant, not the people who were driving through it. What I’m saying is, every time an elephant conflict is reported, you need to dissect all the circumstances surrounding it. Where—was it within the jungle or outside it? When was it, during the daytime or at night? And how? What were the circumstances leading up to the interaction?” he explains.

The drastic increase in food waste owing to tourism in Kerala has been another factor for wild animals encroaching into human spaces lately. Elephants, wild boars, and monkeys have been observed to have come to human settlements to feed on the food waste.

There is no one, foolproof method to resolve the human–elephant conflict, scientists opine. Easa points out that several techniques that had been fruitful in African countries proved ineffective when used in countries like Sri Lanka and Indonesia.

A mahout riding a captive elephant. Kerala continues to make use of elephants for temple festivals and parades.

A mahout is seen riding a captive elephant. Kerala continues to make use of elephants for temple festivals and parades.

Wildlife biologist Sreedhar Vijayakrishnan, in an interview given to Mongabay in 2023, suggests five main long-term measures that will help mitigate human-elephant conflict. This includes initiating long-term studies to understand elephant movements and spatiotemporal patterns of conflict, which will help ascertain where and how interventions are required; tracking areas of elephant movement and identifying regions of intense use while installing alert lights at vantage points that can be triggered in case of elephant sightings; raising awareness among local populations to discourage feeding elephants or unwanted interactions; training local rapid response teams to prevent negative interactions and indiscriminate drives; and fitting satellite collars on elephants that frequently cause issues.

Kerala also has an elephant rehabilitation center established in Kottoor, Thiruvananthapuram, for rescuing, rehabilitating, and protecting both captive and wild elephants. The state, like other forest reserves in India, has historically chosen to turn many of the captured conflict-making elephants into ‘Kumkis’ (a Kumki elephant is a specially trained and domesticated elephant used in rescue operations and to train other wild elephants and manage wildlife conflict).

Apart from the above, one of the most effective measures that has been implemented in Kerala is through the Wayanad Elephant Conflict Mitigation Project by the Wildlife Trust of India (WTI). The project, first initiated in 2002–2003 by WTI, has evolved into a successful model for tackling human–elephant conflict in Kerala. The model has focused on relocating human settlements from places identified as ‘elephant corridors’ in the Wayanad district of Kerala. Wayanad, spanning a total of 2,131 sq. km., has an elephant reserve spread over 1,200 sq. km., with an elephant density of 0.25 elephants/sq. km.

Shajan M.A., a Senior Field Officer with WTI who handles the project currently, tells me, “Our method is to buy such sensitive land from the people, including both tribal and other communities, and relocate them to safer regions, away from wildlife conflict.” Ultimately, WTI hands over the purchased land to the Kerala Forest Department.

In regions like the Tirunelli–Kudrakote elephant corridor, the human–elephant conflict had escalated so much that it had resulted in several human deaths. For the communities, leaving a land they had occupied for decades and considered home is never easy, Shajan acknowledges. But of all the tried and tested methods to deal with the human–wildlife conflict, this approach has been the most effective in the long run, he points out.

Shajan also muses on the question of what exactly comprises a ‘conflict.’

“Conflict can hold different meanings. From a monkey stealing food from the house to a tiger or an elephant attack on a human, even leading to deaths, it’s all considered a human–wildlife conflict. Sadly, we, as a society, tend to be reactive once it transforms into a conflict and place the blame wholly on the wildlife.”

IPS UN Bureau Report

Source

Hypertension and Diabetes Grows Among India’s Poor Communities

Posted on August 26, 2025 by admin

Asia-Pacific, Civil Society, Climate Change, Featured, Gender, Headlines, Health, Population, Sustainable Development Goals, TerraViva United Nations, Women’s Health

Health

A patient being checked for BP at Mann PHC. Credit: Rina Mukherji/IPS

MANN, India, Aug 26 2025 (IPS) – Generally thought to be diseases of the wealthier classes, non-communicable diseases (NCDs) like hypertension and diabetes are on the rise among India’s underprivileged working classes in semi-urban and rural sprawls.

Take the case of Mohan Ahire. A middle-aged gardener in Pune, Mohan never realized that the heaviness in his head was a symptom of hypertension. Last summer, a mid-morning visit to the market saw him fall unconscious on return. Upon regaining consciousness, his wife and sons discovered the paralysis on the right side of his body, leading doctors to diagnose it as a stroke.

Bahinabai Gaekwad, a 56-year-old sweeper in Mann village, was at work when she suddenly collapsed and died. Doctors from the Primary Health Centre (PHC) next door found that she had been suffering from undiagnosed hypertension for a long time. The ailment ultimately led to a fatal cardiac arrest.

The worst problem is that most patients from underprivileged sections are not aware of their health condition.

Praful Mahato, a migrant laborer from Balasore in Odisha, who is currently employed in a dhaba (roadside eatery) in Mann, a fast-industrializing rural outpost of Pune city, had been suffering from heaviness and dizzy spells for some time. But he attributed his symptons to long hours at work and resulting fatigue. A chance visit to a medical camp confirmed high blood pressure and diabetes. Since the last four months, medication has controlled his blood pressure and brought down his sugar level.

Jagdish Mondol, in his 50s, did not realize he had hypertension and diabetes until he needed to undergo a hernia operation at a government hospital in Bhadrak, Odisha. This was despite blurred vision and difficulty in walking. Thankfully, the operation got him to wake up to his health condition. Regular medication has now improved his blood pressure and sugar level.

Fortunately, some patients may seek help on their own. Lalita Parshuram Jadhav, a 40-year-old migrant construction worker from Yavatmal, is one such. “Since the last two years, I have been experiencing pain in my legs; it became quite acute over the past year,” she tells IPS. A medical check-up confirmed hypertension and high sugar levels.

India’s Hypertension and Diabetes Epidemic

The cases cited above exemplify the rising burden of India’s non-communicable disease (NCD) of Hypertension and Diabetes. Ranked among the top ten NCDs responsible for untimely deaths worldwide, these two diseases are interlinked. This means those with hypertension are also vulnerable to developing prediabetes and diabetes.

According to the World Health Organization (WHO), an estimated 1.28 billion adults in the 30-79 age group suffer from hypertension, with two-thirds of them living in low- and middle-income countries. Yet, only 21 percent of those affected have their hypertension under control, while around 46 percent of these remain unaware of their condition and remain undiagnosed and untreated.

Diabetes, notably, can be of two varieties. Type 1 Diabetes is a congenital condition, while Type 2 diabetes is a lifestyle disease that develops later in life. South Asians, Pacific Islanders, and Native Americans have a significantly higher risk of developing the disorder.

The International Diabetes Federation (IDF) recorded a dramatic increase in the number of people affected by Type 2 Diabetes globally since the 1990s, and since 2000, the rise has been dramatic. In India, there are an estimated 77 million people above the age of 18 years suffering from diabetes (type 2), while nearly 25 million are prediabetic (at a higher risk of developing diabetes in the future). Yet, more than 50 percent of these are unaware of their diabetic status.

In India, the prevalence of Diabetes rose from 7.1 percent in 2009 to 8.9 percent in 2019. Meanwhile, 25.2 million adults are estimated to have Impaired Glucose Tolerance (IGT), a prediabetic condition that is estimated to increase to 35.7 million in the year 2045. It is also estimated that approximately 43.9 million people suffering from diabetes remain undiagnosed and untreated in India, posing a major public health risk.

It is a matter of concern that most deaths from these diseases occur in the 30- to 70-year-old age group, posing a major economic loss.

In Mann, doctors at primary health centers (PHCs) are battling this scourge, with hypertension affecting around 28 percent of the population and 12 percent being diabetic. The scenario is similar to that at Mullaheera, in rural Haryana, located just outside the national capital region of Delhi.

Dr. Sona Deshmukh, from the People-to-People Foundation, which is collaborating with the Government of India on its Viksit Bharat @2047 initiative and the in-charge for the Pranaa Project, tells me, “Diabetes is common among the older population, but hypertension is rising among the youth.”

Dangers Posed by Hypertension and Diabetes

The problem with both Hypertension and Diabetes is socio-cultural, with most people viewing these diseases as benign. Yet, ignoring them can lead to paralytic strokes and ultimately, death.

Characterized by headaches, blurred vision, nosebleeds, buzzing in the ears, and chest pain, uncontrolled and untreated hypertension can lead to—

chest pain (also termed angina);
heart attack, which occurs when the blood supply to the heart is blocked and heart muscle cells die from lack of oxygen.
heart failure, which occurs when the heart cannot pump enough blood and oxygen to other vital body organs; and
sudden death due to irregular heartbeat.

This is because excessive blood pressure can harden arteries, decreasing the flow of blood and oxygen to the heart. This elevated pressure and reduced blood flow can result in the complications listed above, besides bursting or blocking arteries that supply blood and oxygen to the brain, causing a stroke. It can also cause kidney damage, resulting in kidney failure.

In the case of Diabetes, the body is unable to either produce or use insulin effectively. While individuals with Type I diabetes have a congenital condition wherein the insulin-producing cells in the pancreas are attacked and destroyed, patients with Type II diabetes—which is a preventable lifestyle-related disease—either do not produce enough insulin or are unable to use insulin effectively for the body’s needs. Uncontrolled diabetes can lead to blindness and organ failures that affect the kidneys, heart, and nerves, ultimately leading to diabetic strokes and death.

Reasons Behind the Spurt

So, what are the reasons behind the spurt? Government Medical Officers Dr. Mayadevi Gujar and Dr. Vaishali Patil say, “The transition of many rural outposts into semi-urban industrialized zones has brought in lifestyle changes. Locals, who once partook of healthy home-cooked millets or cereals, now eat cheap, oily snacks from wayside kiosks cooked in reused palm oil. With more disposable income, workers lean towards sugary soft drinks and fast food, making them prone to diabetes. Addictions like tobacco and alcohol are on the rise. Tobacco-chewing remains common to both men and women in rural India.”

Additionally, with climate change affecting agricultural incomes in rural India, the younger generation is stressed with employment issues. These make a potent recipe for hypertension and diabetes.

Dr. Sundeep Salvi, a noted specialist in cardiovascular diseases, who heads the Pulmocare Research and Education (PURE) Foundation and has chaired the respiratory group for the Global Burden of Disease Study, adds, “Unlike in the past, people eat and sleep late, watch late-night television, drink endless cups of tea and coffee, and work late hours. Skipping meals is common, with little time for exercise. Sleep deprivation is a fallout of this. Stress and inadequate sleep are a deadly combination, feeding hypertension and diabetes.”

Salvi calls for hydration and good nutrition to stave off hypertension and diabetes. “Excess tea and coffee are harmful. Caffeine-present in tea and coffee-is a diuretic; it prevents hydration. A dehydrated constitution results in hypertension and diabetes, which, in turn, cause heart disease, stroke, kidney diseases, and eventually, death.”

He also views air pollution as a major risk.

“By air pollution, I am referring to both indoor and outdoor pollution. In rural areas, the burning of crop waste causes outdoor pollution. But indoor pollution in rural homes and urban slums is 5–10 times greater than outdoor pollution. High levels of particulate matter contribute to 20 percent of the global burden of diabetes, as well as hypertension.

Diabetologist and Director of the Diabetes Unit at Pune’s KEM Hospital Prof. Chittaranjan Yajnik, who has been working on this issue for over two decades, has an interesting take on the matter based on his findings.

Yajnik sees a direct correlation between vulnerability to diabetes and poor intrauterine growth.

“Poor intrauterine growth reflects in poor organ growth, especially of the infra-diaphragmatic organs (liver, pancreas, kidneys, and legs), reducing their capacity to perform adequately in later years. Such individuals, when faced with overnutrition and calories later in life, end up with prediabetes and diabetes.”

Yajnik’s research found that two-thirds of prediabetic girls and a third of the prediabetic boys were underweight at birth.

“These findings are suggestive of a ‘dual teratogenesis’ concept, which envisages a combination of undernutrition and overnutrition over a life course due to rapid socio-economic and nutritional transition…” This means intrauterine programming of diabetes needs to be supported in growth-retarded babies since metabolic abnormalities develop very early in life.

Yajnik certainly has a point, since anemia in expectant mothers and low birthweight babies is a major problem all over India. The National Family Health Surveys conducted over the years by the Government have shown a persistently high prevalence of fetal growth restriction in Indian babies. This phenomenon is linked to low birth weight in newborns, which is as high as 18.24 percent, according to the latest data.

The Solution

Recently, the Ministry of Health and Family Welfare (MOHFW) of the Government of India has implemented several schemes nationwide at the primary health level, starting with nutrition, medical care, and immunization for pregnant mothers while ensuring institutional delivery. Offspring are also extended comprehensive help for the 4 D’s (defects at birth, diseases, deficiencies, and developmental delays), immunization, supplementary nutrition, and WASH interventions. These continue through adolescence to prepare a healthy population for reproductive age.

Meanwhile, weekly wellness sessions have been introduced all over India. Deshmukh adds, “Regular screenings for hypertension and diabetes are done every few months for early detection and follow-up. Counselling sessions encourage people to adopt healthier lifestyles, while Yoga is being popularized through events like the International Yoga Day.”

These initiatives, one hopes, will arrest the epidemic.

IPS UN Bureau Report

Source

Malawi Diaspora

Posts Tagged: India

The Top Climate Leaders Are Now in The Global South

The Top Climate Leaders Are Now in The Global South

Rajagopal PV’s Blueprint for Another World: Peace

Vanishing Wisdom of the Sundarbans–How climate change erodes centuries of ecological knowledge

Kerala’s Human-Elephant ‘Conflict’: Time To Understand a Complex Relationship

Hypertension and Diabetes Grows Among India’s Poor Communities