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It is easy to lose hope for combating the climate crisis in times like these. But while the US government has relinquished its leadership, others are stepping forward.
It can feel like a lifetime ago, but I grew up in an era of hope for combating the climate crisis. It was an era filled with energy to fight against fossil fuels—and leaders who seemed like they might finally listen to us. An era in which a livable future for all of us seemed almost feasible.
I’ve been organizing climate strikes since I was 12.
I began by protesting outside Brooklyn Borough Hall, not far from my house in Brooklyn, New York. Then I started attending meetings with Fridays For Future NYC, the New York City chapter of Greta Thunberg’s organization. I quickly became enraptured with the energy of the youth climate movement. Through it, I met some of my best friends, as we organized six strikes together in middle and high school.
In my senior year of high school, I was a core organizer for the March To End Fossil Fuels, a 70,000 person march in September 2023, that brought together a diverse cast of organizers—from the Center for Biological Diversity to the NAACP. I felt lucky to be a part of such a massive effort.
The United States may not be there, but Canada, Australia, and Brazil, among other countries, will be.
Actually phasing out fossil fuels, a topic older organizers told me had once been fringe, was now in the front and center of New York City streets and on the front page of The New York Times. By the end of 2023, I was Fridays For Future’s North American Delegate to COP28 in Dubai, an international climate conference that zeroed in on fossil fuels. It was all anyone was talking about, from grassroots organizers to the US negotiators.
Other fossil fuel phaseout activists and I were actually able to meet multiple times with the lead negotiators for the US, Trigg Talley and Sue Biniaz. The negotiators seemed receptive to adopting fossil fuel phaseout language in the COP28 Global Stocktake Text. We didn’t achieve that, but the phrase “transition away from fossil fuels” did appear in the final text. It was the first time the words “fossil fuels” had ever been included in the final text in the history of COPs.
When we got home from COP28, we were able to meet with John Podesta, who was then President Joe Biden’s top climate advisor. We urged him against allowing the construction of the CP2 liquefied natural gas (LNG) export terminal. Biden announced a pause on pending decisions for new LNG export projects, including CP2, on January 26, 2024. Finally, it felt like we were winning.
Looking at the news today, that era feels so far away.
Trump administration officials recently gathered in my hometown of Brooklyn to announce their plan to swiftly construct a $1 billion natural gas pipeline in New Jersey and New York Harbor. Construction on CP2 began this past June, and the Trump administration has pulled out of the Paris Agreement. While I still attended COP30 this past year in Belem, Brazil, the US federal government did not send a single negotiator, much less a delegation.
It is easy to lose hope for combating the climate crisis in times like these. But while the US government has relinquished its leadership, others are stepping forward.
In late April, Colombia and the Netherlands are convening the first-ever Conference on Transitioning Away from Fossil Fuels in Santa Marta, Colombia. This will be the biggest step away from fossil fuels we’ve seen since the March to End Fossil Fuels.
The United States may not be there, but Canada, Australia, and Brazil, among other countries, will be. This is a crucial first step toward formal Fossil Fuel Treaty negotiations, and it is just the beginning of Fossil Fuel phaseout policy becoming the center of attention again.
We need a fast, fair, fossil fuel phaseout—and I have hope for it now, because of Santa Marta.
This game of lies started decades ago with big oil and gas corporations, long before “fake news,” disinformation and misinformation were a thing. It's only gotten worse.
Blatant lies are putting the people and our planet at risk. Often told for profit or power’s sake, they hurt economic, environmental, and social standing of most of us at the expense of a few. In this nasty game, those who strive to expose the truth and stand up for progress pay the steepest price. And they are environmental activists, journalists, scientists, and ordinary citizens defending their communities.
This month, two pivotal global summits happen that could bring change. In Bangkok, Thailand, the International Civil Society Week brought together over a thousand citizen activists from around the world. In Belem, Brazil, COP30—the global climate conference—will see governments, businesses, scientists, and many others negotiate. Citizen activists and civil society may finally have a say there. The last three climate summits held in countries where there’s little democratic freedom and heavy reliance on oil production shunned them.
To fight the lies that stall progress, Brazil has launched a Global Initiative for Information Integrity on Climate Change at the climate summit. The civil society week declaration calls strongly for both climate action and ending disinformation. Global civil society leaders like Oxfam, ActionAid, and Greenpeace as well as hundreds of grassroots organizations from Afghanistan to Zambia have endorsed.
However, buzzwords like disinformation and lack of information integrity, in their sophistication, often dull the impact. Perhaps they feel inauthentic. We need to think outside the box to engage in more authentic conversations involving people with diverse viewpoints.
For starters, let’s call false information what they are, lies. Lies that pervert the progress, hurt the many, and kill those who speak up. This game of lies started decades ago with big oil and gas corporations, long before “fake news,” disinformation and misinformation were a thing. What has gotten worse is that they are now blatantly colluding with governments and political leaders around the world to protect their short-term gain.
Those who stand to lose the most in the game are ordinary folks, especially those who struggle to make a daily living or don’t have the resources to defend themselves.
Let’s be clear: this isn’t only about “social justice.” The climate lies stall economic growth. The United Sates, once the global champion of the free market, is today doomed to become uncompetitive. President Trump, sponsored by American oil oligarchs blatantly lied at the United Nations earlier this year. His claims that renewable energy is dangerous, expensive, and unreliable will hurt the economic progress of the United States and the world.
He attacked countries making progress on renewable energy. The narrative of lies leads to decisions and bullying of nations and communities. When Trump raised tariffs against solar panels made in Southeast Asia, workers lost jobs. This includes Thailand, where civil society week was held.
Examples are many from Trump and other regimes. Russian bots, European and Australian leaders, too, have spread lies about the unreliability of renewable energy, including false threats of job loss and a rise in commodity prices. China, despite being the global leader in renewable energy, attacks environmental activists.
The lies kill. In the past decade, over 2,000 activists have paid with their lives for speaking up and standing up to protect forests, rivers, and community resources. They stood up against coal and oil extraction, mining, logging, land grabbing, and large-scale development that destroyed communities.
Civil society and activists who speak up get labelled foreign agents or eco-terrorists. They are arrested, harassed in public and in courts, and bullied online. This is despite their efforts to try to protect us. Every year, climate disasters, worsened by fossil fuels and harmful developments, kill tens of thousands and displace millions. The lies kill both blatantly and silently.
For the lies and bullying to end, we must engage in an open, honest, and empathic conversation. We need to have dialogue with diverse viewpoints. And this is not easy because all of us are burdened with our daily struggles and comfortable with information consumption habits. Hearing difficult truths and contradicting points of view are stressful.
Civil society, movements, development organizations, and media are losing relevance and trust among the general public. We have failed at listening, speaking, and interacting with farmers, women workers, students, young men, doctors, and business folks. Yes, we do speak up, but well-intentioned campaigns often end up merely preaching to the choir.
We get likes on social media, signatures for petitions, and like-minded folks at street protests. But that isn’t enough to build empathy and build a majority movement, even with those who are most likely to suffer from climate lies and bullying. To connect with people and come together with people, we must first care about who they are. As agents of social change, it is not just about playing to an audience but taking care as an ethical duty.
At the same time, we must shout out at the big fat liars, Big Oil, and their colluding partners in media and politics. Citizens, journalists, movements, and governments must stand for science, reason, and progress. This means urgently demanding an end to fossil fuels and moving to green energy while also protecting communities at risk during the transition. We must also defend the activists who stand up for our rights and the planet.
More of us must act today and stand with those who do. The argument for collective demand and action for climate progress isn’t just moral. Let’s call it collectively selfish–it may just improve our health and economic and social well-being.
Trump's radical “America first” foreign policy seems primed to accelerate the decline of Washington’s international influence and degrade (if not destroy) the world order that the US has sustained since the end of World War II.
In his novel The Autumn of the Patriarch, which is eerily evocative of our current political plight, Gabriel Garcia Marquez described how a Latin American autocrat “discovered in the course of his uncountable years that a lie is more comfortable than doubt, more useful than love, more lasting than truth, [and] became convinced… that the only livable life was one of show.”
In amassing unchecked power spiced with unimaginable cruelty, that fictional dictator extinguished any flicker of opposition in his imaginary Caribbean country, reducing its elite to a craven set of courtiers. Even though he butchered opponents, plundered the treasury, raped the young, and reduced his nation to penury, “lettered politicians and dauntless adulators… proclaimed him the corrector of earthquakes, eclipses, leap years and other errors of God.” When his slavishly loyal defense minister somehow displeased him, the autocrat had him served up, in full-dress uniform laden with military medals, on a silver platter with a pine-nut garnish to a table full of courtiers, forcing them to dutifully consume their slice of the cooked cadaver.
That macabre banquet presaged a recent luncheon President Donald J. Trump hosted at the White House for this nation’s top tech executives, which became a symphony of shameless sycophancy. Billionaire Bill Gates praised the president’s “incredible leadership,” while Apple CEO Tim Cook said it was “incredible to be among… you and the first lady” before thanking him “for helping American companies around the world.” Other executives there celebrated him for having “unleashed American innovation and creativity… making it possible for America to win” again and making this “the most exciting time in America, ever.” As Trump served up the corpse of American democracy, those tech courtiers, like so many of this country’s elites, downed their slice of the cadaver with ill-concealed gusto.
With Congress compliant, the Supreme Court complicit, and media corporations compromised, President Trump’s vision for America and its place in the world has become the nation’s destiny. Since the inauguration for his second term in office in January 2025, he has launched a radical “America first” foreign policy that seems primed to accelerate the decline of Washington’s international influence and, more seriously and much less obviously, degrade (if not destroy) the liberal international order that the US has sustained since the end of World War II. Largely ignored by a media overwhelmed by daily outrages from the Oval Office, that initiative has some truly serious implications for America’s role in the world.
Amid a torrent of confusing, often contradictory foreign policy pronouncements pouring out of the White House, the design of the president’s dubious geopolitical strategy has taken shape with surprising, even stunning speed. Instead of maintaining longstanding security alliances like NATO, Trump seems to prefer a globe divided into three major regional blocs, each headed by an empowered autocrat like himself—with Russia dominating its European periphery, China paramount in Asia, and the United States controlling North and much of South America (and Greenland).
Reflecting what Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth called a “loathing of European freeloading” and Vice President JD Vance’s complaint that Europe has abandoned “our shared democratic values,” President Trump is pursuing this tri-continental strategy at the expense of the traditional transatlantic alliance embodied in NATO that has been the foundation for US foreign policy since the start of the Cold War.
Admittedly, Trump’s reach for complete control over North America does lend a certain geopolitical logic to his otherwise quixotic overtures to claim Greenland, reclaim the Panama Canal, and make Canada the 51st state. In Trump’s vision of fortress America, the country’s more compact defense perimeter would encompass the entire Arctic, including Greenland, march down the mid-Atlantic with an anchor at the Panama Canal, and encompass the entire Pacific. Not only does such a strategy carry the high cost of alienating once-close allies Canada and Mexico, but every one of its key components comes laden with a potential for serious conflict, particularly the administration’s plans for the Pacific, which run headlong into China’s ongoing maritime expansion.
At a broader level, President Trump’s foreign policy represents a forceful repudiation of the three key attributes of the “liberal international order” that has marked US global hegemony since the end of World War II in 1945: alliances like NATO that treated allies as peer powers, free trade without tariff barriers, and an ironclad assurance of inviolable sovereignty for all nations, large and small. In a matter of months, Trump has crippled NATO by expressing doubt about its critical mutual-defense clause, imposed an escalating roster of punitive tariffs antithetical to free trade, and threatened to expropriate several sovereign states and territories.
Not only is his ongoing demolition of Washington’s world order inflicting a good deal of pain on much of the globe—from Africans and Asians denied the US Agency for International Development’s lifesaving medicines (and potentially suffering 14 million deaths) to Eastern Europeans threatened by Russia’s relentless advance—but it also undercuts America’s future position on a post-Trumpian planet. His successor could, of course, try to reconcile with Canada and Mexico, placate an insulted Panamanian leadership, and even repair relations with NATO. But the president’s ongoing demolition of Washington’s world system is guaranteed to do lasting, long-term damage to the country’s international standing in ways that have so far eluded even informed observers.
To grasp the full extent of the harm Trump is inflicting on America’s place on this planet, it’s important to understand that Washington’s “liberal international order” is nothing more than the latest iteration of the “world order” that every global hegemon has created as part of its apparatus of power since the 15th century. To understand our own present and future, it’s necessary to explore the nature of those world orders—how they formed, how they functioned, and what their survival and destruction tell us about America’s declining imperial power.
Twain suggested that empire abroad would, sooner or later, bring autocracy at home—an insight Trump confirms with his every tweet, every speech, every executive order.
For the past 500 years, every succeeding global hegemon—Spain, Great Britain, the Soviet Union, and the United States—has not only amassed wealth and military strength but also used that extraordinary power to propagate a world order that often transcended its narrow national interests. And once the inevitable imperial decline set in, a fading global hegemon often found that its world order could serve as a diplomatic safety net, extending its international influence for years, even decades beyond its moment of imperial glory.
While even the most powerful of history’s empires eventually fall, such world orders entwine themselves in the cultures, commerce, and values of countless societies. They influence the languages people speak, the laws that order their lives, and the ways that so many millions of us work, worship, and even play. World orders might be much less visible than the grandeur of great empires, but they have always proven both more pervasive and more persistent.
By structuring relations among nations and influencing the cultures of the peoples who live in them, world orders can outlast even the powerful empires that created them. Indeed, some 90 empires, major and minor, have come and gone since the start of the age of exploration in the 15th century. In those same 500 years, however, there have been just four major world orders—the Iberian age after 1494; the British imperial era that began in 1815; the Soviet system that lasted from 1945 to 1991; and Washington’s liberal international order, launched in 1945, that might, based on present developments, reach its own end somewhere around 2030.
Successful global empires driven by the hard power of guns and money have also required the soft power of cultural and ideological suasion embodied in a world order. Spain’s bloody conquest of Latin America soon segued into three centuries of colonial rule, softened by Catholic conversion, the spread of the Spanish language as a lingua franca, and that continent’s integration into a growing global economy. Once permanent mints were established in Mexico City, Lima, and Potosí during the 17th century, Spanish galleons would carry millions of minted silver coins—worth eight reales and thus known as “pieces of eight”—across the globe for nearly three centuries, creating the world’s first common currency and making those silver coins the medium of exchange for everyone from African traders to Virginia planters.
During its century of global hegemony from 1820 to 1920, though it seldom hesitated to use military power when needed, Great Britain would also prove the exemplar par excellence of soft power, espousing an enticing political culture of fair play and free markets that it propagated through the Anglican church, the English language, an enticing literature, authoritative mass media like the global Reuters news service and the British Broadcasting Corporation, and its virtual creation of modern athletics (including cricket, football or soccer, tennis, rugby, and rowing). On a higher plane of principle, Britain’s protracted anti-slavery campaign throughout much of the 19th century invested its global hegemony with a certain moral authority.
Similarly, the raw power of US military and economic dominance after 1945 was softened by the appeal of Hollywood films, civic organizations like Rotary International, and popular sports like basketball and baseball. Just as Britain battled the slave trade for nearly a century, so Washington’s advocacy of human rights lent legitimacy to its world order. While Spain espoused Catholicism, and Britain an Anglophone ethos of rights, the United States, at the dawn of its global dominion, courted allies through soft-power programs that promoted democracy, the international rule of law, and economic development.
Such world orders are not the mere imaginings of historians trying, decades or centuries later, to impose their own logic on a chaotic past. In each era, the dominant power of the day worked to reorder its world for generations to come through formal agreements—with the Treaty of Tordesillas dividing much of the globe between Spain and Portugal in 1494; the 1815 Congress of Vienna (convened to resolve the Napoleonic wars) launching a full century of British global dominion; the San Francisco Conference in 1945 drafting the United Nations charter and so beginning Washington’s liberal international order; and the Moscow meeting in 1957 assembling 64 communist parties at the Kremlin for a shared commitment to socialist struggle and putting the Soviet Union atop its own global order.
Just as the British imperial system was far more pervasive than its Iberian predecessor, so Washington’s world order went beyond both of them and the Soviet Russian system, too, to become deeply embedded on an essentially global scale. While the 1815 Congress of Vienna was an ephemeral gathering of two dozen diplomats whose influence faded within a decade or two, the San Francisco conference of 1945 formed the United Nations, which now has 193 member states with broad international responsibilities. By the start of the 21st century, moreover, there were nearly 40,000 “UN-recognized international nongovernmental organizations” like the Catholic Relief Services, operating “in the remotest corners of the globe.”
But the similarities were perhaps more important. Note as well that both victorious powers, Great Britain and the United States, used those peace conferences to launch world orders that militated successfully against major wars among the great powers, with the pax Britannica lasting nearly a century (1815-1914) and the pax Americana persisting for 80 years and still counting.
If world orders are so pervasive and persistent, why don’t they last forever? Each transition from one to the next has occurred when a massively destructive cataclysm has coincided with major social or political change. The rise of the Iberian age of exploration was preceded by a century of epidemics, known as the Black Death, which killed 60% of the populations of Europe and China, devastating their respective worlds. Similarly, the British imperial era emerged when the ravages of the Napoleonic Wars in Europe coincided with the dynamism of the industrial revolution launched in England, unleashing the power of coal-fired steam energy and formal colonial rule to change the face of the globe.
After the unprecedented devastation of World War II, Washington’s leadership in rebuilding and reordering a damaged planet established the current liberal international order. By the middle decades of our present century, if not before, global warming caused by fossil-fuel emissions will likely equal or surpass those earlier catastrophes on a universal scale of “disaster magnitude,” with the potential to precipitate the eclipse of Washington’s world order. Compounding the damage, President Trump’s sustained, systematic attack on America’s “liberal international order”—its alliances, free trade, and institutions like the UN—is only serving to accelerate the decline of a system that has served the world and this country reasonably well since 1945.
Even if the empire that created it suffers a complete collapse, a deeply rooted world order can usually survive that fall, while serving as a kind of diplomatic safety net for a fading power. The Iberian empires had lost their preeminence by the 17th century, but even today Latin America is deeply Catholic and Spanish remains the main language for much of the continent.
Understanding its limits as a small island nation with a vast global empire, Great Britain conducted a relatively careful imperial retreat that enfolded former colonies into the British Commonwealth, preserved the City of London’s financial clout, retained international influence as Washington’s strategic partner, and maintained its global cultural authority through civil institutions (the Anglican Communion, the British Broadcasting Corporation, and leading universities). Today, a full 50 years after the end of its empire, Great Britain still plays a role in world affairs far beyond its small size as a nation of just 70 million people living in a country no bigger than the state of Oregon.
Even though it’s been 35 years since the Soviet empire collapsed with spectacular speed, testifying eloquently to the crude coercion and economic exploitation that lay at its heart, Moscow still maintains considerable diplomatic influence across much of the old Soviet sphere in Eurasia.
Without Donald Trump’s systemic subversion of the liberal international order and its chief creation, the United Nations, the United States might have retained sufficient international influence to lead the world toward a shared governance of a global commons on a planet whose environment is sorely threatened—its seas depleted, water evaporating, storms raging, heatwaves soaring, and its Arctic wildly warming. Instead, the United States has fully ceded leadership of the campaign against climate change to China, while not only denying its reality but blocking the development of alternative energy projects critical not only for the planet but for America’s global competitiveness. While China is already leading the world in efficient electric vehicles and low-cost solar and wind power, Trump’s America remains firmly wedded to an economy based on high-cost carbon energy that will, in the fullness of time, render its output grossly overpriced, its industries uncompetitive, and the planet a disaster zone.
Back in 2011, six years before Trump first entered the Oval Office, political scientist G. John Ikenberry argued that, while the US ability to shape world politics would decline as its raw power retreated, its “liberal international order will survive and thrive,” including its emphasis on multilateral governance, open markets, free global trade, human rights, and respect for sovereignty. With Trump having essentially demolished the US Agency for International Development’s global humanitarian work and sent a “wrecking ball” toward the United Nations, while condemning it in a recent speech to its General Assembly—“I ended seven wars… and never even received a phone call from the United Nations”—it would be difficult to make such a sanguine argument today.
Instead, Mark Twain’s classic futuristic assessment of American world power seems more appropriate. “It was impossible to save the Great Republic. It was rotten to the heart. Lust for conquest had long ago done its work,” he wrote in an imagined history of this country from a far-off future. “Trampling upon the helpless abroad,” he added, “had taught her, by a natural process, to endure with apathy the like at home.” After watching the US occupation of the Philippines in 1898 descend into a bloodstained pacification program replete with torture and atrocities, Twain suggested that empire abroad would, sooner or later, bring autocracy at home—an insight Trump confirms with his every tweet, every speech, every executive order.
Whether the United States will emulate Britain in a managed global retreat with minimal domestic damage or fulfill Mark Twain’s dismal vision by continuing to attack its own world order, diminishing if not destroying its legacy, is something for future historians to decide. For now, listening to Trump’s recent rant at the UN complaining about a stalled escalator and condemning climate-change science as a “green scam” and “the greatest con job ever perpetrated,” ordinary Americans should have received a clear sign that their president’s autocratic aspirations are subverting their country’s claims to world leadership, both now and in the future.