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Reinvesting just 15% of global military spending, roughly $387 billion, would be more than enough to cover the annual costs of climate adaptation in developing countries. The money exists. The will does not.
Last week, the British government quietly informed the United Nation's Green Climate Fund that it would halve the contribution it pledged just two years ago, not because the climate crisis has eased, but because it is spending more on weapons. The move was framed as a "hugely difficult decision," not ideological, and necessary to deliver what United Kingdom Foreign Minister Yvette Cooper called "the biggest increase in defence spending since the Cold War." The planet, apparently, can wait.
It cannot.
The UK's retreat from climate finance is not some isolated budget decision. It is part of a choice being made across the Global North: to rearm, to retreat from development commitments, and to leave the countries least responsible for the climate crisis to deal with its worst consequences on their own.
Global military expenditure reached $2.887 trillion in 2025, pushing the global military burden to 2.5% of GDP, its highest level since 2009. Europe's alone surged 14% to $864 billion, the highest level ever recorded for the continent. Meanwhile, the UN's own analysis found that reinvesting just 15% of global military spending, roughly $387 billion, would be more than enough to cover the annual costs of climate adaptation in developing countries. The money exists. The will does not.
More conflict and more military spending will only deepen the crisis and make millions more people vulnerable to it.
The UK's Green Climate Fund cut does not happen in a vacuum; the US has refused to deliver any further money to the GCF under President Donald Trump and has also given up its seat on the fund's board. According to the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, international development assistance fell by 23.1% in 2025, the steepest annual decline on record, with the United States slashing its aid budget by 57%, Germany by 17%, and France and the UK by 11% each.
The countries that industrialized on the back of fossil fuels, with the highest historical emissions and the highest per capita carbon footprints, are the ones least bothered by any of this.
And yet for the Global South, the signal being sent today is unmistakable: The nations least responsible for the climate catastrophe bearing down on them will have to bear its consequences largely alone, watching the world burn while the architects of that burning pivot to missiles and military budgets. The prospect of just and equitable climate finance from the developed world is beginning to look not merely uncertain, but futile.
The same wars that are killing climate finance are generating record profits elsewhere. Oil and gas companies' profits are soaring as the Iran conflict continues. Chevron, Shell, BP, ConocoPhillips, Exxon, and TotalEnergies are projected to make $2,967 a second in profits in 2026, nearly $37 million more per day than in 2025, with total projected profits across the six companies reaching approximately $94 billion for the year. None of that windfall is going toward the energy transition. BP has slashed planned investment in renewable energy and increased oil and gas spending, Shell has watered down its 2030 climate targets, ExxonMobil has cut its planned low-carbon investment by a third, and TotalEnergies has declined to adopt a transition plan aligned with 1.5°C of warming.
If a handful of fossil fuel corporations are posting billions in profits in a single year, profits made possible by geopolitical instability, then holding them liable through regulation and taxation is not radical but logical. Windfall profit taxes on fossil fuel companies, long discussed and rarely enacted, could generate precisely the kind of revenue that developed governments claim they no longer have for climate finance.
A February 2026 report by Climate Action Network Europe shows the framework already exists, recommending a differentiated corporate tax on fossil fuel profits with revenues recycled directly into the energy transition and international climate finance. Oxfam makes the same case, calling for a Rich Polluter Profit Tax and an equity-based road map that reflects the historical responsibility and financial capacity of different states. The United States and Europe built their wealth on fossil fuels. Many countries in the Global South remain dependent on them not by choice, but by circumstance. Demanding they exit on the same timeline is neither fair nor realistic.
The tools and the arguments exist. What is missing is political will, and the Global South cannot afford to keep waiting for it. The path forward lies in demanding structural reform of the international tax regime that allows fossil fuel super profits and billionaire fortunes to escape accountability; of the debt architecture that forces climate-vulnerable nations to choose between servicing loans and financing adaptation; and of the COP process itself, which has too long allowed wealthy nations to treat climate finance pledges as suggestions rather than obligations.
So, while the world heats up and vulnerable countries face worsening heatwaves, floods, and disasters, while thousands lose lives and livelihoods, one thing is becoming painfully certain: More conflict and more military spending will only deepen the crisis and make millions more people vulnerable to it. The Global South did not start these wars. It should not be made to pay for them, not with its people, its economies, or its climate.
The rich world—represented mostly by the US, though with parts of Europe and Canada playing supporting roles—has decided that if anyone’s going to deal with climate change it’s not going to be us.
In a rational world, it would have made sense for the rich countries to take the lead in fighting climate change. After all, it was rich countries got that way precisely by burning fossil fuel in the two centuries since the Industrial Revolution, and it’s the Global South that is paying most of the price in terms of drought, flood, and fire.
That’s why, since the international climate negotiations began 30 years ago, the assumption has been that the Global North should lead the way—we had “common but differentiated responsibilities” for the future, and the job of the north was to help finance the transition away from dirty energy.

But as this year’s round of global climate talks get underway in Belém, it’s becoming clear that this commonsensical (and moral) understanding of the situation has been essentially turned on its head. If there’s going to be a solution, for now it’s mostly going to come from the poorer nations of the world. The chart above shows China—it’s emissions of carbon dioxide have apparently now peaked, or at least plateaued. It should come as no great wonder to readers of this newsletter why: Their barely believable expansion of clean carbon-free energy has been the most important technological story since… the Industrial Revolution. And it shows no signs of stopping. Here, for example, is a picture of a new offshore wind turbine that the Chinese are testing.

You might notice that it has two heads instead of one. As You Ziaojing reports in Scientific American:
With a capacity of 50 MW, this supersized structure is designed to float on the ocean’s surface and can withstand typhoons, according to the company, which plans to start making the turbine later this year and to deploy it next year.
Han Yujia, a researcher of renewable energy at the California-based nonprofit Global Energy Monitor, is most impressed that Ming Yang intends to increase a turbine’s capacity by more than 20 MW in one go, far outpacing the industry’s average rate of increase of 2-3 MW each year.
If you want to read more about the spectacular events in China, the Economist has a special issue on the subject—the key articles are here, here, and here, and just to give you a sense of what’s happening there:
The scale of the renewables revolution in China is almost too vast for the human mind to grasp. By the end of last year, the country had installed 887 gigawatts of solar-power capacity—close to double Europe’s and America’s combined total. The 22m tonnes of steel used to build new wind turbines and solar panels in 2024 would have been enough to build a Golden Gate Bridge on every working day of every week that year. China generated 1,826 terawatt-hours of wind and solar electricity in 2024, five times more than the energy contained in all 600 of its nuclear weapons.
In the context of the cold war, the distinctive measure of a “superpower” was the combination of a continental span and a world-threatening nuclear arsenal. The coming-together of China’s enormous manufacturing capacity and its ravenous appetite for copious, cheap, domestically produced electricity deserves to be seen in a similar world-changing light. They have made China a new type of superpower: One which deploys clean electricity on a planetary scale.
But this miracle is verging on "old news—I’ve been telling the tale since my book came out earlier this year, always to somewhat amazed audiences.
The next half of the story is what’s unfolding around the rest of the developing world, as countries increasingly look to China, not the US, for leadership. Here’s what André Corrěa de Lago, the Brazilian diplomat chairing the COP30 conference, told reporters earlier this week:
“China is coming up with solutions that are for everyone, not just China,” he said. “Solar panels are cheaper, they’re so competitive [compared with fossil fuel energy] that they are everywhere now. If you’re thinking of climate change, this is good.”
You can see this showing up in many ways around the world. In Pakistan, for instance:
Between 2022 and 2024 trade statistics show Pakistan’s annual imports of Chinese-made solar panels increasing almost fivefold to 16 gigawatts. In the first nine months of 2025 it imported another 16GW. By the end of this year, its cumulative solar imports are expected roughly to match the installed generation capacity of the national power system—capacity augmented quite recently by four spanking new coal-fired plants built and financed by China as part of its global Belt and Road infrastructure scheme.
Since 2022 the power providers responsible for that legacy capacity have seen their revenues plummet. Power consumption from the grid has dropped by around 12%. With new solar users increasingly likely to install Chinese-made batteries that allow them to enjoy access to electricity after sunset, that fall looks likely to continue.
Never to be outdone by Pakistan, word comes from India that giant conglomerate Tata—biggest provider of everything from defense equipment to tea—is now building the country’s biggest factory for making the polysilicon ingots that are the foundation of solar cells. As N.R. Sethuraman reports:
Some Indian companies have shifted focus to producing cells as well as ingots and wafers, as higher US tariffs on Indian products have made solar module exports less attractive.
“We find that there’s already adequate capacity of modules and many cell plants are under construction in India,” Sinha said on a post-earnings call, justifying his firm’s plan to set up a wafers and ingots factory.
So far, Adani Group has set up a plant to produce 2 GW of ingots and wafers annually.
Tata Power’s plans align with the Indian federal government’s push for increased use of locally made ingots and wafers for solar panel manufacturing to cut reliance on imports from China towards the end of the decade.
But it’s not just at the high end of the business world. Consider Yamuna Mathewsaran’s report on how Jordanian mechanics are building a big business out of recycling EV batteries to backup home solar systems:
EV batteries that are classed as end-of-life may still retain up to 80% of their original capacity, according to the International Energy Agency, which means they can still be used in second-life applications, such as household energy storage.
“I’ve seen and heard of spent batteries being hooked up to solar systems or other local power setups, often at family farms or vacation homes in semi-remote areas,” said Fadwa Dababneh, C-Hub’s director.
As well as saving money on bills and reducing battery waste, using spent batteries for energy storage stabilises the electricity grid as Jordan aims to get half of its power from renewables by 2030, up from 29% today.
This, of course, is in dire contrast to the abdication of responsibility underway in the West, especially in the US. I’m not going to go into more bloody detail than is necessary, but:
At COP26 in Glasgow in 2021, the UK, the US, the EU and other countries forged the global methane pledge, requiring a cut in methane of 30% by 2030. About 159 countries subsequently signed up.
Yet emissions from some of the main signatories have increased, data from the satellite analysis company Kayrros shows, which is likely to further raise global temperatures. Collectively, emissions from six of the biggest signatories—the US, Australia, Kuwait, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan and Iraq—are now 8.5% above the 2020 level.
Kuwait and Australia have made progress on cutting their emissions but emissions from US oil and gas operations have increased by 18%.
Again, this is disgusting, and it will get worse. Under fracking exec energy secretary Christopher Wright, America is rolling back its modest methane reporting requirements
US consumers—who Mr Trump promised lower bills—will end up paying more because he also made renewable energy more expensive.
And that’s to say nothing of the impact on carbon emissions.
This “greenlash” has extended to other parts of the Western world—as the always sage activist and analyst Luisa Neubauer writes from Germany:
When searching for explanations for the paradoxical decrease in governments’ efforts at a time when climate threats are dramatically increasing, many land on three forces: public fatigue, financial constraints, and geopolitical instability. All three are real.
But none, as she points out, are good reasons for slowing down, and indeed:
Decarbonising economies that have throughout their existence depended on fossil fuels is complicated, and will only become more so. But there is no more important task for governments than finding ways through these challenges and forging alliances of the willing to protect life. If common politics doesn’t grow a spine, then public commentators must—for the sake of, well, everything.
In fact, a new report from the think tank Ember makes clear that Europe will benefit immensely from quick electrification. And indeed, there are signs that Europe will still push ahead. They’re coming, interestingly, from the central European countries long considered the continent’s coal belt. As Gavin Maguire writes:
Power systems across Central Europe—hardly known for its sunny skies—are emerging as surprise leaders in global energy transition efforts through canny use of solar parks and locally-made battery energy storage systems.
Several major Central European economies—including Austria, Hungary, Romania, and Poland—have sharply boosted the share of utility electricity production from solar farms since 2022 as part of efforts to boost home-grown energy supplies.
Between 2022 and 2025 there has been a 472% rise in battery energy storage capacity within Austria, Hungary, and Romania alone, according to local utility filings.
Even in America there are signs of life. Some of these are built on sheer momentum: Texas, for instance, just signed up two huge new solar farms, which together will deliver a gigawatt of power. But there are also signs of spirited resistance. California Gov. Gavin Newsom went to Belém representing the world’s fourth largest economy, and he said Trump was “doubling down on stupid” when it came to climate. Illinois Gov. JB Pritzker keeps winning high marks for his climate policy too, and shows no sign of slowing down.
But as Wen Stephenson points out in a new essay in The Nation, overall it’s been the worst year ever for American climate politics, with many theoretically environmentally conscious politicians retreating under the cover provided by the likes of Bill Gates. In Stephenson’s Massachusetts, for example, despite the noble leadership of Boston Mayor Michelle Wu and Sen. Ed Markey, and the behind-the-scenes steadfastness of Gov. Maura Healey’s crack climate team, the state legislature is considering cutting and running. Rep. Mark Cusack is pushing hard for a bill to weaken the state’s climate goals, in essence arguing that Trump is making it too hard. In essence, the state’s plan to cut emissions in half would become “advisory and unenforceable.” Meanwhile, in New York, the increasingly egregious Gov. Kathy Hochul (named to Time’s Climate 100 list despite an almost year-long blockage of congestion pricing laws) has not only come out for a new gas pipeline backed by Trump, but also, to use the headline supplied by Politico, “approved a permit for a gas-fired cryptocurrency miner.” Now there’s leadership for the ages!
What it all adds up to is that the rich world—represented mostly by the US, though with parts of Europe and Canada playing supporting roles—has decided that if anyone’s going to deal with climate change it’s not going to be us. We got so rich burning fossil fuels that any sacrifice—or any change at all, since at this point sun and wind are the cheapest forms of power we know—seems like an impossible affront. Some of us will keep working hard to change that immorality, but in the meantime it’s apparently up to the poorest people on Earth to deal with the problems we caused. As Somini Sengupta and Brad Plumer report from Belém:
Countries like Brazil, India, and Vietnam are rapidly expanding solar and wind power. Poorer countries like Ethiopia and Nepal are leapfrogging over gasoline-burning cars to battery-powered ones. Nigeria, a petrostate, plans to build its first solar-panel manufacturing plant. Morocco is creating a battery hub to supply European automakers. Santiago, the capital of Chile, has electrified more than half of its bus fleet in recent years.
Nothing fair about it, but the only consolation for those countries is that they’re building low-cost energy economies that before long will outcompete lazy and complacent America.
The record in Mozambique shows that projects backed by public finance can harm communities and the environment unless local voices guide the process.
The ninth Tokyo International Conference on African Development, or TICAD, opened August 20 in Yokohama, organized by the Japanese government with the United Nations, UN Development Program, World Bank, and African Union Commission. Japan, as host, aims to promote “high quality” development in Africa by applying lessons from Asia. Three decades since TICAD’s launch in 1993, interest in Africa remains strong—and so does the need to reflect on what “development” truly means.
Japan’s record in Mozambique offers sobering lessons.
Before we can discuss “development” we must recognize that many of Africa’s deep crises today are rooted in the continued exploitation of its people and resources, shaped by inherited colonial structures. Public funding and transnational corporations play a large role in perpetuating these patterns.
The Mozambique liquefied natural gas (LNG) project illustrates the problem. Led by French energy giant TotalEnergies, it is one of Africa’s largest gas extraction projects, with Japan as its top financier. The publicly funded Japan Bank for International Cooperation (JBIC) has committed up to $3.5 billion in loans, while Nippon Export and Investment Insurance (NEXI) has agreed to provide $2 billion in insurance.
As leaders gather at TICAD to shape Africa’s future, we urge Japan and all participating governments and businesses to focus on the needs and aspirations of African people themselves.
JBIC justifies this support by citing growing global LNG demand, particularly in developing countries, rising environmental awareness, and Japan’s energy security. Yet revenue flows to a United Arab Emirates-based special purpose entity—enabling gas and mining companies to avoid paying an estimated $717 million to $1.48 billion in taxes to Mozambique. The country is further disadvantaged by the Investor-State Dispute Settlement (ISDS) system, which prioritizes loss compensation for investors.
On the ground, grievances remain unresolved. More than eight communities have been affected, and many families still await promised compensation. Others have lost farmland or access to the sea, undermining agriculture and fisheries livelihoods. Local residents report that consultation meetings often involve military presence, stifling open discussion.
Since 2017, the region has suffered violent insurgency, which halted the project in 2021 and brought heavy militarization focused on protecting gas infrastructure. Insurgent activity has surged again in recent weeks, amid signs of project restart. In March 2025, analysts warned that the sense of disenfranchisement created by the project could fuel insurgent recruitment.
Environmental and climate risks are also high. Independent reviews find that the project’s environmental impact assessment understates potential harm, including lacking a rigorous biodiversity baseline study for the deep-sea environment.
This pattern—external actors driving their own agendas rather than responding to locally defined and articulated priorities—is not unique.
A decade earlier, Japan’s own ProSAVANA project in northern Mozambique followed a similar path. Launched in the early 2010s by the Japan International Cooperation Agency (JICA) with Mozambican and Brazilian partners, it aimed to convert land to agricultural use, particularly soybean cultivation for export to Japan. Modeled on Brazil’s Cerrado “green revolution” of the 1970s, it was promoted as a way to promote agricultural and economic development in Mozambique.
In reality, the project facilitated land grabs covering 14 million hectares in the Nacala Corridor, displacing small farmers. Civil society groups denounced the opaque consultation process and backed local farmers’ resistance. After years of protest, the Japanese government ended its involvement in July 2020, belatedly acknowledging these concerns.
Both Mozambique LNG and ProSAVANA demonstrate how “development” promoted from the Global North can harm communities and the environment. When public finance is involved, the risks—and the responsibility—are even greater.
Better outcomes require meaningful, transparent consultation with affected communities, robust due diligence, and genuine accountability. Without these, development risks becoming extraction by another name.
As leaders gather at TICAD to shape Africa’s future, we urge Japan and all participating governments and businesses to focus on the needs and aspirations of African people themselves, and to avoid—or even redress—the mistakes of the past.
The question remains as urgent as ever: Who is this development really for?
If the Global South acts now, it can help build a future where algorithms bridge divides instead of deepening them—where they enable peace, not war.
The world stands on the brink of a transformation whose full scope remains elusive. Just as steam engines, electricity, and the internet each sparked previous industrial revolutions, artificial intelligence is now shaping what has been dubbed the Fourth Industrial Revolution. What sets this new era apart is the unprecedented speed and scale with which AI is being deployed—particularly in the realms of security and warfare, where technological advancement rarely keeps pace with ethics or regulation.
As the United States and its Western allies pour billions into autonomous drones, AI-driven command systems, and surveillance platforms, a critical question arises: Is this arms race making the world safer—or opening the door to geopolitical instability and even humanitarian catastrophe?
The reality is that the West’s focus on achieving military superiority—especially in the digital domain—has sidelined global conversations about the shared future of AI. The United Nations has warned in recent years that the absence of binding legal frameworks for lethal autonomous weapons systems (LAWS) could lead to irreversible consequences. Yet the major powers have largely ignored these warnings, favoring strategic autonomy in developing digital deterrence over any multilateral constraints. The nuclear experience of the 20th century showed how a deterrence-first logic brought humanity to the edge of catastrophe; now, imagine algorithms that can decide to kill in milliseconds, unleashed without transparent global commitments.
So far, it is the nations of the Global South that have borne the heaviest cost of this regulatory vacuum. From Yemen to the Sahel, AI-powered drones have enabled attacks where the line between military and civilian targets has all but disappeared. Human rights organizations report a troubling rise in civilian casualties from drone strikes over the past decade, with no clear mechanisms for compensation or legal accountability. In other words, the Global South is not only absent from decision-making but has become the unintended testing ground for emerging military technologies—technologies often shielded from public scrutiny under the guise of national security.
Ultimately, the central question facing humanity is this: Do we want AI to replicate the militaristic logic of the 20th century—or do we want it to help us confront shared global challenges, from climate change to future pandemics?
But this status quo is not inevitable. The Global South—from Latin America and Africa to West and South Asia—is not merely a collection of potential victims. It holds critical assets that can reshape the rules of the game. First, these countries have youthful, educated populations capable of steering AI innovation toward civilian and development-oriented goals, such as smart agriculture, early disease detection, climate crisis management, and universal education. For instance, multilateral projects involving Indian specialists in the fight against malaria using artificial intelligence.
Second, the South possesses a collective historical memory of colonialism and technological subjugation, making it more attuned to the geopolitical dangers of AI monopolies and thus a natural advocate for a more just global order. Third, emerging coalitions—like BRICS+ and the African Union’s digital initiatives—demonstrate that South-South cooperation can facilitate investment and knowledge exchange independently of Western actors.
Still, international political history reminds us that missed opportunities can easily turn into looming threats. If the Global South remains passive during this critical moment, the risk grows that Western dominance over AI standards will solidify into a new form of technological hegemony. This would not merely deepen technical inequality—it would redraw the geopolitical map and exacerbate the global North-South divide. In a world where a handful of governments and corporations control data, write algorithms, and set regulatory norms, non-Western states may find themselves forced to spend their limited development budgets on software licenses and smart weapon imports just to preserve their sovereignty. This siphoning of resources away from health, education, and infrastructure—the cornerstones of sustainable development—would create a vicious cycle of insecurity and underdevelopment.
Breaking out of this trajectory requires proactive leadership by the Global South on three fronts. First, leading nations—such as India, Brazil, Indonesia, and South Africa—should establish a ”Friends of AI Regulation” group at the U.N. General Assembly and propose a draft convention banning fully autonomous weapons. The international success of the landmine treaty and the Chemical Weapons Convention shows that even in the face of resistance from great powers, the formation of “soft norms” can pave the way toward binding treaties and increase the political cost of defection.
Second, these countries should create a joint innovation fund to support AI projects in healthcare, agriculture, and renewable energy—fields where benefits are tangible for citizens and where visible success can generate the social capital needed for broader international goals. Third, aligning with Western academics and civil society is vital. The combined pressure of researchers, human rights advocates, and Southern policymakers on Western legislatures and public opinion can help curb the influence of military-industrial lobbies and create political space for international cooperation.
In addition, the Global South must invest in developing its own ethical standards for data use and algorithmic governance to prevent the uncritical adoption of Western models that may worsen cultural risks and privacy violations. Brazil’s 2021 AI ethics framework illustrates that local values can be harmonized with global principles like transparency and algorithmic fairness. Adapting such initiatives at the regional level—through bodies like the African Union or the Shanghai Cooperation Organization—would be a major step toward establishing a multipolar regime in global digital governance.
Of course, this path is not without obstacles. Western powers possess vast economic, political, and media tools to slow such efforts. But history shows that transformative breakthroughs often emerge from resistance to dominant systems. Just as the Non-Aligned Movement in the 1960s expanded the Global South’s agency during the Cold War, today, it can spearhead AI regulation to reshape the power-technology equation in favor of a fairer world order.
Ultimately, the central question facing humanity is this: Do we want AI to replicate the militaristic logic of the 20th century—or do we want it to help us confront shared global challenges, from climate change to future pandemics? The answer depends on the political will and bold leadership of countries that hold the world’s majority population and the greatest potential for growth. If the Global South acts now, it can help build a future where algorithms bridge divides instead of deepening them—where they enable peace, not war.
The time for action is now. Silence means ceding the future to entrenched powers. Coordinated engagement, on the other hand, could move AI from a minefield of geopolitical interests to a shared highway of cooperation and human development. This is the mission the Global South must undertake—not just for itself, but for all of humanity.
A dangerous initiative smuggles in a blatantly imperial and morally bankrupt agenda in a grotesque attempt to curry favor with a nationalist and climate-denying American right.
On the heels of a new United Nations report finding that over 150 “unprecedented” floods, heatwaves, hurricanes, and other climate disasters struck in 2024, the Council on Foreign Relations has launched its new “Climate Realism Initiative.” The Initiative’s goals proffer a dangerous and ahistorical set of climate politics, washing the United States’ hands of any responsibility to clean up global emissions or cooperate internationally to prevent the catastrophic impacts of 3°C of warming.
In a recent article branding the Initiative, CFR fellow Varun Sivaram shamelessly lays out the three main pillars of so-called “climate realism”: (1) that the world will overshoot the Paris agreement’s target to limit warming to 1.5 and even 2°C, (2) that the U.S. should eschew its own emissions reductions in favor of investing domestically in new clean technologies that can compete globally, and (3) that the U.S. should lead international efforts to avert catastrophic climate change.
In light of the first and second, the hypocrisy of CFR’s third pillar is particularly absurd.
CFR’s agenda is as tone-deaf as it is without bearing in history, science, or morality.
On the first pillar, Sivaram argues we should simply accept and prepare for a world with 3°C of warming—his so-called “realism”—but doesn’t stop to share what such a “real” world would look like.
At 3°C, 3.25 billion people will be exposed to lethal heat and humidity every year. The number of people globally who lack sufficient access to water will double. The majority of coral reefs will die. Sea levels will rise, threatening low-lying islands like the Marshall Islands in the Pacific and coastal cities like Bangkok, Shanghai, Amsterdam, and New Orleans. Agricultural yields will tumble, with most crops across the world suffering.
Perhaps most terrifying, the risk of hitting irreversible and catastrophic climate tipping points—like the wholesale dying off of the Amazon or melting of the Arctic—significantly increases.
Stepping back for a moment, it’s important to remember that the Paris agreement’s 1.5°C target came to be because frontline countries demanded such a target. With the Global North coalescing around 2°C ahead of COP21 in Paris and anything more ambitious thus thought politically infeasible, small island countries stunned many observers in leading more than 100 countries in demanding “1.5°C to stay alive.” Such a target, many, like the Marshall Islands’ Tina Stege, argue is necessary to avoid inundating and erasing island nations and low-lying places across the world.
Yet, rich countries in the Global North—and notably the U.S.—have too often ignored these calls in favor of a target that enables the continued extraction and burning of fossil fuels, prioritizes profits today over catastrophe tomorrow, and maintains the enormous wealth gap between Global North and South. By arguing that the U.S. should cast off the world’s 1.5°C and even 2°C target, Sivaram simultaneously condemns the Global South to a future with catastrophic and irreversible warming, a world without islands, where the Marshall Islands as we know them simply cease to exist.
It is within this context, then, that Sivaram advances the Initiative’s second pillar by presenting the following chart. With it, he argues that reducing U.S. emissions won’t make a meaningful difference because they’re a small share of projected future total global emissions.
However, in so doing, Sivaram ignores—even obfuscates—historical emissions. Consider a different chart, this one from Climate Watch, which illustrates the U.S.’ and the broader Global North’s role in creating the climate crisis in the first place. Looking back to the late 1800s, the U.S. and the European Union are responsible for over 50% of historical global greenhouse emissions (in CO2e).
In contrast, Small Island Developing States (SIDS)—a group of 39 island nations, including the Marshall Islands, across the Caribbean, Pacific, Atlantic, Indian Ocean, and South China Sea—have collectively contributed less than 1% of global emissions. Yet, SIDS and their nearly 65 million inhabitants are on the frontlines of the climate crisis, threatened by intensifying hurricanes and cyclones, shrinking biodiversity, and rising seas that threaten to swallow them whole.
Thus, Sivaram’s imperial assertion that U.S. emissions aren’t relevant to a “climate realism” agenda ignores what climate justice advocates have been raising for decades: that those most responsible for climate change should, in turn, be most responsible for addressing it. Instead, Sivaram offers an ahistorical perspective on emissions in service of uncapped emissions and U.S. exemption from climate accountability.
And then, finally, Sivaram offers his astoundingly contradictory final pillar: that the U.S. should lead efforts to avert catastrophic climate change. With the U.S. already a historic laggard and obstructionist in global climate negotiations, it’s hard to imagine a world in which the U.S. could possibly be seen to lead on climate while ignoring its own emissions reductions and sacrificing broad swaths of the Global South to sea-level rise, deadly heatwaves, and cascading crises driven by climate.
CFR’s agenda is as tone-deaf as it is without bearing in history, science, or morality. This dangerous initiative is anything but realistic, instead smuggling in a blatantly imperial and morally bankrupt agenda in a grotesque attempt to curry favor with a nationalist and climate-denying American right.
The climate movement must swiftly denounce this agenda and work toward one that aims to avoid overshoot at all costs, repair historic injustice, and uphold the value and dignity of human life across the globe.
COP30 must be the summit that moves beyond the transactional nature of past negotiations to embrace ideas that recognize the intrinsic value of nature and the need for global solidarity in protecting it.
COP29 in Baku, Azerbaijan has come and gone, leaving behind a sense of cautious reflection rather than the transformative shift many had hoped for. While the summit certainly brought some progress, it has left us with the bittersweet feeling that the climate crisis, with its urgent and pervasive impacts, still seems to be an issue addressed by small steps rather than bold, immediate action. In this sense, COP29 could be seen as both a missed opportunity and a call to rethink our approach to climate change.
A key discussion centered on mobilizing $300 billion annually by 2035 for climate mitigation efforts in vulnerable countries. While this figure might seem substantial, experts argue that at least $1.3 trillion is needed to address the crisis effectively. Even more concerning, however, is the lack of clarity about the sources of this funding; whether public or private, and how it will be allocated. While the commitments made are modest, they underscore a greater issue: the need for a radical shift in how climate finance is understood and structured.
Despite reservations, COP29 provided space for relevant debates about how to create a more inclusive and just financial system. The mobilisation of resources for the Global South is undoubtedly pressing, and the conversation is really just getting started. What is increasingly clear is that we must rethink the economic structures we have inherited, which often fail to address the systemic inequalities that underpin the climate crisis. Financial solutions must be holistic, incorporating the needs of vulnerable populations and the environment in ways that go beyond traditional market-driven approaches.
The environmental crisis cannot be solved by perpetuating existing power dynamics but requires finding solutions rooted in equity, justice, and a deep respect for the interconnectedness of all life.
Meanwhile, at the G20 summit, which ran in parallel to COP29, discussions on Universal Basic Income (UBI) for countries most affected by climate change gained traction. Countries in Latin America, including Brazil and Colombia, championed this idea, seeing it as a preventive measure against the growing polycrisis. UBI could offer a crucial safety net for populations already feeling the severe impacts of climate disruption. Despite its growing relevance and the goals set for COP30, UBI was sidelined at COP29, with market-based solutions taking center stage—solutions that largely overlook the root causes of the climate emergency.
The insistence on market-driven solutions, such as carbon credits, remains a central feature of international climate discussions. These mechanisms, which allow wealthy countries and corporations to offset emissions by purchasing credits from poorer nations, have yet to deliver the necessary reductions in global emissions. What is more concerning is that these market-based solutions reinforce a narrative of economic growth over environmental sustainability. Until the global conversation shifts away from this paradigm, meaningful progress will remain elusive.
The focus on market mechanisms at COP29 underscores the persistent power imbalances that shape climate action. Current international decision-making continues to rely on "realpolitik"—power dynamics that have failed to address both environmental and peace crises. This approach reinforces the dominance of wealthier nations and multinational corporations, while the voices of the Global South remain marginalized.
Although COP29 did not embrace the bold ideas needed to tackle the climate crisis, it has made one thing clear: The future of climate action lies in transforming how we relate to the planet and to each other. Climate change is a social justice issue that disproportionately affects vulnerable populations, yet their voices continue to be overlooked in global decision-making. The environmental crisis cannot be solved by perpetuating existing power dynamics but requires finding solutions rooted in equity, justice, and a deep respect for the interconnectedness of all life.
One potential avenue for transformative action underrepresented at COP29 is the Cap and Share model. This proposal advocates for a carbon tax on the largest polluters, with the revenue redistributed to support vulnerable populations. By holding major emitters accountable and ensuring the most affected communities are supported, Cap and Share challenges the economic systems that have exacerbated both environmental degradation and social inequality. Such an approach would lay the foundations for a fairer and more sustainable global response to the climate crisis.
Looking ahead to COP30, there is an opportunity to break the cycle and center discussions on a more profound philosophical reimagining of our relationship with nature. It is time to ask ourselves: What does a "good life" mean in the context of the climate crisis, and how can we redefine it in a way that prioritizes ecological harmony over economic interests? COP30 could be the moment to rediscover the wisdom that reminds us that humanity is not separate from nature, but an integral part of the web of life that sustains the planet.
To make this shift a reality, we must draw inspiration from initiatives that can empower local communities, particularly in regions most affected by climate change. The principles of Cap and Share can materialise not just through international policy but by supporting initiatives in local territories that engage communities who have suffered the consequences of climate change while also playing a critical role in preserving biodiversity. These initiatives could provide the foundation for overcoming the structural inequalities that perpetuate social and environmental harm, giving rise to a more just and sustainable world.
COP30 must, therefore, be the summit that moves beyond the transactional nature of past negotiations. It should be the moment when we embrace ideas that recognize the intrinsic value of nature and the need for global solidarity in protecting it. But for that to happen, we must first ask: Are we prepared to rethink the way we relate to the planet and each other in order to build a more just and sustainable future?
Rich countries must pay up for the climate action needed to halt the climate crisis they have created and remedy the climate harms that they have inflicted.
The recent COP29 climate finance deal is a stark example of how wealthy historical emitters continue to evade their responsibilities to pay for climate action and remedy climate harm. But they cannot escape rising demands for accountability. In the historic hearings on states' climate obligations at the International Court of Justice, which are drawing to a close, developing nations are forcing them to face the law.
The timing of these ICJ hearings, on the heels of yet another failure of the United Nations climate talks, underscores what's at stake.
The headlines have called COP29's climate finance deal a triumph of diplomacy, but this could not be farther from the truth. Wealthy nations responsible for the majority of cumulative greenhouse gas (GHG) emissions have carefully engineered an escape from their climate obligations through a deal the terms of which are too loose, and that offers too little, too late.
We know rich countries can deliver the grants they owe to the Global South. They can raise well over $5 trillion a year by ending fossil fuel handouts, taxing the rich, and changing unfair global financial rules.
It's too loose: Despite the deal's reference to two finance figures, $1.3 trillion and $300 billion, both constitute a hollow promise. The text fails to hold developed countries to their legal duty to provide climate finance to the Global South. Actors are merely "called upon" to work toward scaling funding to $1.3 trillion per year by 2035, without any binding commitments. Even the $300 billion annual goal has been carefully worded to avoid any concrete obligations. Developed countries are only required to "take the lead" in "mobilizing" these funds, which can come from private finance, multilateral development banks, and other "alternative" sources.
As multiple states including Colombia, Sierra Leone, and Seychelles emphasized during the ICJ hearings, this vagueness disproportionately impacts debt-stressed nations already struggling to fund climate action. If rich countries can pass the buck to the private sector and Global South, the most climate-vulnerable nations may be forced to take on more loans and private investment schemes rather than grants, deepening the historic debt crisis already affecting 93% of them.
Private finance cannot cover the costs of climate action in the Global South. That approach has been tested and failed. Nor can carbon markets fill the gap. Yet, the deal leaves the door open to carbon finance being wrongly counted as climate finance, allowing polluters to claim other countries' climate action as their own through carbon offsets rather than requiring them to pay up and phase out fossil fuels at home. With under 16% of carbon credits currently achieving actual emission reductions, this doesn't underwrite climate ambition, it undermines it.
It's too little: Contrary to what UNFCCC lead Simon Stiell has suggested, what was agreed at COP29 is not a tripling of climate finance. When adjusted for inflation, the $300 billion target is no meaningful increase compared to the $100 billion annually promised by 2020—which rich countries failed to meet. As the decision's own preamble acknowledges, the scale of need in developing countries is on the order of trillions, not billions, annually for climate action between now and 2030. And that figure is neither unreasonable nor out of reach. For context, rich nations currently spend $378 billion yearly on fossil fuel subsidies alone, and fossil fuel companies raked in an average of over $1 trillion in annual profits over the last 10 years. The money exists—it's just being invested in climate destruction rather than climate action.
It's too late: Waiting until 2035 for full implementation of climate finance goals essentially writes off this critical decade for climate action.
The inadequacy of this climate finance deal means planning for failure when it comes to fossil fuel phaseout, and therefore locking in climate catastrophe. The necessary global transition away from fossil fuels can't happen at the speed and scale required unless the biggest polluters pay. The ink has barely dried on the agreement, and wealthy nations are already on the offense. E.U. Climate Commissioner Woebke Hoekstra suggested in De Telegraaf that the E.U. could reduce its share of climate finance contributions since "other country contributions count too." Meanwhile, U.K. Energy Secretary Ed Miliband reframed the entire deal as an "investment opportunity," suggesting that private sector funding could cover the bill—precisely the kind of responsibility-shifting the agreement's language enables. Hoekstra celebrates the deal as 'the start of a new era for climate finance'. Sadly, this is true. A new era where the E.U., U.K., and other rich nations dodge their responsibility to pay—one where everyone is responsible and thus no one is.
But we know rich countries can deliver the grants they owe to the Global South. They can raise well over $5 trillion a year by ending fossil fuel handouts, taxing the rich, and changing unfair global financial rules.
We also know failing to provide needed climate finance doesn't just condemn Global South countries suffering most acutely from a crisis they didn't create. It undermines our collective future.
As the International Court of Justice deliberates on states' climate obligations, this inadequate finance deal illustrates exactly why judicial scrutiny and legal clarity is needed. The world cannot afford another decade of wealthy nations dodging their responsibilities while climate disasters mount.
We reject this deal for what it is—a carefully constructed escape hatch for wealthy nations. It's high time for the biggest polluters to stop hiding behind voluntary pledges and using the climate regime to protect themselves from climate accountability, rather than to protect people and the planet from climate destruction. Rich countries must pay up for the climate action needed to halt the climate crisis they have created and remedy the climate harms that they have inflicted. Doing so is not just a moral imperative, it's a legal obligation.
After Baku, I see a way forward, one in which we open the strategic lens, not by talking less about the injustice of the North/South world, but by talking more about the injustices of the rich/poor world.
I have for decades been assuring both colleagues and comrades that the climate negotiations are not a sick joke, that “COP” is not short for “Conference of Polluters,” that the negotiations matter. The argument has become easier to make as more people have come to see the implacable necessity of an international way forward. As imperfect as the COP process is, a world without multilateral climate negotiations would be far worse.
Still, there comes a time, amid the floods and the firestorms, when even the practiced realism of seasoned observers must break down. This time didn’t quite come at COP29, though it came close. As Martin Wolf put it in the Financial Times, “the assessment has to lie between failure and disaster—failure, because progress is still possible, or disaster, because a good agreement will now be too late.”
The climate problem demands an earnest and cooperative international response, but Baku instead saw the Global North present the Global South with a “grim ultimatum”—agree to an inadequate offer of support or risk the collapse of the only international process where it has significant voice and influence. By its end, the Global South had been forced to accede. With the clap of the president’s gavel, and despite a broad push to assert that “no deal is better than a bad deal,” it got a very bad deal indeed.
COP29 really did have a silver lining. It focused the climate finance debate and pushed it to center stage.
There was also action on the emissions trading front, where the rules were finally nailed down. But the rules are pretty bad and the deal is more likely to generate a flood of illusory offsets than a flood of quality investment. Also, and importantly, neither carbon trading in particular nor private finance in general can honestly be expected to entirely finance a successful climate transition.
On the public finance side, the pressure to relitigate the Baku deal, already high, can only increase. The last-minute adoption of the “Baku to Belém Roadmap to $1.3 trillion”—a critical commitment to find a real path forward—is likely to define the COP30 agenda. The problem is that, barring an unanticipated political shift of the first order, the Belém COP, too, will fail to rise to the occasion.
The next year is going to be a big one.
Hope, as always, remains. The future is unwritten; we have the technology to save ourselves, and we may yet decide to do so. Also, there’s plenty of money, though like the future it is not evenly distributed. Further, COP29 really did have a silver lining. It focused the climate finance debate and pushed it to center stage. There is now, finally, a deep and widespread understanding of the nature and scale of the international climate finance challenge. Talk today about planetary-scale climate ambition and you’re talking in terms of trillions of dollars a year, and everyone knows it.
Unfortunately, this also means the climate negotiations are now in crisis, because those necessary trillions are not on the table. The Baku agreement is simply not going to give the world’s developing countries the confidence—read “the support”—they need to table a strong new round of climate action pledges in 2025. And, as 1.5°C slips through our fingers, it is becoming ever more difficult to believe that even the weak end of the Paris temperature goal (“well below 2°C”) is slated to be preserved.
Part of the problem at Baku was of course the pall cast by Donald Trump’s reelection. Even negotiators who bitterly resent the traditional U.S. tactics knew that something worse was in the future. Just as importantly, it was no longer possible to imagine that the United States, with its massive share of the world’s capacity, would soon produce any significant fraction of its fair share of the cost of rapid international climate mobilization. The Europeans, certainly, could easily argue that, without the United States on board, no adequately ambitious public finance goal could possibly be met, and that, therefore, they could not possibly acquiesce to one.
But Trump’s importance can be overstated. The Europeans have long hidden behind American intransigence, which was a problem long before the age of Trump. The United States has for years worked to eradicate the United Nations climate framework convention’s foundational commitment to equitable burden-sharing based on “common but differentiated responsibilities and respective capabilities,” and the Europeans have never roused themselves to object in any effective way.
And, as always, there is the problem of the fossil fuel industry, which cannot be reduced to the problem of the United States, or even the problem of the Global North. The Saudis in particular, with the aid of the Azeri hosts, reportedly did everything in their power to prevent any Baku statement from reiterating COP28’s call for “transitioning away” from fossil fuels. Further, it became clear in Baku that, as Laurie can der Berg of Oil Change International astutely commented, many rich countries are actively planning for fossil fuel phaseout failure.
That planning began long before Trump’s reelection.
There are many issues entwined within the climate negotiations, and across the board their resolution has been blocked by the lack of adequate climate finance. Inevitably, given that Baku was the long anticipated “finance COP,” it was fated to play a very special role. Given the widespread anger occasioned by Baku’s weak outcome, it’s safe to say that it didn’t deliver.
Still, the climate negotiations are not doomed. It is better to say they are now visibly in a crisis they’ve been in for years. But the distinction makes a difference, and the timing could not be more critical. Unless substantial progress is made by the end of COP30, by November 21, 2025, in Belém, Brazil, we’re going to be in extremely serious trouble.
By the opening of COP29, the Global South’s negotiators had settled on a demand for $1.3 trillion a year in climate finance, much of it to be provided by the developed countries as non-debt-producing grant-based public finance and the rest of it mobilized via facilitated investments. The size of former amount—the “public finance core” that would be provided—was not universally agreed upon, but agreement was close. The G77 + China negotiating bloc cohered around the figure of $500 billion a year, though a number of negotiators and activists, the Climate Action Network in particular, supported a much larger figure. As for the $1.3 trillion, this would be built upon the core, by layering on investments that were mobilized in one way or another.
Baku saw the agreement of a “new collective quantified goal on climate finance,” which replaces 2009’s old finance goal of $100 billion a year, with a new goal that is nominally $300 billion a year. This sounds like a tripling, but it’s not. As for the $1.3 trillion, look to the future negotiation of the “Baku to Belém Roadmap to $1.3 trillion” and prepare for a fight.
Start with the $300 billion, and its comparison to the old goal of $100 billion. The first thing to note here is that the old goal took years to reach, if it was reached at all. The $100 billion line was finally crossed via a finance package that was 70% loans, many of them non-concessional (market rate) loans that significantly swelled recipient countries’ debt loads. The second is that the Baku promise doesn’t have to be delivered until 2035—which, given the climate emergency, is an eternity—and that during that eternity inflation will have eaten deeply into its value.
Stabilizing the climate quickly enough to prevent global catastrophe is going to be expensive, but that we nonetheless have the money to do so. Or, more precisely, the global rich have the money.
Also, and even more crucially, this nominal $300 billion is absolutely not a “public finance core” that will be met exclusively via grant-based financing. It will rather come “from a wide variety of sources, public and private, bilateral and multilateral, including alternative sources,” which is to say that the $300 billion (or whatever is left after inflation) will include not only funding provided by the developed nations, but also any private investment this public funding manages to “crowd in,” and loans both market rate and concessional, and even carbon-offset revenues.
To say this outcome is disappointing is to put the matter diplomatically. As Action Aid’s Brandon Wu explains, “There’s no clarity about how much if any of [the $300 billion] will be public, grant and grant-equivalent finance; it could be loans; it could all be private investment; it could all be MDB [Multilateral Development Bank] finance, it could all amount to basically nothing, in fact.” No wonder that during the final plenary, immediately after the decision text was suddenly gaveled through (the delay was 1.04 seconds, according to the Financial Times), Indian delegate Chandni Raina called the finance target “too little, too distant,” and said her country could not support it. “This document is nothing more than an optical illusion,” she said to cheers and applause.
What does the Global South need to rapidly decarbonize, while at the same time pursuing a low-carbon development path? There will never be a single correct answer to this supremely difficult question, for no possible answer is free of political and ethical claims, including claims about development and about the even more fundamental and elusive notion of need.
Needs assessments are possible, but assessing the needs associated with planetary climate stabilization—from mitigation needs to loss and damage needs to just transition needs—is extremely difficult, and costing such needs with any real precision is flat-out impossible. However meticulous a needs assessment process is, it can only be provisional, because the “real” bottom line will depend on how quickly and brutally the impacts of climate change unfold, and how decisively humanity mobilizes to contain them, and how much obstruction the fossil fuel industry erects against this mobilization, and how forgiving the overall climate system turns out to be. None of this is knowable in advance, though the total need is certainly larger than $1.3 trillion.
We do, however, have some useful preliminary estimates.
Most prominently, the “High Level Experts Group,” which has been supporting the U.N. climate finance debate since COP26, does not simply defend the $1.3 trillion figure. It also tells us this is not the end of the story, that total ”projected investment requirement for climate action” would be about $6.3-6.7 trillion per year by 2030, an amount that should be roughly divided between “advanced economies,” China, and other nations. Of this, about $2.3-2.5 trillion would be for emerging and developing countries other than China, and this figure would increase to $3.1-3.5 trillion by 2035.
Also notable is the updated Needs Determination Report recently released by the UNFCCC’s Standing Committee on Finance. It pegs “the costed needs” from the latest pledges at $5-7 trillion cumulatively out to 2030, a figure which it annualizes (over the 2020 to 2030 period) as $455 billion to $585 billion a year. This, however, is a very partial calculation, and larger estimates can be found within the same report.
In all this complexity, one text is particularly useful, the “submission” that the Climate Action Network’s Finance Working Group made to the pre-COP29 negotiations. This submission advocates a “public finance core” of $1 trillion a year, and then situates that core within a much “wider mobilization goal” that reflects “historic legacies and ongoing practices of unfair atmospheric carbon budget appropriation,” among other inconvenient realities. Also, the text anchors its $1 trillion headline ask in three key subgoals, and reviews the (still primitive) needs assessment literature to conclude that “developing countries’ international climate finance needs could be at least $400bn for loss and damage, at least $300bn for adaptation, and at least $300bn for mitigation, measured in grant-equivalent terms.”
Annually, of course.
Let’s take this $1 trillion annual figure, stipulate again that it refers to a public finance core that must come as grants or grant-equivalents, add that this finance is needed immediately, not 2035, and note that—unlike the miserable sums gaveled through in Baku—its provision would be a game changer. Not that $1 trillion a year in core public finance would be enough, not as the equatorial regions of the planet dry and people begin to migrate in real numbers, but it would suffice to establish, or at least allow, robust levels of international trust and cooperation. It would really get things moving.
Where would this kind of money come from? A group of us took up this question in the 2024 Civil Society Equity Review, which was entitled Fair Shares, Finance, Transformation: Fair Shares Assessment, Equitable Fossil Fuel Phaseout, and Public Finance for Just Global Climate Stabilization. Unlike this brief essay, it is long enough to treat the finance challenge in meaningful detail. Its key message is that stabilizing the climate quickly enough to prevent global catastrophe is going to be expensive, but that we nonetheless have the money to do so. Or, more precisely, the global rich have the money, and—one way or another—they’re going to have to pay, as per Foreign Policy’s rather inelegant formulation, to “help fix the planet.”
The Equity Review group is not alone in making this case. But Fair Shares, Finance, Transformation is notable for the deliberate manner in which it lays out the path forward, the way it names and quantifies the barriers to decarbonization, and its careful, explicit distinction between finance sources that are immediately available—or would be, given political and economic reforms—and more fundamental transformations that will require deeper system change.
Strategically, the key issue is the finance sources that are immediately available, so here’s a very quick summary. (See Fair Shares, Finance, Transformation for details and footnotes, and for a discussion of the larger context, which includes the need for deeper and more fundamental changes.)
The place to begin is fossil fuel subsidies. These represent a public finance flow that could be quickly redirected to support the climate transition. This flow can be expressed as either direct public support or “total” subsidies. The former, according to Energy Policy Tracker, reached a record high of $1.7 trillion in 2022, a figure that represents “public financial support for fossil fuels, in the form of subsidies, investments by state-owned enterprises, and lending from public financial institutions.” The latter, according to the International Monetary Fund (no hotbed of green socialism), takes a more expansive view of subsidies that includes “undercharging for global warming and local air pollution” and estimates total fossil fuel subsidies at $7 trillion a year.
There are also targeted financial mechanisms already at hand. For example, a reinvention of the IMF’s Special Drawing Rights, which after decades of discussion is only now getting real attention, could very rapidly yield $500 billion in concessional loans, while financial transaction taxes, even at low tax rates, would yield considerable revenues. One proposal calls for a levy of 0.05% to be applied to various domestic and international financial transactions involving stocks, bonds, and currency. In 2011, the estimated revenues for such a tax was $600 to $700 billion; at today’s volume of financial transactions, it could easily raise more than $1 trillion.
Whatever happens, pollution taxes are fundamental. First up are frequent flier taxes, which could yield $150 billion a year, and maritime levies, which could bring in $100 billion more. And when we’re ready to tax pollution directly, all sorts of doors would open. Special attention should go to the proposal for a Climate Damages Tax, which could raise $900 billion by 2030 by taxing fossil fuel extraction in the OECD countries. Eighty percent of this, $720 billion, would go to the Loss and Damage Fund, while the rest would be reserved to support the action in the countries where the tax is imposed. The alternative to such an extraction levy is to more heavily tax fossil fuel companies’ profits. The five oil supermajors alone (ExxonMobil, Shell, Chevron, TotalEnergies, and BP) made over $120 billion of profits in 2023.
Wealth taxes are increasingly central to the finance debate. Exhibit A is the Blueprint for a Coordinated Taxation Standard for Ultra-high-net-worth Individuals commissioned by the Brazilian G20 presidency and prepared by economist Gabriel Zucman. This proposal is notable for its links to Brazil, the COP30 host, and for the precise way it aims to remedy problems with tax systems that rely on income taxes that fail to effectively tax the super-rich. “Let’s agree that billionaires should pay income taxes equivalent to a small portion—say, 2%—of their wealth each year… In total, the proposal would allow countries to collect an estimated $250 billion in additional tax revenue per year.”
Another approach is to cast a wider net, and go straight to a system of globally harmonized national wealth taxes. This approach is exemplified by a recent proposal from the Tax Justice Network for an “international version of Spain’s ‘featherlight’ progressive wealth tax.” Spain’s tax applies a tax of 1.7- 3.5% to the richest 0.5% of the country’s households, a group of about 26.5 million people. If adopted by nations around the world, it would raise about $2.1 trillion a year. The decisive move here is to erase the unfair distinction between “earned wealth” like salaries and “unearned wealth” like dividends, capital gains, and rents, which is obtained by simply owning things and is typically taxed at far lower rates than earned wealth. This erasure would yield so much revenue because the richest 0.5% own a quarter (25.7%) of all wealth.
Finally, there is military spending, the gold standard of wasted economic potential. Military spending diverts massive streams of resources that could be used to stabilize the climate and build the infrastructure of a sustainable world. The wealthiest nations, those in the UNFCCC’s Annex II, are, according to research by the Transnational Institute, “spending 30 times as much on their armed forces as they spend on providing climate finance for the world’s most vulnerable countries.” The United States is responsible for a huge chunk of that military spending, with an official 2025 military budget of $852 billion, but other countries are by no means innocent. China holds second place, with a military budget now estimated at $296 billion a year. Throughout the world, even very poor countries burn significant fractions of their public moneys on the military sector, to the obvious detriment of climate transformation and the well-being of their populations. When added together, according to the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, global military expenditure surged in 2023 to $2.4 trillion, the highest level ever recorded.
There are two takeaways from all this. The first is that there is plenty of money to stabilize the climate system, and to do so well and fairly. The second is that there are plenty of ideas for how to redirect money to the climate transition. The above list is anything but exhaustive, and the best way forward is probably to combine multiple ideas into one flexible, expansive program. Action Aid, in Finding the Finance, put this well, arguing that the way forward is “taking coordinated action globally to introduce a range of new taxes that could raise trillions of U.S. dollars—such as through windfall taxes, wealth taxes, higher tax rates on the income of the top 1%, financial transaction taxes, a range of carbon and climate damage taxes, and taxes on aviation and shipping.”
This may sound defeatist, but it’s time to seriously consider the possibility that there will be no finance breakthrough, that neither the $300 billion that was promised in Baku nor the far larger sum that would allow us to plan an inclusive and civilized transition to a post-carbon world will ever arrive.
This would not be a surprise. Nor would the consequent anger and outrage and bitterness be in any way unexpected, or even unwelcome. But, having said this, is it permissible to wonder if they would suffice? The question is necessary after Baku, which followed Dubai’s call to “transition away” from fossil fuels. Baku should by all rights have marked a deepening of that effort, but instead the fossil fuel industry, led by the Saudis, was able to leverage the more-than-justified frustration and bitterness of the Global South to ensure that the Dubai call was not even reiterated.
What’s the lesson here? The best answer may simply be that, even as we fight for finance, we have to remember that finance isn’t everything, and that it’s dangerous to believe it is. It is not even exactly the case that finance is a precondition of rapid decarbonization. The truth is rather that economic and developmental justice is a precondition of rapid decarbonization, and that we are being forced by our strange times and dire circumstances to take international finance as a proxy for justice. In some cases—the fossil phaseout comes to mind—we would be better off insisting on the real thing.
Baku cast a bright and unforgiving light on the political vise within which we are trapped. On the one hand we’re out of time, and mitigation—decarbonization—must be our top priority. On the other hand, rapid decarbonization is simply not going to be possible without a great deal of economic justice. Think of the Global South’s overwhelming international debt, which can never be repaid. Think of the massively unbalanced and unsustainable international trading system. Think of the planetary divide between the rich and the poor, and how the rich exploit it at every turn.
Even if, as many believe, decarbonization is the essential core of the climate challenge, it is difficult, amidst today’s crumbling political order, to believe that any sufficiently rapid climate stabilization is possible in a world where adaptation, loss and damage, and just transition challenges—all of them pillars of the solidarity agenda—are left almost entirely unfunded. Yet that is exactly where we are today.
Again, there is plenty of money. The question is how to convert some of it—say, a trillion dollars a year—into grant-based public finance, so that it can be used to provision not only an accelerated mitigation effort, but also the equity agenda—the solidarity agenda and the fair-share agenda—that will have to accompany it. It’s a more than challenging prospect, particularly given that the finance battle must be fought, and won, among the rich, most of whom reside in the Global North, which is currently beset by an exterminist strain of right-wing nationalist populism.
The Washington Post frankly reported that Baku was “blasted” by the negotiators and activists of the Global South. Then it found space for this:
Taxpayers in wealthy countries will ultimately foot much of the bill for the finance deal. Negotiators from rich nations had to consider the possibility of voters’ resistance to a high amount, especially in the European Union, where farmers have held recent protests against climate regulations, and the United States, where Trump could refuse to send more climate aid overseas.
In an email, Rep. August Pfluger (R-Texas), who led a delegation of House lawmakers to COP29, called the final agreement a “horrible deal.”
“China, the world’s largest polluter, self-identifies as a ‘developing country,’” Pfluger said. “The last thing we need is to be shackled by another harmful, America-last climate pipe dream.”
There’s the problem, and the misery, right there.
Baku can be read—and is being read, within the climate left—as a final repudiation, by the rich countries, of the obligation to do their fair share they took on when they signed the U.N. Framework Convention on Climate Change. I can see the logic here, but I don’t think it’s quite right. The equity battle is anything but over, and it cannot be plausibly repudiated. But the equity battle will also not be won in strict North/South terms.
Looking back over financing options sketched above, I see a way forward, one in which we open the strategic lens, not by talking less about the injustice of the North/South world, but by talking more about the injustices of the rich/poor world. Think, if you will, of the “Baku to Belém Roadmap to $1.3 trillion,” and the challenge to contrive an effective campaign strategy around it. Think, in particular, about the spectrum defined by pollution and extraction taxes on one side, and wealth taxes on the other, which the Climate Tax Justice groups have taken to calling “solidarity levies.” Think about the fact that both pollution taxes and wealth tax are essential, and that they can be imposed nationally and harmonized globally.
The Global South needs real climate finance, and plenty of it. But what if, instead of continuing to insist that this finance will eventually come from the Global North, we admit that there’s only one place to get it: from the global rich. While most of them live in the Global North, some of them don’t. There are now 1,050 billionaires in the United States and 304 in China. We want a solidarity levy on the former group, absolutely, but are we really going to get one without taxing the latter as well?
There were many pre-COP29 finance debates. Last year, during one of them, it became all but impossible to avoid references to a paper by Andrew Fanning and Jason Hickel that argued that the United States—even if it pursues an ambitious emissions reduction trajectory—will by 2050 owe the countries of the Global South something like $200 trillion, as compensation for its historic over-appropriation of the atmospheric commons. It’s a stunning number, and even if it’s only somewhat true, it makes a stunning point.
The “Why Trump Won” debate in the United States is also throwing up some stunning numbers. In this illuminating comment by American historian Heather Cox Richardson, she cites research showing that, had the comparably equitable income structure of post-World War II America to 1974 held steady through 2020, the annual income of American workers below the 90th percentile would by 2018 have been $2.5 trillion higher than it actually turned out to be.
This means that between 1975 to 2018, “the difference between the aggregate taxable income for those below the 90th percentile and the equitable growth counterfactual totals $47 trillion.” Extend the trend ($2.5 trillion a year in shifted income) to 2024 and you arrive at the present: Since 1975, the richest 10% of Americans and especially the richest 1% have taken $60 trillion from the poorest 90%.
Sixty trillion dollars is not $200 trillion, but it’s not peanuts either. We would be fools to ignore it, in favor of a vision of global economic justice that identifies the Global North as the only significant barrier to honest hope. It is, certainly, a keystone barrier, but so too are the global rich, and they well deserve their fair share of the vilification.
The who pays question is one of the oldest on the climate equity agenda. It’s time to answer it properly.
In an in-depth interview, OWINFS coordinator Debora James reflects on how the fight for trade justice has evolved from the streets of Seattle to today.
"Predictions of increased jobs and prosperity under the WTO system have failed abysmally. Inequalities have soared, leaving hundreds of millions impoverished while billionaires metastasise like cancer,"—Deborah James in Al Jazeera, 5 years ago.
The organizers' N30History.org site writes:
On November 30, 1999, a public uprising shut down the World Trade Organization and transformed downtown Seattle into a festival of resistance. Tens of thousands of people joined the nonviolent direct action blockade which encircled the WTO conference site, completely preventing conference meetings from dawn till dusk. We held the blockade in the face of an army of federal, state, and local police making extensive use of tear gas, pepper spray, rubber, plastic and wooden bullets, concussion grenades, and armored vehicles. After five days of protests and resistance, the talks at the WTO conference collapsed in failure.
25 years ago, for the six months leading up to the World Trade Organization (WTO) summit in Seattle in 1999, I met Deborah in organizing meetings to prepare. Today, while many of us continue our efforts for a better world in many different places and movements, for 25 years Deborah has remained in constant combat with the WTO, together with global movements as part of the Our World is Not for Sale network. I asked if they could share insights on the impacts of the Seattle WTO confrontation and the current threat of the WTO–including obstruction of the needed transition off fossil fuels and the growing domination of Big Tech.
David Solnit: What impact did the 1999 mass nonviolent direct action shut down and protest have on the WTO and plans for the global economy?
Deborah James: If the round of negotiations to expand the WTO, the so-called Millennium round that WTO proponents tried to launch in Seattle, had concluded, the world would be a much more unequal, exploitative, and ecologically devastated place. We actually stopped a terrible, no-good institution from getting even worse. This is the legacy that I have tried to uphold in the subsequent 25 years of focusing my life: stopping the expansion of the World Trade Organization.

What happened after Seattle, when developing countries rose up and put a stop to another round of neoliberal expansion, is extremely important. Developing countries had realized that they had gotten a bad deal at the founding of the WTO, that it was actually a deal written by the big corporate interests of the U.S. and Europe for their mutual benefit and for the exclusion of developing countries from the gains of trade.
After Seattle, neoliberal proponents realized that they would have to compromise with developing countries if they wanted to launch a WTO expansion.
Since 2001, developed countries have never agreed to a single one of the demands of developing countries for flexibilities to the existing harmful rules; that was envisioned as the core of the Doha round. In fact, around 2015, the United States stated that it would no longer participate in any negotiations under the framework of the development agenda. Many other countries followed suit. Nevertheless, WTO developing country members never agreed to give up the development mandate that their ministers set in 2001, and reaffirmed many times since. Instead, most negotiations in the WTO have centered on the developed countries agenda of WTO expansion, in agriculture, non-agriculture market access, services, and more.
In one instant, the cops asked her, "Where to next?" I responded, "To Starbucks!" A few minutes later I was on top of a van, microphone in hand, leading a protest against Starbucks for carrying sweatshop coffee.
As terrible as the WTO is, it could be a lot worse. Without this ability to hold a strong defensive line of the development agenda, which directly followed the Seattle collapse, WTO members would have significantly expanded the WTO in the last 25 years. For example, at the time of the founding of the WTO, most developing countries found the radical deregulatory rules of the "General Agreement on Trade in Services (GATS)" to represent far too big of a sellout to foreign giant services corporations than they envisioned for their domestic economies with regards to services.
Most developing countries kept services like education, healthcare, water and electricity distribution, municipal services, environmental services, financial services, and many others out of the GATS. Giant services corporations, such as the financial industry, pushed extremely hard for developing countries to agree to "bind" more of their services sectors to the WTO deregulatory and privatization agenda. They mostly failed. This means that developing countries still have much of that regulatory space that they preserved. Unless, of course, they gave it up through a bilateral or regional trade agreement.
One important gain won by developing countries was that domestic food security programs, which largely do not affect trade, can be exempt from WTO disciplines under certain conditions. The program is far too limited to really scale back the way that WTO rules exacerbate hunger and the impoverishment of farmers, but it was a very hard-won step in the right direction for countries to be able to guarantee the Right to Food of their citizens. We are still fighting to expand this agreement to cover more crops, to be available to more countries, and with fewer conditions that make it extremely difficult to use.
DS: What are some lessons do you carry with you today?
Deborah James: I carry a lot of lessons from those days.
One, that real organizing of that scale takes a lot of resources, a lot of time, but it also takes a lot of dedication from thousands of people who have a sense that what is going on is so outrageous, that they are willing to put their own time and talent and resources into doing something about it. And that they believe that their investment is worth the time because it is multiplied by the power of collective action toward a common goal.
In 1999, I started the national movement for Fair Trade certified coffee. The certification agency, Transfair USA, had just begun operations that summer. I worked to get dozens of college campuses started with their first campaigns to demand Fair Trade certified coffee on campus. In addition, we decided to launch a campaign against Starbucks, to pressure them to carry Fair Trade certified coffee. Starbucks was already hated by many in Seattle. A local group had convened a protest at one of the shops downtown at the beginning of the week. In the lead-up to the opening of the WTO ministerial, my colleague Leila had organized a large demonstration against the Gap. Her demo seemed to be winding down. In one instant, the cops asked her, "Where to next?" I responded, "To Starbucks!" A few minutes later I was on top of a van, microphone in hand, leading a protest against Starbucks for carrying sweatshop coffee, and demanding that they carry Fair Trade certified coffee instead. It was an object lesson in seizing the moment: doing one's homework, preparing the field, and then, surrounded by the support of your allies and colleagues, having the courage to up your game when the moment arrived.
Countries are free under WTO rules to subsidize their fossil fuel industries to the extent they please, while their subsidies for climate-friendly energy production are severely curtailed.
Another is that you need to have both an "inside game" and an "outside game." "Inside" to me are the people that track the issue—that know what's going on in the nitty-gritty in Geneva: the players, the issues, the texts, the potential impacts. "Outside" are the people who have the ability to hold their governments accountable. It doesn't just mean protests, but it definitely includes that aspect; it could also mean putting pressure through media or other mechanisms; the specter of electoral results; or, in the case of some governments, progressive lobbying. In the WTO, the decisions are made in the capitals—that's where the pressure from affected communities is most important. But it's also important to have a strong game in the negotiations, which are usually in Geneva at the WTO, and then occur every two years (more or less) at ministerials. You've got to have both.
DS: What is the impact of the WTO in communities' lives?
Deborah James: The WTO is the largest rulemaking institution in the global economy, and its rules are binding. When the United states, the E.U., and other neoliberal proponents invented the WTO, they set it outside of the existing system of global governance, which is the United Nations. As a treaty-based institution with 164 members, its rules are extremely difficult to change.
Let's take a few examples—and these are just two of myriad agreements in the WTO!
AGRICULTURE: In agriculture, we can imagine a set of global trade rules that ensures: the rights of citizens to adequate and nutritious food, guaranteed as a human right by their governments; agricultural practices and markets that ensure a decent living for farmers around the world; and the ability of countries to preserve and support rural development. Unfortunately, most of the rules regulating agriculture in the WTO do quite the opposite.
At the time of the founding of the WTO, the Europeans and the U.S. did not want agriculture to be part of the WTO, because these advanced economies are not competitive in international agricultural markets without their subsidies and protectionist tariffs. The E.U. and U.S. agreed to cap these tariffs and subsidies at existing levels, and to reduce them over time. However, they have never made the reductions, so the United States still subsidizes its large agribusiness industrial production to the tens of billions of dollars, while poor countries are largely prohibited from using such subsidies. At the same time the European Union is still able to use tools like tariff escalation, which allows them access to cheap, slave-labor produced cocoa from West Africa, while ensuring that all of the value add of making fine chocolate stays within the E.U.
INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY (aka BIG PHARMA PROFITEERS KILL!): WTO rules on intellectual property are some of the most damaging. It is important to note that the entire basis of industrial production in the United States was based on the combination of slave labor and of stolen industrial designs from England. However as the U.S. and E.U., along with countries like Switzerland and Japan, became industrial powerhouses, they sought to use patents, copyrights, and other intellectual property protections as a way to prevent competition, reduce consumer choice, and raise prices. This is the exact opposite of free trade.
The extremely protectionist system that the U.S. successfully exported into the WTO at the time of its founding, under the agreement on "Trade Related-Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights (TRIPS)" has instituted a worldwide system of monopolization, harmful incentives, and restrictions on access to medicine that has resulted in the unnecessary death and sickness of hundreds of millions of people. Patents severely curtail access to existing medicines that could otherwise be obtained for pennies on the dollar. It has led to the financialization of the pharmaceutical industry, in which Americans drastically overpay for medicines while people in developing countries cannot afford to get access to life-saving treatments, diagnostics, and vaccines. The many-year campaign for a waiver on TRIPS rules for Covid-19 vaccines, diagnostics, and treatments exposed how the WTO rules protect the rights of big pharma to profit over the lives of billions of people around the world. The intransigence of patent-protecting states clearly resulted in millions of deaths that could have been avoided.
DS: What about WTO's impact on climate change and the needed just transition from fossil fuels?
Deborah James: At the time of the founding of the WTO, major oil producers were successful in excluding fossil fuel subsidies from WTO rules. At the same time, modern, more climate-friendly technologies such as solar and wind production are subject to WTO rules on domestic subsidies. These include the fact that countries are not allowed to give subsidies for domestic production that they do not make available to other WTO members. In the WTO, this is called "non-discrimination." What this means, in effect, is that countries are free under WTO rules to subsidize their fossil fuel industries to the extent they please, while their subsidies for climate-friendly energy production are severely curtailed in the WTO, especially if they try to use those subsidies to not only address climate change but to also create domestic jobs. WTO rules, in a word, blocks a just transition.

DS: How has global corporate capitalism changed in 25 years—and the WTO?
I'm thinking of how much of the economy is (electronic) e-commerce and also Yanis Varoufakis' argument that Big Tech has changed everything—from "capitalism to techno-feudalism," in which the owners of platforms extract rent in the same way that feudal lords did.
Deborah James: At the time of the founding of the WTO, each major industry got an agreement to reshape, and really to rig, the global economy in its favor. Big agriculture got the agreement on agriculture; the financial industry got the GATS; big industry got the "non-agricultural market access agreement (NAMA)," etcetera. "Big Tech" was not yet a thing.
Since then, Apple, Meta/Facebook, Alphabet/Google, Microsoft, and Amazon have become five of the largest corporations in the history of the world. They would like an agreement, permanently binding on 164 countries, and enforceable in the World Trade Organization. They came up with a "digital two dozen" list of disciplines that they infiltrated into the Obama administration. These rules either give Big Tech corporations rights, such as: to enter whatever markets they want, even without a local presence; to sell whatever products they want; to collect all the data that they want, and move it around and process it in whatever ways they want; to maintain monopolies and integrate vertically; to maintain whatever legal form they want; etcetera. Their list also included restrictions on governments' ability to regulate them, such as limiting the collection or movement of data; limiting the ability of governments to collect taxes, either on their transactions or their profits; or requiring that local workers, the local economy, or local communities benefit in any way from their presence.
The WTO has been wildly successful for the purpose for which it was built: to rig the economy in favor of large corporations in powerful countries to further profit from developing countries, and workers, and consumers around the world.
In 2016, the United States introduced these proposals in the WTO, hijacking the slogan "ecommerce for development." Because of the dominance of U.S.-based Big Tech in the business lobbies around the world, most major industrialized countries followed suit. One can only imagine the asymmetry in negotiating power between developed countries with Big Tech lobbyists seconded to their delegations, backed by armies of lawyers and economists whose job was to invent ways to rig the economy for the power and profit of their corporations, compared with the negotiators of many developing countries, which lack universal access even to electricity, let alone highly-skilled domestic technological sectors to turn to for expertise.
However, the global network of civil society organizations that works together to stop the expansion of the WTO, Our World Is Not for Sale (OWINFS), learned of these proposals. Our members spent a year in deep analysis of the implications of these high-tech proposals and sharing that analysis with developing country trade negotiators, particularly through the Third World Network and the South Center.
At the WTO ministerial in December 2017, Big Tech made its push—for the launch of a multilateral round of negotiations on a digital trade agreement, then still referred to as e-commerce. Fortunately, the Africa group and several progressive Latin American countries held their ground. To this day there are still no multilateral negotiations on digital trade. Years later, the developed countries with a smattering of the most economically dependent, or pro-neoliberal, developing countries, launched "plurilateral" negotiations on digital trade. Likewise, these provisions are now found in every bilateral and regional trade agreement under negotiation. Fortunately, due to the extreme damages caused by this highly deregulated sector, governments have begun to realize the importance of "reining in Big Tech." Efforts are underway in many countries toward common sense public interest oversight over data flows, monopoly and competition issues, labor rights in the tech sector, taxation of Big Tech, discrimination and abuse (such as deep fakes), and many more issues.
If the digital trade agreement had been concluded as originally put forward by Big Tech under the Obama administration, the necessary policy space for democratic debate and public interest regulation worldwide of the largest, most profitable corporations in the history of the world would have been eviscerated.
DS: You wrote "In 46 of 48 cases in which countries tried to defend their public regulation based on the public interest exceptions in the WTO, the body decided in favor of the 'right to trade' over the 'right to regulate.'" Given its domination by rich countries and corporations, can the WTO be changed or must it be replaced?
Deborah James: The WTO has been wildly successful for the purpose for which it was built: to rig the economy in favor of large corporations in powerful countries to further profit from developing countries, and workers, and consumers around the world.
However this is not the institution that we need. As human beings on a shared planet, we need rules that discipline corporate behavior when they trade among countries, while ensuring that governments (which have the obligations to ensure the human, social, and economic rights of their citizens) have the policy space to achieve them. Thus, we need a global institution to discipline big agriculture, while allowing farmers a fair livelihood, people the right to food, and the ability of governments to promote rural development. We need rules that will discipline giant services corporations, while allowing governments the ability to guarantee quality, accessible public services, and the regulation of private services in the public interest. We need global health rules that guarantee access to medicine on a universal basis, while providing appropriate incentives for innovation in the health sector. We need binding rules so that large corporations pay their fair share of taxes worldwide. We need binding rules to ensure that we collectively make a Just Transition away from highly polluting fossil fuels and toward sustainable energy production in a way that promotes economic benefits from the bottom up. This, and more, is the Turnaround Agenda of global civil society. For each area of the economy, we call for: an assessment of the impact of the current rules on communities, countries, and our shared environment; a series of immediate steps to ameliorate the most damaging of the existing of WTO rules, in the short-term; and a completely different set of rules that will achieve our shared goals of environmental sustainability and shared prosperity.
Amazingly, the 13th Ministerial of the WTO in Abu Dhabi (MC13) was a clear victory for the Our World Is Not For Sale (OWINFS) global network.
In order to achieve the global economy that we deserve, we need a different institution. At the same time, it is extremely important to keep in mind that our opponents never stop working to expand corporate globalization. That is why so much of our work in the WTO is "on defense." If one were to say, for example, "I don't believe the WTO is reformable; therefore, I will stop working on it because that's reformist," that cedes the entire territory to the pro-corporate forces. In that scenario, we can only lose. It is only by actually stopping the harmful expansion of the WTO that we create space not only to fight for flexibilities to existing harmful rules, but for the space to eventually bring about the larger shifts toward a more balanced and fair institution, which will only come about under dramatic shifts in geopolitics—and when workers in the Global North and the Global South work together for the transformation toward more fair rules for everyone.
DS: What was your experience—and that of movements and civil society, confronting the WTO at the last 2024 ministerial in Abu Dhabi?
Deborah James: Amazingly, the 13th Ministerial of the WTO in Abu Dhabi (MC13) was a clear victory for the Our World Is Not For Sale (OWINFS) global network. Corporate interests had a number of agreements they were trying to push through on digital trade, investment, and regulation of domestic services. Due to the increasing opposition to Big Tech's harmful practices, the digital trade agreement was not finalized enough to be brought forward. On the plurilaterals on investment and services regulation, our technical experts successfully intervened to bolster opposition by developing countries and ensure more accurate media coverage. This prevented neoliberal proponents from being able to ram through these WTO-illegal agreements at MC13.
On agriculture, we have changes we'd like to see to the existing agreement—flexibilities to allow for more food security and food sovereignty. But this was not on the table coming into the ministerial. Thus, preventing an outcome that would have made the existing rules even more harmful for developing countries was a victory. There was similarly an anti-development text being negotiated on fisheries disciplines, which our member, the Pacific Network on Globalization, also supported developing countries to reject.
Some of the most pernicious proposals at MC13 were actually about the functioning of the WTO itself. After many years of failing to gain significant new rights and powers through the WTO, corporate proponents have been seeking to weaken the power of developing countries and civil society to resist. They had therefore put a number of proposals on the table for "WTO reform," which would have increased corporate power even further, while decreasing the power and leverage of developing countries and civil society in the negotiations. Fortunately, these were also rejected by the majority of the WTO membership.
In the end, most of the negotiations were simply punted back to Geneva.
How does civil society accomplish such a herculean task when facing opponents with thousands of times more resources than our scrappy bunch? First, we know our stuff. Many of our members, such as the experts at the Third World Network, have spent years poring over WTO texts and analyzing their potential implications, and sharing this information with developing country delegates. Over the years we have built a network of development advocates, public interest organizations, environmental groups, labor unions, and other economic justice advocates in the Global North and the Global South who are able to share information both about the technicalities of what's happening in Geneva, as well as the geopolitical shifts occurring in their home capitals. Within OWINFS, we create a dynamic where every person's talents and skills are seen, welcomed, and put to strategic use. People feel respected, so they give their very best to the collective effort.
OUR WORLD IS NOT FOR SALE NETWORK: The "Our World Is Not For Sale" (OWINFS) network is a loose grouping of organizations and social movements worldwide fighting the current model of corporate globalization embodied in the global trading system. OWINFS is committed to a sustainable, socially just, democratic, and accountable multilateral trading system. OWINFS operates primarily through our national members around the world. You can learn more about negotiations on Digital Trade; Trade & Environment; the Development Agenda; Fisheries, Food, & Agriculture; Intellectual Property/TRIPS, Investment, Services / GATS, and WTO Reform on our website. Our MC13 work is aggregated here.