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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.