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The story of how a teenager transformed an abandoned government forestry project into a lifelong obsession, creating what is arguably the largest single-handed man-made forest of the world, over the course of four decades.
Long before global environmental summits sensationalized terms like sustainability and ecological restoration, a young teenager in an almost forgotten corner of the world stood on a barren, sun-baked sandbar with just 20 bamboo seedlings in his hands.
He was oblivious to the future his hands would sow, a future that would etch his name in textbooks around the world. Today, observances like World Nature Conservation Day exist to remind us how crucial such grassroots action is.
In 1997, the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) declared July 28 as the World Nature Conservation Day. Since then, it has evolved into a global movement, galvanizing governments, institutions, civil society, and individuals to advance collective action for environmental stewardship.
This World Nature Conservation Day, the story of this boy who came to be known as the "Forest Man of India" stands as a testament to the power of individual environmental stewardship.

Popularly known as "The Forest Man of India," Payeng earned this title through years of dedication and his childhood passion for change. Change is something that many hope for, but few have the perseverance and groundwork to realize.
Starting with just 20 bamboo seedlings on a sandbar of the river Brahmaputra, he has continued to nurture the plants to this day. Despite the odds, he stood firm with limited resources and determination to keep planting, never giving up on his mission.
This article traces the evolution of his extraordinary journey, examining not only the scale of his environmental contribution but also the quiet determination that sustained it.
The origin of the Molai Forest dates back to 1979. Jadav Payeng, who was then employed as a labourer under a development project of the social forestry division, was assigned the stewardship of a 200-hectare patch of land in Arunachapori (an island). The project, which was intended to last for five years, ended in three.
Payeng, who had nowhere else to go, decided to keep planting trees and taking care of the flora he had already planted. In the same year, he found many dead snakes that had died from excessive heat after floods washed them onto the treeless sandbar. It was then that he planted 20 bamboo saplings on the sandbar.
The tale of Jadav Payeng shows that an environmental transformation does not always begin with huge policy changes or major funding. At times, it starts with a single individual who plants a seed and cultivates a dream which never fades away.
It was not just that he took care of the saplings; he also planted additional trees on his own, aiming to convert the area into a forest. What Jadav Payeng has created is arguably the world’s largest man-made forest.
Marked by the recurring devastation of floods on the island of Majuli, Payeng’s childhood was profoundly shaped by the disaster that forced his parents to abandon their native village. Reflecting on his childhood, he recalls that his village provided everything—from thatch to cane needed to sustain a comfortable life in their elevated dwellings, colloquially known as “Chang Ghar.”

Molai Kathoni, or the Molai Forest, is the sprawling forest reserve created by Jadav Payeng, named after him as a token of appreciation for his decades of hard work. Now this wonderful forest houses more than 100 varieties of native flora, including hydrophytic, medicinal and aromatic, orchid, fruit-bearing, and timber trees.
The story of Molai Kathoni gained widespread attention in 2008, when a herd of elephants migrated into the forest reserve from the north bank of the Brahmaputra River, moving further south. This unique and flourishing patch of greenery soon caught the eye of the media, who aptly dubbed it “Molai Kathoni,” meaning “Molai’s woods.”
Payeng’s initial efforts evolved into a self-sustaining forest from bamboo to various trees. The net area covered by this forest is a staggering 1,360 acres and shelters threatened species such as Asian elephants, Bengal tigers, and one-horned rhinoceroses. A herd of around 100 elephants regularly visits the forest every year and generally stays for around six months.
In addition, Molai Kathoni provides shelter to 250 families living in about 10 to 12 huts in different groups. Notable flora species from his forest include Arjun (Terminalia arjuna), Pride of India (Lagerstroemia speciosa), Silk trees (Albizia procera), and Cotton trees (Bombax ceiba). Bamboo alone spans over 300 hectares.
Initially, in order to irrigate the large stretch of saplings, Payeng constructed bamboo structures above the saplings and put earthen pots with very small holes in them for drip irrigation. Water was allowed to seep out gradually over several days, nourishing the delicate saplings as he went about other chores.
To transform the infertile sandbar into nutrient-rich soil, Payeng physically transported red ants, earthworms, and organic biomass from his village to the island. The insects served as biological plows, altering the soil's composition and preparing the ground for deciduous trees.
For over three decades, his creation largely remained in the dark, away from public recognition and media sensationalization. When his story finally emerged, the world stood in awe of a man who, despite not having completed his secondary education, had ignited a quiet revolution painted in countless shades of green.
Jadav Payeng went on to win the third-highest civilian award of India: "The Padma Shri" in 2015. He was awarded the "Commonwealth Point of Light" award by the government of the United Kingdom. Payeng was named the "Forest Man of India" by Jawaharlal Nehru University in 2012. In 2025, the Jyoti Prasad Trust instituted the "Jadav Payeng International Award" in his honor.
The innovative solutions he developed, utilizing coconut tree planting to control soil erosion in Majuli, have garnered recognition for helping fight climate change. His inspirational story transcended borders, inspiring a children’s book, Jadav and the Tree Place. Moreover, his story has been integrated into school curricula across the United States and beyond as a compelling lesson in ecology.
Despite international acclaim, numerous awards, and appearances in award-winning documentaries (such as William D. McMaster's Forest Man), Payeng lives a remarkably simple life. He continues to wake up before dawn, taking a boat across the river to care for his forest and earn his living from the sale of milk from his livestock.
Payeng's contribution is not just about creating a green forest. The trees that Payeng planted act as carbon sinks, absorbing carbon dioxide while enhancing ecosystem health by supporting biodiversity, regulating water cycles, and sustaining diverse habitats.
Now his focus is on spreading his forest to another sandbar of the Brahmaputra and completely turning Majuli Island into a tropical paradise. In an interview with The Better India, he said that education systems should mandate every child to plant two trees. Payeng reiterated the need to integrate planting trees in school curricula in a TED talk he was invited to in 2015.
The tale of Jadav Payeng shows that an environmental transformation does not always begin with huge policy changes or major funding. At times, it starts with a single individual who plants a seed and cultivates a dream which never fades away.
For those seeking inspiration amid the mayhem of the climate crisis, the Molai island forest is a living testimony to what one dedicated soul can achieve.
As we celebrate World Nature Conservation Day, Payeng’s towering forest whispers a powerful message: Healing our planet doesn’t require an army; it can begin with one person planting the first seed.
A new report argues for a “sufficiency” world, in which all have enough and where the share of wealth owned by the richest 1% drops dramatically.
One of the (many) curses of the Trump era is that he keeps us fixated, hour by hour, on his latest stupidity or fraud, a constant swirling game of three-card monte that ends only when he robs some more of our attention and money. So I will try valiantly for a moment to escape his asteroid belt of provocation (it’s not easy—did you know that America decided this week to sink a few billion into promoting… coal?) and try to think a little more broadly.
This step back is occasioned by Thomas Piketty and his team at the World Inequality Lab in Paris, who last week released the Global Justice Report, subtitled A Plan for Equality & Prosperity Within Planetary Boundaries. Piketty, you will recall, is the London-born economist who in 2013 released his book Capital, in many ways launching the ongoing critique of global inequality and the generalized scorn for the billionaire class. (At one point, remember, America and the world generally admired these people).
Now he and his team has enlarged their analysis to include the 21st century’s novel dilemma—that we are steadily and rapidly overheating the planet—and the result is this report, which I read in certain ways as the data-rich companion to Naomi Klein’s 2014 classic This Changes Everything, an investigation of whether it is possible to imagine prosperity without ruinous growth. Much has changed in the years since those volumes—most importantly, the plummeting price of solar and wind energy and of batteries to store that power has opened up a much larger escape hatch. And it’s from that premise that Piketty’s new work really proceeds.
There’s an ever-better case for taxing the hell out of billionaires even if all you do is bury the resulting money in a hole in the ground.
The Global Justice Project says that rapid decarbonization is a must, and that it needs to be paid for by the rich, and that that payment should come in the form of a global wealth tax and a global income tax, which funnel fairly large sums of money from the north to the south. They aim for a “sufficiency” world, in which all have enough and where the share of wealth owned by the richest 1% drops dramatically—a kind of globalized Sweden, I’d say, in which people work half the hours we do at present, and consume more education and healthcare and less stuff. They view it as an alternative to “degrowth” scenarios, and also to our current unrestrained growth model, and say that it leaves the world with lower temperatures than either of those schemes.:
To avoid climate catastrophes, we show that sufficiency is required: a structural transformation of the economy involving shorter working hours, a lower material footprint, a shift from material-intensive sectors toward relatively immaterial sectors such as education and health, and major changes in food systems and land use. Rapid decarbonization of energy systems is also necessary, as is the sharp compression of income and wealth inequality. This compression is both a social justice objective and a condition for financing necessary climate investment and human capital expenditure and for sustaining political support from bottom- and middle-income classes in both the North and the South.
Here’s a little diagram they provide of the basic outline.
I have a certain sympathy for the argument—expressed most pithily by David Roberts on Bluesky—that this kind of sky-castle architecture doesn’t amount to much; I too am more fascinated by the daily drumbeat of technological innovation. And I think that the accumulation of that innovation may undermine part of Piketty’s argument; I have a feeling that the investment required for decarbonization is going to be easier to come by, as the price for good stuff just keeps falling, and the economic logic of paying for fossil fuel becomes ever smaller.
But I also think that the climate crisis is not the only ecological threat we face, nor indeed the only threat period. I think it’s pretty clear that democracy can’t survive inequality; there’s an ever-better case for taxing the hell out of billionaires even if all you do is bury the resulting money in a hole in the ground. One possibility is that the mega rich will succeed in their current project of deliberalizing the planet, and we’ll all get to live in our own nasty little sovereignties; another is that the Bernie Sanderses resident in most parts of the world will figure out how to combine their efforts and that over time we’ll get something that looks a bit like what Piketty (or for that matter Kim Stanley Robinson in Ministry for the Future) imagines. One tell for me that this team is not entirely politically detached came in this paragraph about what would happen if America (or China) predictably refused to join in such a scheme:
If necessary, the Global Justice Platform can be implemented with an incomplete coalition of countries, including the absence of the US and/or China. According to our projections, the climate damages imposed by the US on other countries would be about 3% of world GDP per year, on average, over the 2026-2100 period if the US does not participate in the GJP. Under simplifying assumptions, other countries should impose a corrective tax of approximately 80% on all US exports to collect tax revenues approximately equivalent to the damage. Given the projected decline of the US share in world GDP—from 30% in 1945 to 15% in 2025 and 5-10% by 2100—it is likely that such tariffs would induce the US to join the GJP. The same conclusion applies to the case of China, but with a higher tariff (180% or more).
The report concludes that
A habitable, equal 21st century is materially possible. What stands in the way is not technical impossibility but political choice and the hard but crucial work of building a coalition behind it.
I think that’s a worthy goal to keep in the back of our minds as we proceed with the daily work of building the infrastructure for this new world; every election is a chance to get us a little closer, by electing the kind of people who understand the need for this kind of compression of wealth.
But the infrastructure is the part we can do something about right now, and on that score there’s some equal mix of encouraging maddening news, all of it again on a large scale.
On the one hand, our farcical war in the Gulf continues to serve as the recruiting sergeant for the renewable revolution. As a Bloomberg team reports in a long and important essay, the Gulf War has been “Asia’s Ukraine”:
About two hours from Manila there’s a solar power plant capable of powering 60,000 homes. Surrounded by fields growing okra and eggplant, it had been sitting idle since August, waiting for a connection to the grid—stuck in a queue just like many other renewable energy facilities around the world as power networks struggle to catch up with rising electricity demand.
Then the Iran war cut off the Philippines’ supply of imported liquefied natural gas. Immediately, the government cut fuel taxes and offered free bus rides to the public. Then a few weeks later, as the Strait of Hormuz remained blocked, officials began deploying policies toward a deeper, more structural plan to reduce the country’s dependence on fossil fuels.
One strategy was to fast track more than 30 renewable plants by the end of April. One of those was that 125-megawatt solar plant, built by Citicore Renewable Energy Corp, which is now supplying clean energy to the grid. It is “good timing,” said Joselito Ernst Cañete, operations manager at Citicore, just as electricity demand increases to power air conditioners during the peak summer months.
What happened in the Philppines isn’t an isolated example. With their energy supplies threatened, countries across Asia and Europe have chosen to speed up deployment of renewables and electrification.
Meanwhile, the cheerful solar guru Danny Kennedy chimed in from a conference in Singapore where he found the Western politicians and analysts way behind the Asian curve. I will quote from his account at some length because it’s important:
Philippines. After declaring a national energy emergency in March, the government activated a whole-of-government mandate for energy security. Regulatory bottlenecks for renewables are being dismantled. Rooftop solar inquiries are up 500% since the crisis began. This is not a green ambition. This is a survival response.
Vietnam. The country has revised its power development plan, targeting a minimum of 47% renewable electricity generation by 2030. Vietnam is already the region’s largest EV market, and its government has expanded EV tax incentives in direct response to the Iran War’s impact on fuel prices. HSBC recently extended $4 billion in clean-tech financing to Chinese firms, much of it flowing into EV and solar exports to Vietnam and ASEAN.
Indonesia. Beyond the factory I visited in Batam, the government is engineering a broad fiscal shift—expanding EV incentives with a target of 2 million electric cars and 12 million electric two-wheelers on the road by 2030. With the world’s largest nickel reserves, Indonesia is positioning itself to replace diesel imports with a domestic battery ecosystem. The logic is national sovereignty as much as climate policy. We’ve also talked about their 100GW solar archipelago plans.
Thailand. Advanced its net zero target by 15 full years, to 2050. Solar generation surged 72% in 2025. The country is adding 50 GW of renewables and 14 GW of energy storage by 2037. A major 1 GW module supply deal between China’s GCL-SI and Thailand’s Getz Energy was just signed to support that buildout.
Singapore itself. Already scaled solar to 1.7 GW and is executing multi-gigawatt cross-border subsea clean electricity cables from Indonesia, Cambodia, and Vietnam—with a requirement that developers bundle storage at origin for 24/7 firm power delivery. Singapore, to its credit, is acting. The conference, perhaps, just needed a bigger window.
We already know China and India—the two largest energy consumers in Asia—reached a historic tipping point together in 2025. For the first time, fossil fuel generation fell in both countries simultaneously: China down 0.9%, India down 3.3%. These are not small numbers. These are inflection points.
And yet even as this good news is happening, the Chinese are also beginning to shutter many of the solar panel factories that are at the heart of this revolution, because they’re not making enough money. This is, on the hand, understandable, and on the other entirely maddening—these factories are the single most important industrial asset on Earth—they are factories for lowering the temperature of the Earth. As readers are doubtless painfully aware, I’ve been beating this drum for a good long while, but I’m glad to see others joining in. Adam Tooze, the interesting bricoleur in charge of the Chartbook newsletter, wrote in the FT this week, it would be understandable if we were talking about some mundane commodity like cement:
But solar panels? Since when were solar panels just another commodity? They are a technological miracle. They make us into farmers of the sun. For the past half century, research labs around the world, starting in the 1970s with NASA spin-offs and the big US energy research push under Jimmy Carter, have been straining to reach this point. Together with batteries, which are also rapidly approaching the point of excess supply, they are the key to a sustainable future.
As Tooze points out, it cost China very little in subsidies ($18 billion) to build this behemoth (though one should probably add in the subsidies that, say, Germany provided to its citizens to buy the early models, underwriting the startup of China’s engineering miracle).
I’ve long argued that on a rational world, trying everything it could to head off the worst of global warming, we would “globalize” these factories, running them 24/7 and then piling up the panels on every railroad siding and wharf on the planet so that people could come take them away. This would be, I think, a backdoor way of achieving a fair amount of what Piketty has in mind, far messier than his global scheme but somewhat more plausible. By some calculations, 10 years production from those plants would produce enough panels to provide all the power the world currently uses.
If my sense that the coming El Niño will revive the world’s focus on the climate crisis—well, this is the easiest possible route forward. And it comes not just with more power, but with different power. Elon Musk may be rushing his IPO for data centers in space or whatever the heck he’s currently selling, but some of us will hole up here on Earth, quite sufficient with the solar panels in our yards.
"Barbed wire cannot silence people," said one conservationist. "A protected landscape of global importance is under attack, and people are demanding an end to the devastation."
As President Donald Trump's son-in-law Jared Kushner moves forward with plans to build a luxury resort on one of the last untouched parts of the Mediterranean coast, thousands of Albanians have taken to the streets in protest.
On Tuesday evening, a throng gathered outside the office of Albanian Prime Minister Edi Rama in the capital Tirana, holding inflatable flamingos and signs reading "Nation is not for sale" and "I don't want Albania like Dubai," Reuters reported.
Kushner's investment firm, Affinity Partners, is seeking to build a €1.4 billion ($1.6 billion) resort on the uninhabited island of Sazan and around 10,000 hotel rooms and villas along a stretch of coastline near the protected wetland of Vjosa-Narta.
According to BirdLife International:
The area shelters over 70 endangered species and more than 200 bird species, including flamingos and Dalmatian pelicans. It sits on the Adriatic Flyway, a critical migration corridor for millions of birds traveling between Africa and Europe each year. The surrounding waters are among the last Mediterranean refuges for the Mediterranean monk seal, one of the world’s most endangered marine mammals, and a key nesting ground for the loggerhead sea turtle.
In February 2024, Albania's parliament amended its protected areas law to allow the development of luxury resorts. Just weeks later, Kushner announced plans to build in Albania, which spurred an investigation by anti-corruption prosecutors.
Kushner himself has not been accused of any wrongdoing, but protesters view the construction of the sprawling complex as a symbol of the country being sold out to powerful oligarchs without their consent.
"We have a protected area, but above all, our state has allowed construction work to continue without consultation and without transparency," said Klajdi Belo, an activist who attended a demonstration on Monday, told Euronews.
Activists have said bulldozers have begun tearing through the coastline and gravel has already been dumped on age-old sand dunes—damage that could take hundreds of years to repair. Meanwhile, a large barbed-wire fence has been erected, blocking public access to the beach.
Over the weekend, protesters assembled outside the barricades surrounding the development near the coastal village of Zvërnec.
"Don't defend the oligarchs!" one man was seen shouting into a megaphone. "Those are the citizens' properties!"
During these protests, a video captured an activist being dragged along the ground by a group of black-shirted security contractors.
"There is great public outrage over what is happening in Albania, but the spark was what happened in Zvërnec," said Arilda Lleshi, who said the man and others were there because they were "protesting against a fence that had been installed there illegally."
As activists have called for heavy machines to be removed from the protected area, Rama has said no amount of public backlash will lead him to abandon the project.
"Under no circumstances do we receive the stigma of being a country where investors are met with hostility," he said in a statement to Reuters. "There is absolutely no chance that the investment will stop as long as I am here."
Anouk Puymartin, head of policy for BirdLife Europe and Central Asia, said that it's not just the habitat of endangered species at stake, but the question of whether longstanding environmental protections can be shredded at the whim of the wealthy.
"Barbed wire cannot silence people. Thousands have taken to the streets of Tirana to defend Vjosa-Narta from destruction driven by private profit," Puymartin said. "A protected landscape of global importance is under attack, and people are demanding an end to the devastation."
Ivanka Trump, the US president's daughter and Kushner's wife, has come under scrutiny for her comments about the development project recently, which were blasted as "out of touch."
In a recent interview, the Trump heiress described being inspired to purchase the island of Sazan while vacationing there years ago: “We were on a friend’s boat, and we stopped for a swim. Effectively, that’s how we found it. We swam to the islands. We went on a hike, barefoot all the way, up to the top. And we were just captivated.”
She described the project of developing the island as part of an effort to "help realize its potential" and described it as "the culmination of all of my experience in real estate, all of my travel, a lot of reflection on how I want to live."
But Puymartin describes the project as an encroachment by private wealth onto land that was previously held for the benefit of everyone.
"Nature belongs to everyone, not a handful of investors," she said. "The horrendous situation in Vjosa-Narta shows why laws are crucial to protect both people and nature. But those protections mean little if governments fail to uphold them."
Farmers in California's San Joaquin Valley need enough support to turn a forced transition into a livable one, where they can afford to retire acres while still keeping a foothold in agriculture and in their communities.
Until three years ago, AW, who requested that only his initials be used for identification purposes, was an almond farmer. Now, he’s a grass farmer. AW farms in Tulare County, California, the heart of the San Joaquin Valley and California’s most productive agricultural region, the source of more than half of the produce the nation consumes. Five years ago, he was growing almonds across his 300 acres, a profitable crop that sold at a high value on the market. Now, he’s growing cover crop, a mix of various grasses intended to keep the soil on his land healthy, but that doesn’t bring in income anywhere close to what AW was making when he was growing almonds.
Why did AW make this switch? Not out of choice, but out of necessity. California agriculture is tied to the Sustainable Groundwater Management Act (SGMA), a bill passed in 2014 with the goal of reducing groundwater overdraft throughout the state, an agriculture-driven environmental hazard that is depleting aquifers and causing subsidence. The main tension behind SGMA is that the act is expected to cause between 500,000 to 1 million acres of San Joaquin Valley agricultural land to come out of production before 2040, and the act does not come with a built-in support system to help farmers figure out what to do with their land when agriculture is no longer an option. Neither SGMA nor the Valley farmers who it’s hurting the most are at fault—farmers are simply employing decades old agricultural practices to meet national food demand and SGMA is simply trying to preserve the state’s water resources.
AW is one of the first farmers to feel the impacts of SGMA fully realized on his land. SGMA, although passed more than a decade ago, is just now taking hold across the state, and farmers are now faced with the difficult choice of farming under restrictions and the potential of facing fines, or not farming at all. The state’s agricultural economy is at a major influx point—how farmers, communities, organizations, and the government react to the challenges that are about to descend onto this region will influence how the agricultural industry survives and takes shape for the coming decades.
In the media and in public conversation, farmers are often portrayed as anti-environmental, shortsighted, and profit driven. But through interviews I conducted with over 30 San Joaquin Valley farmers about their experiences with SGMA, I found something different: people confronting extreme change, often alone, trying to make difficult decisions for the good of their families, their business, land, and their futures. Almost every farmer I spoke to described feelings of isolation as neighbors compete for water and limited state funding, and as collaboration and trust erode. Outside of a handful of small pools of money and technical assistance that have been rolled out by the California state government, there has been lacking wide-scale institutional support for farmers seeking to change land uses.
If we give people like AW the tools and backing to make this shift, the San Joaquin Valley can move from a story of loss to a blueprint for how rural communities across the country can adapt to a hotter, drier future.
To fill this void, California requires the scaling up of solutions that will help farmers remain in the agricultural industry while taking advantage of this wide-scale shift in the agricultural landscape to increase sustainability and prioritize the environment in their decisions and actions. Organizations based in the region, such as The Nature Conservancy, River Partners, and Sequoia Riverlands Trust, are working on a small scale to do just that.
These organizations aim to protect and preserve both habitat and agriculture in the San Joaquin Valley region while helping farmers navigate the landscape of SGMA. They work on habitat restoration projects, assisting farmers with conservation easements, and are constantly innovating on how to make certain solutions more economically viable for farmers. Alongside academic research partners, these research organizations are also exploring how to make certain aspects of agriculture more viable, such as an expansion of regenerative agriculture in the region, which would offer a path forward that ties farmers’ livelihoods to rebuilding soil, recharging groundwater, and restoring habitat and turning today’s crisis into a long-term investment in a healthier, more resilient food system. This work serves as a model of the support systems that need to be wheeled out at a much larger scale in order for farmers, the economy, and the environment to thrive under this set of new regulations. Its spirit of collective undertaking is exactly what the San Joaquin Valley needs now as it navigates the upheaval of SGMA.
What AW needs to help him navigate his transition from farming almonds is what the Valley needs: enough support to turn a forced transition into a livable one, where farmers can afford to retire acres while still keeping a foothold in agriculture and in their communities. That will require sustained investment in on-the-ground organizations, dedicated funding for land transition and habitat restoration, and policies that treat farmers not as villains, but as partners in reshaping one of America’s most important food-producing regions. If we give people like AW the tools and backing to make this shift, the San Joaquin Valley can move from a story of loss to a blueprint for how rural communities across the country can adapt to a hotter, drier future, bringing with them the promise of sustainability.
Tossing out the trash is something you’re just supposed to do, no questions asked, at least if you want to live a normal, respected life. But what if you're missing something wondrous?
Hey, want to read a poem with me? Warning: It opens several disturbing doors, the least disturbing of which is the “crazy old coot” part, i.e., me. Once you start getting lost in the paradoxes of life, you need to watch out. They could start coming after you.
But more disturbing is the paradox itself, which is both environmental and spiritual. And it’s right there on my front lawn. The life I’ve been given—the lives we’ve been given—are partially disposable, apparently. Mostly I took this for granted, but suddenly one summer afternoon, as I was pushing my hand mower up and down the lawn, something shifted in me. I started feeling... reverence for garbage? Tossing out the trash is something you’re just supposed to do, no questions asked, at least if you want to live a normal, respected life. Doubting this could be a tad problematic.
The poem is called “Buddha’s Lawn.” I wrote it a decade ago. Back when I still had a lawn to mow.
I mow the lawn and feel gratitude
my neighbors
haven’t pigeonholed me as a crazy old coot.
I’m stalled in my transition
from a lifestyle and sense of order based on
killing things,
like weeds, mice, whatever,
to one based on reverence for all stuff,
however weird.
It’s a cool day but
I work up a sweat.
On the lawn, I pick up a shred
of burst red balloon, a used napkin,
a transparent plastic juice container.
This stuff is all just litter
and the weeds are still weeds.
If I really let myself
see them differently,
I’d be the crazy neighbor, right?
Well, sorry (I apologize to myself.) I can’t help it. Once the door opens and a ray of awareness shines in, burst balloons, tossed straws, plastic grocery bags, discarded pop bottles, etc., etc., aren’t what they used to be. There’s an inner awareness that won’t go away. You might call it “litteracy”—an awareness of what happens next.
For instance, according to the Center for Biological Diversity: “In the first decade of this century, we made more plastic than all the plastic in history up to the year 2000. And every year, billions of pounds of more plastic end up in the world’s oceans. Studies estimate there are now 15-51 trillion pieces of plastic in the world’s oceans—from the equator to the poles, from Arctic ice sheets to the sea floor. Not one square mile of surface ocean anywhere on Earth is free of plastic pollution...”
The analysis goes on:
Thousands of animals, from small finches to blue whales, die grisly deaths from eating and getting caught in plastic...
Hundreds of thousands of seabirds ingest plastic every year. Plastic ingestion reduces the storage volume of the stomach, causing starvation. It’s estimated that 60% of all seabird species have eaten pieces of plastic, with that number predicted to increase to 99% by 2050. Dead seabirds are often found with stomachs full of plastic, reflecting how the amount of garbage in our oceans has rapidly increased in the past 40 years...
Dead whales have been found with bellies full of plastic.
I can’t dismiss this with a shrug... just toss the plastic in the trash and go on mowing my lawn, being normal. I start to stare with curiosity and wonderment at the litter. And this is where the old coot starts looking, or at least feeling, crazy, at least until his sense of awareness expands: “The word ‘garbage’ means a resource nobody is smart enough to use yet.”
Hmmm. Really? I quoted these words in a column I wrote in 2013. Called (I kid you not) “Reverence for Garbage,” it talks abouts the documentary Landfill Harmonic, about a Paraguayan village built on a landfill. Reclaiming and reselling the trash was the residents’ primary means of survival. But they did something else as well. Inspired by a local musician, the residents also started making musical instruments out of the trash: “violins and cellos from oil drums, flutes from water pipes and spoons, guitars from packing crates.”
Real instruments were beyond expensive, far more costly than anyone there could afford. But children in the village learned to play the instruments hand-crafted from the landfill trash. And what was worthless became heavenly.
Is there a larger cultural takeaway pulsating in this story? Could it be that we value too little of our own planet? I wonder if maybe.. maybe... we should begin crumpling up our certainties and tossing them in the trash.
Trump’s tariffs are not a departure from business as usual; they are an extension of it and will overwhelmingly benefit the world’s financial elite.
Global trade systems are not free, nor are they neutral. They were built to facilitate capital transfer and to transfer wealth upward—benefiting the rich while harming workers worldwide. This arrangement can feel too big, too abstract, and too disconnected from our experience. For these reasons, and as a sociologist across decades and schools, I have facilitated this race to the bottom activity to help students understand the problems inherent to our complex global reality.
In the Transnational Capital Auction: A Game of Survival simulation, students role play as leaders of countries with less wealth than GDP leading nation states. They are instructed that they rely on trade and economic development from wealthier countries such as the United States and powerful transnational corporations.
Capital flight occurs when transnational corporations move their factory or industry from one geographical area to another in order to seek better conditions for their bottom line, profits, or for shareholders. These moves highlight the antagonism between the working class and the owning class. For example, in the activity, teams gain points when they satisfy corporate demands: being lax on child labor laws and environmental regulations, maintaining a low minimum wage and corporate tax rate, and suppressing unionization of workers. This is not just a game with hypothetical conditions, it is a microcosm which echoes real-world socioeconomic and political dynamics.
Rather than denying our power and privilege in order to justify more bad behavior, we need to do our part to realign around policies that are internationally, socially, and environmentally sustainable.
We have seen this play out domestically and internationally. Sociologists have documented how corporations leave the United States to go to places more favorable to capital. For example, when an area develops unions, industry can flee to what it considers a safer space for business. In this way, capital for transnational corporations can accumulate faster when workers’ rights and environmental policy is lax. These conditions have led to countless deaths, especially among women and people of color, and have fueled global climate destabilization. These corporations are helped by policies and loopholes such as international tax havens like Nauru.
The human cost of this system is staggering. Body-catching nets were installed around Foxconn buildings because workers were unaliving themselves by jumping off their job site. Women, including mothers, leave their families and countries in order to work in other locations where the wages are higher.
The unjust arrangements are often complex by design. There are free trade zones or “special economic zones” in places like Jamaica, which allow companies to operate under a different set of laws than the rest of their country—sometimes with fewer worker protections. Meanwhile, local markets neglect or dispose of their natural resources because of the flux of imported goods dictated by trade agreements.
To be sure, the global working class harmed by these lopsided systems includes American workers who have lost their jobs, houses, and communities through capital flight. And yet, American consumers love the low prices these systems enable. The products we rely on—the food, the technology, the entertainment—these things are not created in a vacuum, and they are also not free. We have access to fast fashion and too soon obsolete technologies because people spend their lives working in conditions and receiving wages that we would consider un-American. Yet they are so very American.
The United States is no one’s victim. It helped create the race to the bottom and continues to benefit from its downward spiral. Trump’s narrative, justification, and chaotic enactment of tariffs are more than problematic. They are not a departure from business as usual, they are an extension of it and will overwhelmingly benefit the world’s financial elite.
Change is needed. The United States needs to reevaluate its relationship with itself and as part of a global community. We need reciprocal, resilient, and renewable structures in place. We will not get there by the same policies of violence, domination, and extraction that got us to the asymmetrical and disproportionate power that we have now. Rather than denying our power and privilege in order to justify more bad behavior, we need to do our part to realign around policies that are internationally, socially, and environmentally sustainable. We can all start by reflecting on our personal commodity chains, which tether us to global enterprise and its bottom rungs.
As disasters become more frequent and politics destabilizes, it feels more important than ever to live connected to other people.
This spring my husband and I are moving three tenths of a mile and 200 years back in time.
We are moving from our super-energy-efficient, passive solar home built in 2001 to a farmhouse built in 1800. (And looking for someone to buy the cozy green home we raised our family in. Check it out here and spread the word!) We are excited to have more space to share with extended family. And, we will have a project on our hands! Regaining some of the features we are leaving behind—heat pumps, PV, a composting toilet, and more—will take time. A fun and satisfying challenge we hope!
The great news is that we will still be part of the experiment we have participated in for almost 30 years: Cobb Hill Cohousing, a multi-generational community of 23 families in Vermont’s Connecticut River Valley. The house we are moving to is located within Cobb Hill, just a bit further from the cluster of houses we’ve called home.
We will still share 280 acres of farm and forest and participate in community celebrations and decision-making. We’ll still have neighbors to help and to rely on. We’ll still have maple syrup, eggs, flowers, herbs, vegetables, milk, and cheese all produced by our neighbors on our shared land. We’ll have learning companions to navigate alongside in an increasingly destabilized world.
No one knows how to live sustainably and equitably in our current society or how to prepare for coming climate shocks. So we need to learn. And learning is faster with more minds in the mix.
A big move like ours prompts reflection. We had to move, but we didn’t want to go anywhere else. Here are six reasons that came to mind when we paused to ask ourselves why.
Cobb Hill isn’t the only way to find these six things, thank goodness. You’ll find them in smaller groups and larger ones, in cities, in the tropics, on the coast. In this time of transition and reflection in my own family, I hope that knowing they exist in one place might make it easier for you to imagine (or create) them elsewhere, too.
The nearly $4.7 billion in International Finance Corporation trade finance commitments that may have supported fossil fuel-related projects in 2023 is a telltale example.
Since assuming office, World Bank President Ajay Banga has pursued a clear agenda: mobilize vast amounts of private capital in service of the bank’s goal to end poverty on a livable planet. There are many valid criticisms of this approach, but none speaks louder than a deeper look into the World Bank’s own private sector arm, the International Finance Corporation, or IFC, and its dealings.
Urgewald’s research on IFC trade finance in Financial Year (FY) 2022 and FY2023 shows just how slippery the private sector slope can be. Indeed, the IFC trade finance program’s alarming developments exemplify the World Bank’s overall trajectory: throwing good money after bad, neglecting environmental and social standards, and prioritizing private profit over public well-being.
From FY2017 to 2023, the IFC trade finance portfolio saw a hefty 86% increase. In FY2023, trade finance amounted to 58% of the IFC’s total portfolio. (Trade finance refers to a range of financial instruments and services designed to facilitate international trade. It provides liquidity and risk mitigation for exporters and importers, enabling transactions that might otherwise not be viable. Instruments such as letters of credit, guarantees, and working capital loans ensure that buyers and sellers can engage in global trade with reduced financial risks.)
The private sector’s profit orientation is incompatible with the World Bank Group’s public service mandate.
While the sums for trade finance are growing exponentially, the checks and norms for their disbursal are stagnating. The environmental and social standards that apply to trade finance have not been updated for at least a decade, and financial flows are shrouded in mystery.
The stated goal of ending poverty on a livable planet presupposes transparency, accountability and sustainability. And yet the meteoric rise of IFC trade finance transactions in recent years comes with opacity, outright unwillingness to disclose basic information about individual transactions, and the long shadow of fossil fuel favoritism.
So, what’s the number? In FY2023, $4.7 billion, or nearly one-third of total IFC trade finance commitments, may have supported fossil fuel-related projects. This figure represents a 28% increase compared to FY2022.
The Global Trade Finance Program (GTFP) alone accounted for $3.7 billion of possible oil and gas-related financing, 41.7% of its total commitments. Transparency issues persist as the IFC fails to disclose detailed information about specific trade transactions and beneficiaries.
The World Bank Group’s own Independent Evaluation Group (IEG) indicates that in the past, significant shares of IFC trade finance investments went into fossil fuel financing, particularly in Africa (50%) and the Middle East (28%).
The dangerous trend of enabling fossil fuel transactions in fragile countries expands when we look at the IFC Private Sector Window (PSW). It was established in 2017 to encourage private sector investments in high-risk, low-income countries, particularly in IDA-designated regions. The PSW provides risk-sharing mechanisms and facilitates trade finance and other investments that might otherwise be deemed too risky. Between FY2020 and FY2024, $1.03 billion, or about a quarter of PSW approvals, were allocated to trade finance projects. These funds enabled $5.1 billion in trade finance, underscoring the PSW’s leveraged impact.
This fivefold impact, however, remains controversial. Despite its commitment to sustainable development, the PSW lacks exclusion criteria for fossil fuels. Thus, it allows for investments in oil and gas. Transparency remains a significant issue, and information about specific projects and the traded commodities is sparse. PSW-supported trade finance’s environmental and developmental impacts are questionable at best.
Many of these problems precede President Banga’s tenure. However, it is vital to highlight and address them now because his laser focus on mobilizing private capital is likely to exacerbate the issues highlighted above. The private sector’s profit orientation is incompatible with the World Bank Group’s public service mandate. The IFC’s growing trade finance portfolio highlights the organization’s critical role in shaping global trade. The significant share of fossil fuel commitments in that portfolio undermines the World Bank Group’s mission of fostering sustainable development.
To align with international climate objectives, the IFC must adopt urgent reforms to enhance transparency; exclude harmful investments; and prioritize clean, fair, decentralized renewable energy—especially in poor and high-risk regions of the world that need them most. To better align the PSW with its mission, the allocation of Private Sector Window funds should prioritize renewable energy and sustainable development projects. Additionally, stringent exclusion criteria and improved reporting standards should ensure greater accountability and alignment with climate and social goals.
These changes are clearly at odds with President Banga’s agenda, and yet only through them can the World Bank Group stay true to its noble goals.
Any and all necessary steps will be taken with the goal of bending the arc of history toward justice, no matter how slow and painful the process.
EXECUTIVE ACTION
January 23, 2025
ESTABLISHING BEST PRACTICES FOR MAINTAINING SANITY AND A SENSE OF INTEGRITY OVER THE COMING YEARS OF THE REPUBLICAN ADMINISTRATION AND BEYOND
WHEREAS, in light of the vindictive tone; short-sighted, self-serving orders; and dangerous, ill-advised decisions expressed by the incoming President, it is essential that there be maintained, to the degree to which I can control, in my own being, household, community, and society, a level of mindfulness, well-being, consideration, kindness, and integrity, enabling behavior and actions in alignment with the highest standards of civil discourse with respect for ourselves, our democracy, human rights, and equitable treatment and opportunity for all those in our country and abroad:
NOW, THEREFORE, by virtue of the authority vested in me as a Thinking Human Being and U.S. Citizen by Birthright, and by the Constitution and the statutes of the United States,
I DECLARE THE FOLLOWING:
1. ANY AND ALL NECESSARY STEPS WILL BE TAKEN with the goal of bending the arc of history toward justice, no matter how slow and painful the process, to address and reproach, immediately and clearly, all who mistreat, emotionally, verbally, or physically, others on the basis of age, racial or gender identity, or sexual preference; and protect those who may be victimized, whether as individuals or on an institutional level, by such behaviors; to speak truth to power by communicating regularly with legislators and executive branch staff and to vote in all elections for candidates who uphold my values; to avoid and discredit unverified news sources; to limit exposure to social media, with immediate and complete withdrawal from negative and innaccurate feeds and posts, while employing it to be a voice for peace, human rights, and environmental sustainability; to consciously reduce energy consumption by employing all available means including bicycling for transportation and by limiting my use of fossil fuels; to actively contribute to the betterment of the local community by volunteering and spreading kindness; and, to avoid partaking in the unnecessary consumer consumption that fuels the country’s wealth gap while directing resources toward just and appropriate uses.
2. OPPORTUNITIES SHALL BE CREATED AND PRIORITIZED for self-care, reflection, and creativity that will allow for physical and emotional health and sustainability over the course of time. These opportunities may include, but are not limited to: processing and releasing feelings appropriately rather than acting on them; taking long walks; enjoying talking with, visiting, and supporting friends and family; eating (limited amounts of) chocolate; making art; caring for and playing with children and animals; actively appreciating and nurturing the earth; and traveling.
This policy dictates that all proposed thoughts and actions be based in nonviolence and respect for all beings, with no requirement for or expectation to respect ideas and policies that are hurtful to others. These actions shall go into effect immediately, with due regard for the urgent nature of the matter, and the necessary time and energy required to maintain a sense of humor and maintain morale.
ADDENDUM: In the future, I shall refer to my high school alma mater (McKinley High School) as Denali High School and the wetland next to my trailer park as The Gulf of Justice.
As the world’s climate leaders discuss ambitious goals in Azerbaijan, Motaz’s trees are proof that climate action and social justice can begin in the most unexpected places.
As delegates gather for COP29 to discuss global climate commitments, there’s a man in the West Bank who knows almost nothing of policy numbers, carbon targets, or finance pledges. But if anyone should be a delegate it’s him. Sunburned and weathered, farmer Motaz Bisharat is deeply rooted to his 2.5-acre plot of green. Here on his small patch of land, Motaz fights two battles with simple tools—soil, sweat, and 250 olive trees. The trees do more than sustain his family—they hold the line against both encroaching occupation and a changing climate.
Six years ago, Motaz began a quiet experiment: Could a Palestinian farmer with scarce resources bring the ideals of sustainability to a landscape scarred by both climate change and occupation? With help from the Palestinian Farmers Union (PFU), Motaz planted the region’s first Freedom Farm—250 olive trees, fenced for protection and irrigated in the dry summer months. A bit of hope, planted in the ground, as Motaz says.
It sounds simple—plant, irrigate, protect—but nothing is easy in the West Bank. Water allocation is starkly unequal: Settlers nearby have swimming pools while Motaz rations every drop. Electricity is forbidden; even a shaded shelter is not allowed—hence, his sunburn. Fertilizers, equipment, and market access are often blocked by checkpoints, turning basic tasks into grueling ordeals. And violence looms—this year alone, settlers destroyed over 4,000 Palestinian olive trees. In total, over 2.5 million trees have been uprooted, a devastating toll on the land and lives connected to it.
Sometimes, when peace feels like an abstraction, the best thing you can do is plant.
This is what it’s like farming under the occupation. So when the Palestinian Farmers Union proposed a trial new farm, Motaz thought: Y’Allah, let’s see what happens. In a single day, they planted his farm, connected a waterline under cover of night, and built a path to make it accessible. They named it a “Freedom Farm.”
They named it well. In the West Bank, farming isn’t just a livelihood—it’s a nonviolent defense of land. An Ottoman-era law allows Israel to claim any fallow land as “state land” for settlements and military outposts. For farmers like Motaz, letting the land go unplanted means possibly losing it forever, but planted land stays in Palestinian hands. His olive trees are a bulwark—that last line of nonviolent defense.
As if politics weren’t enough, there’s also the matter of the climate. The West Bank is changing rapidly, with hotter summers, longer droughts, and erratic rainfall. A recent PFU report underscores what farmers already know: Reduced crop yields, water scarcity, and soil degradation are now the new normal. Yet olive trees are built for this challenge. They drink less water than most fruit trees, shrug off drought, and stand their ground against fire. Basically, they’re climate warriors. And as they grow, these trees quietly sequester carbon—18,000 pounds per year on Motaz’s farm alone. Over their 500 year lifespan, they’ll absorb 9 million pounds of carbon.
Today, Motaz’s saplings have grown into 10-foot trees heavy with olives. This year, he expects to harvest over 1,000 pounds, which he will press into oil and sell locally. With his young daughter, Shaam, wrapped snugly on his back, Motaz moves from tree to tree, gathering olives that will sustain his family through the year.
His experiment has grown into a movement. The once barren area surrounding Motaz’s farm now hosts 15 other farms, inspired by his effort—a green, one-mile circle of resilience. Across the West Bank, this momentum continues to build as Treedom for Palestine, in partnership with the Palestinian Farmers Union, brings this vision to life. These farms offer more than food and economic stability; they form a fragile network of survival in a landscape where both occupation and climate change conspire against peace. Today, over 70 Freedom Farms dot the landscape, but the need for more is urgent.
Sometimes, when peace feels like an abstraction, the best thing you can do is plant.
As the world’s climate leaders discuss ambitious goals in Azerbaijan, Motaz’s trees are proof that climate action and social justice can begin in the most unexpected places. These trees will live longer than he will. They don’t know borders, race, or politics. They quietly root in shared soil, clean the air, pass nutrients to one another through underground networks. In so many ways, these trees are a glimpse of who we might yet become—a world bound together, quietly connecting, quietly sustaining one another, anchored by hope and the strength to endure.
In the meantime, Motaz and his trees are teaching us all a profound lesson: When your roots go deep, you can weather almost anything.