As the 30th United Nations Climate Change Conference (COP30) convenes in Belém, Brazil, the gateway to the Amazon rainforest, the global spotlight turned yet again to climate action. Yet, amid the ceremonial pledges and high-profile announcements, a critical question remained: will the voices of the Global South be genuinely heard, or will they be drowned in the rhetoric of the wealthy North?
For decades, the perspectives of industrialized nations have been given disproportionate weight in climate discussions, while countries of the Global South have been regarded merely as beneficiaries. Yet, only 1% of decision-makers represent wealthy nations in these forums, and still they set the rules, determine financing, and dictate the technologies that others must follow. This persistent inequality constitutes modern climate colonialism, where countries that once established colonies continue to dictate the adaptation strategies for those who are most affected yet least responsible.
Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o’s seminal work, Decolonizing the Mind, reminds us that language and cultural expression are fundamental instruments of power and identity. Similarly, in climate governance, the frameworks, terminology, and metrics of carbon accounting, “net-zero” pledges, and resilience indices often reflect Northern priorities and epistemologies, marginalizing the knowledge, practices, and lived experiences of Southern communities. When adaptation is framed exclusively through a Northern lens, it risks becoming top-down imposition rather than locally relevant action.
The Global South, however, offers lessons that transcend technical adaptation. For instance, in Bangladesh’s Barind Tract, community seed banks preserve indigenous rice varieties resilient to drought. Self-taught farmers like Nur Mohammad have developed drought-tolerant rice that withstands extreme conditions. In Rajshahi, low-carbon clay stoves constructed by local craftspeople such as Kabul Jan demonstrate sustainable innovation rooted in local knowledge. Women-led adaptation committees in agroecology and coastal agricultural learning centers led by farmers like Alpana Rani in Sathkhira, showcase locally-driven strategies that safeguard both biodiversity and cultural heritage.
These examples illustrate that true climate adaptation succeeds only when it is locally led. Ignoring local knowledge and cultural heritage is not only unethical; it is counterproductive. The call for decolonizing climate action must therefore go beyond rhetoric; it must recognize the expertise and leadership of those who live with climate change every day. Only then can adaptation strategies be effective, sustainable, and just.
Global South nations continue to conceal responsibility behind “net-zero” and “carbon neutrality” claims while offloading the financial and operational burden of adaptation onto Southern countries. Institutions such as the World Bank and IMF promote resilience and sustainability models that, although framed as progressive, often replicate colonial dynamics—treating Southern communities as experimental subjects rather than equal partners. The result is a perpetuation of dependency, cultural erosion, and environmental degradation.
Climate justice cannot be envisioned without recognizing local languages, epistemologies, and cultural identities, the same insight that Ngũgĩ emphasized for literature and thought. In the context of climate action, this means respecting farmers’ knowledge, Indigenous practices, and community-led innovations as the central pillar of global solutions.
As Rina Mahali, an Indigenous woman farmer from Varendra, profoundly said, “If our seeds are lost, we lose our soul.” Her statement encapsulates the essence of climate justice: it is not merely about carbon emissions; it is about survival, identity, and cultural continuity.
Decolonizing climate action is not a North-South confrontation; it is a moral imperative. Until decision-making tables center the experiences of those most affected, global commitments will remain hollow. The people of Bangladesh, Africa, and the Pacific islands are not passive victims; they are teachers of the climate crisis, and their leadership offers the blueprint for a decolonized, just, and sustainable world.
