07/04/2020

As Himalayas Warm, Nepal’s Climate Migrants Struggle To Survive

New York Times - Bhadra Sharma | Kai Schultz | Photographs Rebecca Conway

Pushed out of their village by a drought and lack of food, a group of Nepalis are fighting to amplify the voices of those forced to relocate by the planet’s warming.

Most families in the Himalayan village of Dhye, Nepal, have left in recent years as the land has gone dry.

DHYE, Nepal — High in the Himalayas, on a rugged plateau dotted with empty mud huts, an exodus has begun.

In the village of Dhye, crops are stubby, dead stalks. Water is scarce. The only school closed a few years ago. With dwindling food, most families have packed their belongings and left, driven out by a faceless, man-made enemy.

They are Nepal’s climate-change migrants, and there will be more.

“I love this village,” said Sonam Chhiring Gurung, 76, one of the final holdouts, “but I can’t survive here much longer.”

Climate change is remaking the Himalayan region, putting at risk millions of South Asians who depend on its water resources and pushing mountain dwellers in northern Nepal, home to the world’s highest peaks, to build new settlements at lower altitudes.

Glacial melt has accelerated in the 1,500-mile-long Himalayas. Land once used for growing vegetables has become barren. Yak herders say they are struggling to find grazing patches for their animals. Scientists have found that rising temperatures could spread malaria and dengue to new areas of the Himalayas, where mosquitoes have started to appear in the highlands.

Sonam Chhiring Gurung, 76, is one of Dhye’s few residents now. “I love this village, but I can’t survive here much longer,” he said.

Around the world, tens of millions of people have already been displaced as a result of a warming planet. Researchers estimate that the number of climate-change migrants — those fleeing natural disasters, droughts or other calamities — could reach a billion by the end of the century.

South Asians are among the most vulnerable. Last year, after an unusually weak monsoon, water nearly ran out in Chennai, one of India’s biggest cities. In Bangladesh, up to 18 million people face displacement by 2050 from sea rise alone, according to the Environmental Justice Foundation. Extreme heat is making people sicker and poorer, and could sharply diminish the living standards of 800 million people in the region if goals for mitigating climate change are not met.

Warmer Himalayas could have disastrous consequences for the subcontinent.

Last year, in one of the most complete studies on mountain warming, scientists warned that even if the world’s most ambitious climate change targets were met, at least one-third of Himalayan glaciers would melt by the end of the century.

If global warming and greenhouse gas emissions continue at their current rates, the region could lose two-thirds of its glaciers by 2100, according to the report, the Hindu Kush Himalaya Assessment.

“In the long term, the impacts will be profound for hundreds of millions of people in the plains,” said David Molden, the director general of the International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development in Kathmandu. “If we overlay significantly changed rain and river flow patterns, it will be a mess for people depending on Asia’s big rivers for irrigation and drinking water.”

Collecting pond water in Dhye last month, where supplies are increasingly scarce. With so many people’s livelihoods dependent on agriculture, the lack of water seems an insoluble problem.

In a country where nearly 70 percent of people work in agriculture, an acceleration in extreme weather may “reverse and undermine decades of development gains and potentially undermine all our efforts to eradicate poverty,” said Ayshanie Medagangoda-Labé, the United Nations Development Program’s representative for Nepal.

“Nepal is ground zero for the impacts of climate change,” she said. “As a country with one of the most fragile ecosystems — the Himalayas — and an economy that is heavily reliant on favorable climate conditions, Nepal is probably one of the most exposed.”

Glimpses of a warmer future are everywhere.

In 2016, Nepal’s army drained a lake near Mount Everest after rapid glacial melting threatened to cause a catastrophic flood downstream. A study released last year found that the size of ponds on top of glaciers in the region — which can both signal melting and accelerate it — had rapidly increased over the past three years, far outpacing the rate of change from the first decade and a half of the 2000s.


The number of climate change migrants in Nepal’s Himalayas is unknown, though local officials in mountain towns estimate it to be in the thousands.

Min Bahadur Shahi, a member of the government’s commission for development work, said officials planned to track the impact of warming temperatures for the first time through coming census questions. “Our first priority should be helping those displaced from the climate crisis,” he said.

Take the case of Dhye, in the remote Mustang region of Nepal, about 12,000 feet above sea level.

More than a decade ago, the village’s families gathered for a meeting to ponder a heavy question: Should they stay?

People who left Dhye resettled nearly a mile downhill, near a stream that was still flowing.

They looked around their landscape, a brown, dehydrated expanse that could barely sustain barley anymore. They weighed soil degradation, newly erratic rainfall and fears of starvation against centuries of lived history — the huts they had built with their hands, the pockets of earth where parents had buried each newborn’s umbilical cord.

By the end of the meeting, 17 of 26 families, about 90 people, vowed to leave.

“I couldn’t stay,” said Tsering Lamke Gurung, 54, a village leader and father of eight, four of whom have died. “My children and I were not able to survive from crop failure.”

The leavers have trickled out of Dhye in groups over the past few years. They strapped bundles of food and clothing to their backs and hiked nearly a mile down to the banks of a still-flowing stream. They called their new community Dhye Khola, a local name for the water body.

There were some moments of triumph. One resident sent pictures of the uncultivated land to a French aid agency, which agreed to plant fruit trees in the village and help build sturdier concrete homes for families.

But the longer-term settlement process was fraught, illustrating the challenges migrants face in procuring resources for unrecognized villages where residents have no legal right to the land.

Mr. Gurung, who took the lead in building Dhye Khola, said he approached a former prime minister of Nepal for guidance and aid. He met prominent lawmakers, a Nepal-based leader of the World Wildlife Fund and representatives from foreign embassies.

“They didn’t support us,” Mr. Gurung said. “They wouldn’t help us get a land ownership certificate.”

Sonam Sangma Gurung, one of the residents of the new community, Dhye Khola.

When a government conservation group backed away from its promise of providing apple seedlings for Dhye Khola, Mr. Gurung said he marched into its office and threatened to burn it down. He said the group eventually relented and sent about 275 seedlings.

“To those who say climate change is fake and criticize us for occupying public land, I ask them to come visit our village,” Mr. Gurung said. “I am a victim of climate change.”

Some wondered how long it would take before their next move, pointing out that broader warming trends were impossible to escape.

To protect against flooding during the summer monsoon, residents of Dhye Khola have started building embankments near the stream. They strategized about what to do if their apple orchards were marauded by locals from other struggling villages.

Tsering Bitik Gurung, 52, a farm laborer with a sun-creased face, said the stress was getting to her.

Ms. Gurung, who is not related to Tsering Lamke Gurung, agonized over the recent death of her husband from cancer and her diminishing money. The well near her home has gone dry. She cursed local police officers who prevented her from selling wild herbs in one of the bigger cities — retribution, she said, for villagers’ persistent efforts to get Dhye Khola recognized.

Sitting next to her stove, Ms. Gurung sighed. The apple orchards are bountiful for now, she said, but “our future is dark.”

“We came here after hardship, not for fun,” she said. “I pray that God will save us.”

A Buddhist prayer flag in Dhye Khola.



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Betio Is Facing A Population Crisis, And A Sea Wall Could Be Its Only Hope Of Survival

ABC News - Carly Learson

Esther, who resides in Betio, says she lives under constant threat of disease outbreaks. (Carly Learson/UNFPA)

Carly Learson is in the Pacific supporting UNFPA, the UN's sexual and reproductive health agency, which seeks to ensure that women, girls and young people have access to essential services, with a special focus on areas impacted by the climate crisis.
On a sandy islet engulfed by greenery, Esther lives under constant threat.
But it's not violence she's most concerned about — it's disease.
Not coronavirus — Kiribati is one of the few countries without a single case. But the threat of disease hounds Betio, the most populated section of South Tarawa, an island in Kiribati, where there are around 15,000 inhabitants per square kilometre.
To put it into perspective, that's 2.5 times the density of Tokyo.
"The beach used to be way back there — I don't know how many houses have been lost but it's a lot," says Esther, who moved to Betio from a remote island with her family.
"Now everyone is crowding into this area. There's no privacy, people are going to the toilet on the beach, and there's the constant threat of disease outbreaks."
In Betio, the most populated section of South Tarawa, there are 15,000 inhabitants per square kilometre. (Carly Learson/UNFPA)

Here, families live in open shacks on around four square metres of land, where the distance between houses is a matter of centimetres.
These sorts of crowded conditions contribute to some of the worst health outcomes in the Pacific: tuberculosis and leprosy are rife in Betio, with thousands of cases detected and treated each year.

A constant scramble for a place to live
Few countries are more vulnerable to the effects of global warming than the Pacific islands of Kiribati.
A group of atolls spread across millions of square kilometres of ocean, the islands have lost more than 10 per cent of their land in just two years.
Kiribati could soon be a memory as sea levels rise but its President has a 20-year plan to turn it into the next Dubai or Singapore.
Kiribati is made of sand and reef rock, materials that easily erode, causing houses built close to the water to collapse when there's a strong storm.
There's no basis to build strong foundations, and those families who become homeless due to erosion have to find a new block of land further inland.
"There's currently no provision for land lost to erosion, and while we have ordinances for land use in places like Betio, they're not being enforced," says Taneka Redfern from the Office of the President.
The constant scramble to find a place to live has meant that parts of South Tarawa have the among the highest population density in the world.

'We need a sea wall that will last 20 years'
In the absence of other options, residents of Kiribati are putting their faith in sea walls.
All over the island, young people are bringing in cement and rocks to build up new walls that will stop the tides from reaching their houses, however temporarily.

There's also a plan to dredge up millions of tons of sand from the lagoon and move it to a section of the island that can be built up to three metres in height, in theory providing space for 35,000 people to live.
In the meantime, people are living with the everyday reality that their land is disappearing.
"The President doesn't want us to move, and the only place we could go would be Ocean Island (a remote island only accessible by ship), but that won't work," says Teakamatang, a community leader in Tebikenikora, or Golden Beach.
"We need a sea wall that will last at least 20 years... Hopefully by then we'll have a better idea about what we can do."
'The water came all the way into the hospital'
For younger people, who can't remember the way the island used to be, there's a greater degree of complacency.
Christina, from Tebikenikora, says that while young people build sea walls, they're mostly doing it because they're told to by their elders.

The 28-year-old adds that she can't see a future for her and her husband in Kiribati, although she doesn't know where else she would go.
"The sea wall will protect us, but everyone will only work hard when there's an emergency — it's really hard work," she said.
"It's the elderly people who are angry — they can remember a time when they could live off the land."
For those that have felt the effects of the growing crisis, however, the need for action cannot be understated.
After Betio hospital — which handles up to 60 births each month — found itself at the mercy of the elements four years ago, the concrete sea wall proved a lifeline.

"We had a storm and the water came all the way into the hospital. We had women giving birth, or recovering with their newborns, and they all just had to run," says midwife Makita.
"There were three new mums asleep in the clinic when a massive wave bashed against the window. It was really frightening for them."

'If nothing is done, we will disappear'
With finite land on Kiribati, the country's woes demonstrate the challenging nexus of climate change and overpopulation.
And it's not a problem likely to end anytime soon.

According to the World Meteorological Organisation and climate scientists globally, extreme weather events are becoming much more frequent.
For Kiribati, this means extreme storms and droughts. Storms cause flooding, and on such flat land, floods can devastate thousands of homes very quickly.
There have already been two floods this year.
Teakamatang, who has witnessed the waters rising over the past 30 years, does not mince words.
"If nothing is done, we will disappear."

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(UK) We Need Health Warning Labels On Points Of Sale Of Fossil Fuels

BMJ‎ (British Medical Journal) - Mike Gill | Kristie L. Ebi | Kirk R. Smith | Lorraine Whitmarsh | Andy Haines

 Mike Gill and colleagues explain how the implementation of fossil fuel labelling could have a significant impact on the awareness of climate change. This article is part of The BMJ’s Health in the Anthropocene collection.
Photo credit: “The Swedish Association of Green Motorists / Martin Prieto Beaulieu”
Authors
  • Mike Gill, former Regional Director of Public Health, South East England.
  • Kristie L. Ebi, Professor of Global Health, Center for Health and the Global Environment, University of Washington, USA.
  • Kirk R. Smith, Professor of Global Environmental Health, School of Public Health, University of California, Berkeley, USA; Director, Collaborative Clean Air Policy Centre, India.
  • Lorraine Whitmarsh, Professor of Environmental Psychology, Centre for Climate Change & Social Transformations, School of Psychology, Cardiff University, UK.
  • Andy Haines, Professor of Environmental Change and Public Health, Centre for Climate Change and Planetary Health, London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine, UK
The use of fossil fuels should be rapidly reduced to keep the global mean temperature increase to well below 2°C above pre-industrial levels—a core goal of the Paris Agreement on climate change. Emphasising the risks to health of fossil fuel use, now and in the future, could motivate action.

We propose a low cost, scalable intervention to facilitate change in individuals’ and society’s views and behaviour: warning labels at points of purchase of fossil energy or services dependent on large amounts of fossil fuel, for example at petrol stations, on energy bills, and on airline tickets. They should state clearly that continuing to burn fossil fuels worsens the climate emergency, with major projected health impacts increasing over time.

Since 1969, increasing numbers of countries have required cigarette packets to carry health warnings.118 countries now require cigarette packets to include graphic pictures alongside stark health warnings. These warnings can change attitudes and behaviour, providing a critical contribution to effective tobacco control policy.

Smoking is no longer viewed as a normal lifestyle choice, but as an addiction which harms the individual and those around them through exposure to second-hand smoke. Fossil fuel use also harms others through ambient air pollution that accounts for about 3.5 million premature deaths per year, as well as through climate change, which increasingly threatens the health of current and future generations.

In many countries, fossil fuel use is already the subject of government intervention, through fuel and carbon taxes, vehicle emissions standards, and other legislation, but these are insufficient to prevent dangerous climate change and do not reflect the full economic costs of burning fossil fuels.

Even if the nationally determined contributions for greenhouse gas emission reductions in the Paris Agreement are implemented, the global mean temperature increase is likely to exceed 3°C by the end of the century. For this reason there is growing acceptance that the world faces a climate emergency demanding urgent action at scale.

Nevertheless, vested interests continue to create doubt about the robustness of climate science, a cause of the inadequate scale and perceived urgency of investments in renewables.

Other barriers to shifting consumer behaviours towards zero-carbon options include low awareness, habit, perceived cost, inconvenience, and “psychological distance”—the perception that the issue affects other people, places, or times, or is uncertain.

Continuing to burn fossil fuels worsens the climate  emergency, with major projected health impacts increasing over time. Photo: Matt Rourke / AP
Warning labels connect the abstract threat of the climate emergency with the use of fossil fuels in the here and now, drawing attention to the true cost of fossil fuels (the externalities), pictorially or quantitatively. They sensitise people to the consequences of their actions, representing nudges, designed to encourage users to choose alternatives to fossil fuels, thus increasing demand for zero-carbon renewable energy.

Implementing warnings will face challenges. For example, in North Vancouver, Canada, pictorial designs denoting biodiversity loss were ‘co-opted’ by the Canadian fuel industry and incorporated into a national ‘Smart fuelling’ initiative, with any threats to health omitted. In Sweden, eco-labels will be mandatory from this May. The labels will show ‘climate impact’, the raw materials used for the fuel, and their origin.

They are part of a package to reduce fossil fuel use, including tax on new high emission cars and subsidy for low emission ones, but without direct reference to health. In contrast, Cambridge, Massachusetts voted in January to make information about the environmental and human health impact of fossil fuel use mandatory on all self-service fuel pumps. This explicit reference to health is likely to increase the labels’ effectiveness, because messages about the climate emergency framed around health tend to be more persuasive than environmentally framed messages.

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