Climate change and plastic pollution may look like separate issues. But they are, in fact, two sides of the same crisis: the industry’s addiction to fossil fuels. 

Fossil fuel emissions account for 89% of the CO2 that drives global warming and 99% of all plastic is made from fossil fuels. The International Energy Agency projects that petrochemicals and plastics will be the single largest driver of growth in world oil demand in the coming decades. By 2030, plastic production alone is projected to consume one in every six barrels of oil.

The world is in desperate need of a course correction, and this June at the Bonn Climate Change Conference as governments, scientists and NGOs have gathered again to discuss the climate crisis, Greenpeace hosted a side event to aimed at discussing ways to solve these crises together if we are to solve either of them at all. 

One addiction, two crises 

Climate warming and the plastics crisis have the same root cause: extracting and using  fossil fuels, which also leads to producing too much plastic. 

The similarities continue with something less discussed: the twin crises actively worsen each other. Plastics emit greenhouse gases throughout their entire lifecycle — from extraction and manufacturing to transport and disposal. In fact, plastics account for more greenhouse gas emissions than the entire aviation sector. 

As climate change raises temperatures and intensifies UV radiation, it accelerates the rate at which plastics break down into microplastics — making them more pervasive, more toxic, and harder to recover. Climate change worsens the plastics crisis. The plastics crisis worsens climate change. They are not parallel problems. They are in fact a feedback loop.

The good news

It’s not too late though. Alternatives for the dual crisis are readily available. Our recent report shows how renewable energy capacity has expanded rapidly in the past 10 years since the Paris Agreement was reached – outstripping predictions as the energy landscape underwent tremendous change. Denmark has, for example, powered 88% of its grid with renewable energy in recent years, and Costa Rica powered 98.6% of its electricity from renewable sources in 2025. 

Looking towards plastics, we know that implementing reuse systems and other policies to reduce plastic use could virtually eliminate plastic packaging pollution by 2040. Everyday, we see solutions and innovations spring from many parts of the globe, proving that the barriers are not technical, but political.  

Thirty years of ignoring the F word

For more than thirty years, the UNFCCC — the world’s primary forum, where most of the world governments come together to discuss how to solve climate change — failed to say the most important word relevant to its mandate: fossil fuels. At COP28 in Dubai in 2023, the COP outcome explicitly recognised the primary driver of the problem it exists to resolve.

This is not by accident. A small number of governments and corporate actors with significant fossil fuel interests have consistently used the procedural requirements of consensus-based multilateralism to block that language. t In a consensus-based process the obstructive governments and fossil-fuel interests can run down the clock in every negotiating session without ever having to commit to meaningful action. 

The very same governments — and many of the same corporations with lobbyists embedded in their official delegations — are running identical playbooks in Global Plastics Treaty negotiations, preventing the Treaty from addressing the issue at its source and blocking measures to cut production and use. Same players, same moves, same outcomes — unless we choose differently. 

We still have a chance, but it’s fleeting. 

For both the UNFCCC and the Global Plastics Treaty, the imperative is the same: stop managing the symptoms and address the systems that produce them.

For climate change, this means a just transition away from fossil fuels that is fast, fair, and funded, with governments advancing global co-operation and delivering credible national roadmaps to get there.

For the Global Plastics Treaty, it means addressing the full lifecycle of plastics, beginning upstream by cutting plastic production. 

What can the Plastics Treaty learn from the UNFCCC? 

The Paris Agreement’s architecture — voluntary, nationally-determined commitments, no binding limits on fossil fuel production — has repeatedly been weaponised by some governments against meaningful action and made the 1.5℃ limit harder to reach. 

While the Paris Agreement has helped to accelerate the clean energy transition, lower projected global greenhouse gas emissions and reduced the projected temperature increase, there is still a large 1.5°C ambition gap that needs to be closed. Simply put, more needs to be done.

The Global Plastics Treaty must not be a repeat of the delays we’ve seen in climate action. It needs global, legally binding measures to reduce plastic production from the outset, coupled with investment in reuse systems, product redesign, and improved waste management, with no country left behind in that transition. A treaty focused exclusively on waste management — the end of the pipe, not the tap — will perpetuate the problem it is meant to fix. Neither crisis affords that kind of time.

Consensus Kills 

While no country should be left behind, and while consensus can play an important role in building broad-based support, we cannot continue to allow a small number of blocking states to hold back the will of the majority and the mandate of the people. We hear whispers that multilateralism is dead. But multilateralism is alive. It is being stymied by a small number of blocking states in both the UNFCCC and the Plastics Treaty negotiations. 

Multilateralism is an essential condition for human survival and to solve the world’s biggest crises – it needs to be protected from the interests that have learned to use its architecture as a delay mechanism. This must be done by holding up the science clearly enough that no government can look at it and pretend they don’t know what it says.

The science on plastics is not waiting to be discovered. The damage is visible: microplastics have been found in our blood, breast milk, and even in the food our babies eat. The evidence linking plastic exposure to endocrine disruption, fertility impacts, and cancer risk is growing. What is missing is the political will to let the evidence speak louder than those profiting from inaction.

The first conference on the Transition away from Fossil Fuels in Santa Marta revealed that countries are no longer willing to wait. Fifty-seven countries — representing a third of the world’s economy — broke free from the consensus chokehold of the UNFCCC and held a conversation not only brave enough to say “fossil fuels” but centred entirely around them. 

The Plastics Treaty still has a chance, and in March 2027, countries will come together again to attempt to finalise the agreement. This is a once-in-a-generation opportunity that we must not miss. Governments must be bold and brave in their solutions. 

Are countries ready to connect the dots and act? 

Let’s end the age of plastic!

Ask world leaders to support Global Plastic Treaty so that we can finally turn off the tap and end the age of plastic.

Take action

Jacob Kean Hammerson is the Global Plastics Policy Lead at Greenpeace USA.

The Amazon arrives in Paris, Deep Sea Mining goes to The Hague, and speed limits come to Germany. Here are some of our favourite images from Greenpeace work around the world this week.

France – Indigenous leaders from the Brazilian and Guyanese Amazon are in Paris for the ‘True Cost of Gold’ advocacy tour, bringing Indigenous leaders from the Brazilian Amazon to France, the Netherlands, Belgium and Italy. The tour follows the release of Greenpeace Brazil’s investigation “Gold Laundering in the Amazon: Anatomy of a Fraud” and aims to raise awareness about the impacts of illegal gold mining on Indigenous territories, forests and rivers, while calling for stronger traceability and accountability across global gold supply chains.
The delegation includes Alessandra Korap Munduruku, Juma Xipaia (pictured), Megaron Txucarramãe, Beptuk Metuktire and Tapinkili Anaïman.

The Netherlands – More than 230,000 people have signed a petition calling for a halt to deep-sea mining before it even begins. Greenpeace Netherlands presented the petition to the House of Representatives Committee for Climate and Green Growth in The Hague during the week of World Oceans Day. Greenpeace is calling on The Netherlands to advocate for a precautionary pause on deep-sea mining in international waters. This means that deep-sea mining companies would not be allowed to begin operations as long as the consequences remain insufficiently understood.

Switzerland – Greenpeace activists project two images onto the façade of the Swiss Federal Palace. The first is reminiscent of the famous painting “The Scream” by the Norwegian artist Edvard Munch and is designed to resemble the symbol for radioactivity. The activists aim to draw attention to the fact that a return to nuclear energy poses a threat to Switzerland.

Germany – Greenpeace Germany activists protest with speed limit signs with along the Autobahn at the border entry to Germany. Environmental activists are calling for a general speed limit on the autobahn to limit fuel consumption in response to the climate crisis.

Spain – To mark World Environment Day, on 5 June, Greenpeace Spain activists unfurled a giant cartoon in Barcelona’s Park Güell. In this image, a climber holds a sign reading ‘happy world environment day’.

Indonesia – The Greenpeace-initiated ‘Festival Laut’ (Ocean Festival) 2026 brought together thousands of people at Taman Inspirasi Muntig Siokan, Bali, to spotlight the crises facing Indonesia’s oceans, from the exploitation of fishers and plastic pollution to the impact of the climate crisis on coastal communities.

Mexico – In a historic initiative, more than 100 civil society organizations and networks from Mexico and the United States joined forces to call on President Claudia Sheinbaum Pardo to address the serious social and environmental issues affecting the country.
Two days before the 2026 World Cup opening ceremony, Greenpeace Mexico activists unfurled a massive 21-meter-long banner 60 meters high on the Estela de Luz. The groups denounced that issues of migration, disappearances, violence, dispossession, forced displacement, and environmental justice have been ignored, and that the commercial interests of the USMCA (United States–Mexico–Canada Agreement) take precedence over the people. The message sent to the Mexican government regarding these issues was clear: “The world is watching.”

Greenpeace has been a pioneer of photo activism for more than 50 years, and remains committed to bearing witness and exposing environmental injustice through the images we capture.

To see more Greenpeace photos and videos, visit our Media Library.

This story was originally posted by Greenpeace MENA for World Environment Day.

I write this as a Lebanese woman who has spent years working with communities across the Middle East and North Africa region (MENA), where an environmental crisis is never only environmental. In a region already burdened by economic collapse, conflict, and instability, climate change is not simply another challenge waiting its turn. It is the multiplier of every problem we already have. 

That is why the climate conversation in MENA does not always sound like the one held in global summits. It is not only about temperature curves, emissions targets, or distant deadlines. It manifests in four very human questions, asked across the region:

How do we afford food?
How do we secure water?
How do we keep the lights on?
How do we protect our children from extreme heat?

These are not separate from climate change. These are climate questions. And they are questions of dignity, justice, and survival.

How climate change impacts food security and water scarcity in MENA

Take food. Our region depends heavily on imports to secure its food needs. This means that droughts, failed harvests, disrupted trade routes, and rising energy costs can quickly become more expensive meals and harder choices for families. What begins as a climate or economic shock elsewhere can arrive very quickly at our kitchen tables.

Water tells an even clearer story. The Middle East and North Africa is already the most water-scarce region in the world, and climate change is making this reality harsher for communities, farmers, and ecosystems. But our story is not only one of scarcity. It is also one of resilience. For generations, people across our region learned how to live with limited water, protect resources, and use every drop wisely.

As we look ahead, resilience will not come only from new technology. It will also come from valuing the knowledge, practices, and respect for nature that helped our communities survive for centuries.

Energy insecurity and the need for a just transition

Then comes the question: How do we keep the lights on? 

The Middle East and North Africa region is home to immense energy resources. Yet for millions of people, reliable and affordable electricity is still not guaranteed. From households relying on generators to families struggling with rising bills, energy insecurity remains a daily reality.

Energy security is not measured only by how much energy we produce. It is measured by whether people can power their homes, run their businesses, keep food fresh, study after sunset, and live with dignity.

This is why a just transition matters. Not only because it reduces emissions, but because it can deliver cleaner, more affordable, and more reliable energy, while creating jobs and strengthening communities.

Extreme heat in MENA

And then there is heat. The MENA region is warming at nearly twice the global average, with temperatures surpassing 50°C in some areas. But heat is not just a number on a thermometer. It is the construction worker spending long hours outdoors in dangerous conditions. It is an elderly person struggling through another night without cooling. It is a child trying to learn in a classroom that has become too hot to concentrate.

When we talk about climate action, this is what we are really talking about: protecting people, their health, their livelihoods, and their ability to build a future where they live.

This is also where climate justice becomes real. The people asking how to afford food, secure water, keep the lights on, and protect their children from extreme heat are often the people with the fewest resources to cope. They are carrying the heaviest impacts, while having the least influence over the decisions that shape their future.

Climate justice means recognising and addressing this imbalance. It means ensuring that communities are not left to face the crisis alone. It means giving people a meaningful voice in shaping the policies, investments, and solutions that will define the future of our region.

Renewable energy and a just transition

A just transition cannot be designed for people. It must be built with them.

For MENA, this means asking harder questions about what kind of transition we are building. Renewable energy is essential, but it must serve people first. Solar and wind should not become another model where resources are extracted, benefits are concentrated elsewhere, and communities continue to bear the costs and remain vulnerable.

A real just transition must answer people’s daily needs. It means expanding decentralised renewable energy, and community solutions that keep the lights on where people live. It means investing in water resilience, protecting ecosystems, and supporting farmers to grow food in ways adapted to a hotter and drier future. It means cooling our cities through trees, shaded streets, better planning, and buildings designed for people, not only for consumption.

Solutions are here. Time for action.

The MENA region is too often described only as vulnerable. The challenges are real, but that story is incomplete. Across our region, communities are already building answers. Young people are demanding accountability. Farmers are reviving resilient practices. Civil society is organising around justice and hope. Cities and communities are showing that another future is possible.

The question is not whether solutions exist. The question is whether decision makers have the political leadership and courage to scale them with the urgency this moment demands.

The planet has been sending  clear warning signals for years. In MENA, these are already emergency sirens.

The response we send back must be equally clear: climate action must protect people’s dignity, strengthen resilience, and deliver justice in daily life. It must help families afford food, secure water, access clean and reliable energy, and protect their children from a hotter future.

We do not have to imagine that future from far away. We have to choose it, build it, and make sure it serves the people who have the most to lose and the most to teach.

That is the response worth sending back.

Have you experienced the impacts of climate change? Share Your Story with Greenpeace MENA

This story is also available at Greenpeace Spain, in Spanish.

Every year, specifically in June, Pride Month fills social media, streets and institutional spaces with flags, messages, speeches and celebrations. Important dates are commemorated, celebrating advances in LGBTQ+ rights and making visible identities that have long been denied.

But this global image doesn’t always feel universal. From the Global South – especially from African and diasporic contexts – many of us experience this month with a complex mix of emotions: recognition, yes, but also distance, tension, and questions that don’t always find a place or space in dominant narratives.

What does the acronym LGBTQ+ stand for, and why is it not neutral?

The acronym LGBTQ+ (a condensed version of LGBTQIA2S+) is an umbrella term used to describe a person’s sexual orientation or gender identity. It stands for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender and Queer with the + representing other diverse sexual orientations and gender identities. This acronym has been fundamental in building political visibility and articulating common struggles. However, it is also necessary to recognise that it is a historical construct situated in specific Western contexts, shaped by languages, categories, and ways of understanding gender and sexuality that are not universal.

When these categories are presented as the only possible framework for naming diversity, they risk rendering invisible other forms of existence, identities that do not fit within them, and our relationships and connections. Because naming is not just describing: it is also ordering the world.

How colonial language, legal, religious and administrative systems erase collective memory

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Prior to European colonisation, across the African continent, there were multiple ways of understanding gender, the body, and sexuality that did not conform to a rigid binary model. These understandings were not homogeneous or identical, but they did share something important: they were deeply connected to spirituality.

For example, we could talk about Logun Ede, a minor orisha of the Yoruba pantheon, known as the crown prince, son of Oshun and Oshosi. He represents duality, beauty, youth, and transformation, living six months in the river (feminine characteristics) and six months in the forest (masculine characteristics).

In the community context, we could talk about “Female Husbands”: Historically, some Nigerian women assumed the role of husbands (an economic and social perspective) to marry other women, thus perpetuating lineages. With the process of colonisation, a legal, religious, and administrative system was imposed that reorganised all these realities according to a binary and punitive logic. Anything that did not fit into this order was often reinterpreted as sin, deviation, or crime. 

Anything that did not fit into this order was often reinterpreted as sin, deviation, or crime.

– Rusly Cachina

For example, there is the story of Francisco Manicongo, a person forcibly transported from the Kingdom of Kongo – today part of the Democratic Republic of Congo and Angola – to Brazil during the 16th century, in the context of the transatlantic slave trade. The reason for his persecution was not only his status as a slave, but also his gender identity and expression, since he dressed and acted according to Congolese traditions associated with the Imbandas, which the colonial authorities interpreted as “sin” (sodomy). His case illustrates how colonial violence not only exploited people but also persecuted and punished sexual and gender dissidence. In this process, not only were bodies criminalised, but memory was also rewritten.

What I am writing goes beyond seeking “proof”, beyond trying to find an African queer history. What emerges is something more complex: the evidence that multiple ways of life exist, which were systematically filtered, erased by colonial logic, or reinterpreted.

Africa is not a territory without queer history

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Stating this does not mean idealising the past or denying internal conflicts or tensions. It implies recognising that diversity is not a recent import.

The problem lies not in a lack of history, but in who has the power to narrate it.

– Rusly Cachina

In various African contexts, there have been non-normative gender roles, diverse relational practices, and historical figures whose existence challenged modern categories. Many of these memories unfortunately survive only in oral narratives, cultural practices, or local languages; others have simply been fragmented by centuries of colonisation and continue to be so due to neocolonialism, radicalisation, religious extremism and the statisation of law.

The problem lies not in a lack of history, but in who has the power to narrate it.

The queer present: violence, war and inequality

Discussing decolonisation cannot be relegated to the past. The here-and-now, the present, armed conflicts, political instability, and resource exploitation continue to shape the lives of billions of people in various territories of the Global South.

In regions like the Democratic Republic of Congo, armed conflicts – including the presence of groups like the M23 – cannot be understood without the broader context of extractive economies, decades of structural violence, and geopolitical interests. In these contexts, violence is embodied. It is not abstract.

These people – whom Western categories reduce to the acronym LGBTQ+, but who in their territories are known as Woubi, Mashoga, or Shoga, among many others – face social stigmatisation, a lack of institutional protection, and, in many cases, direct violence in contexts where state collapse and militarisation exacerbate all forms of abuse.

War is not only territorial. It is also bodily.

What has climate change and global inequality got to do with Pride?

Climate crises add multiple layers of complexity. They don’t affect everyone equally. In the Global South, their effects translate into displacement, food insecurity, loss of livelihoods, and forced migration. Within this scenario, people in our community face specific vulnerabilities: unequal access to shelter, dehumanisation in humanitarian contexts, and exclusion from protection networks.

The climate emergency is not just environmental: it is profoundly political and social.

Pride as a contested space

Pride, as it is celebrated today in many parts of the world, can be both a space for celebration and a space for exclusion. 

For many bodies from the Global South – migrants, racialised, black, or trans, as is my direct case – recognition is often partial: we are made visible at specific moments, or to put it bluntly, we are “exposed” or “displayed”, but we are forgotten within everyday structures.

We are invited to be part of it, but under conditions of legibility: fitting into pre-defined categories, translating into languages that do not always belong to us, molding ourselves to frameworks that do not always fully include us.

How can we decolonise Pride?

Decolonising pride doesn’t mean rejecting global struggles. Decolonising also means recognising that there isn’t just one way to experience diversity. It means accepting that acronyms, while necessary, aren’t enough. And above all, it means opening spaces for other memories, other languages, and other ways of naming who we are.

The history of diversity doesn’t begin in a single place or at a single moment. And because justice, to be real, must also be able to understand what has been silenced.

So what now?

If pride wants to be more than a celebration, then it should also be a practice of responsibility. For those who live in the so-called “global minority”, that means going beyond symbolic support or visibility during a specific month. It means facing the contradictions head-on.

It is inconsistent to celebrate progress while participating in systems that perpetuate violence in other territories.

– Rusly Cachina

It’s not enough for states to guarantee rights within their borders if, at the same time, they finance, negotiate, or maintain economic and political relationships with governments that persecute our community. It is inconsistent to celebrate progress while participating (directly or indirectly) in systems that perpetuate violence in other territories.

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Responsibility is also political. How can you embrace diversity in Pride and beyond?

It translates into demanding consistency from governments themselves: in their trade agreements, in their role in armed conflicts, in their foreign policies, and in their relationship with extractive industries that sustain economies of violence. It means getting informed, questioning, and not settling for a comfortable narrative where rights forget about the wars outside their own borders.

But it also means something closer: listening without imposing, leaving room for other ways of naming, not translating all realities into one’s own categories, and living diversity. It is not about “giving a voice”, but about stopping occupying all the space. Because decolonising and de-Westernising Pride is not an abstract idea. It is a daily practice.

And it begins by accepting that the struggle for diversity cannot be separated from the global structures that continue to produce violence, inequality and silencing.

Wellbeing for All

We’re asking governments to put wellbeing at the top of the agenda. Join our global movement and let’s demand wellbeing for all!

Join our global movement!

Rusly Cachina is a Member of Migrantia, Equality Technician, Head of Afro-Queer Migrations, Coordinator of Voz Migrantia Lavapiés, Coordinator of AMIGRAS, Activist, and Trans Expert Peer.

Guest authors work with Greenpeace to share their personal experiences and perspectives and are responsible for their own content.