‘When the Island Forgets Your Footprints’

From Oceania, to Amazonia, A Global South Awakening at COP30

_{by Charley Piringi}

When Lawrence Makili, 61, closes his eyes, he is six years old again, running barefoot along the white sands of Ontong Java Atoll in Solomon Islands, the wind carrying the laughter of children, the rustle of coconut fronds, and the splash of canoes returning from the lagoon.

It is a paradise alive with rhythm, songs, and the pulse of community. But when he opens his eyes, the island slowly disappears.

The village of his childhood, the homes, the gardens, the sacred graves of his ancestors, has been swallowed by the rising tide.

For Makili, and thousands like him across the Pacific, climate change is no longer an abstract threat, its a daily reality.

It is the disappearance of home, a memory, and cultural identity, a quiet erasure of lives etched into the sand.

These were not just sounds. They were the heartbeat of the island, the pulse of a community, the music of a life built in harmony with land, sea, and sky.

But memory can be cruel too.

Makili grew up in the gentle rhythm of atoll life, a world woven from tides and laughter.

His days were measured by the pull of the canoe, the hush of the gardens, the dances at dusk when coconut-leaf torches flickered against women dusted in turmeric and fragrant leaves.

He can still see, with aching clarity, the exact stretch of beach where children sculpted sandcastles and tore barefoot across the white sand, their joy carried on the wind.

And he remembers the neighbouring village, twenty humble houses where life unfolded in full; where relatives lived and loved, quarrelled and forgave, married and raised children who chased the tide and fishes, and grew old in the comfort of one another’s presence.

An entire world was held in those few houses. A world he believed would always be there.

But when he finally returned after several decades away, he found almost nothing.

“I went back and the whole village in Avaha atoll was gone. The Atoll abandoned us,” he says softly, voice thinning.

“Just the sea, coming in and going out. Twenty houses. Finished.”

Makili’s lost village is not an isolated tragedy, it is a warning.

Across the Solomon Islands and the wider Pacific, entire communities are watching their homelands vanishing beneath rising tides, forced to abandon centuries of culture, tradition, and identity.

“The beaches where we once played football are now submerged, with our former playing field hidden deep beneath the sea,” he lamented.

The shock shattered him.

The shoreline of his childhood, the place that made him an atoll man, a sailor, a fisherman, had been eaten away by rising tides.

Beaches where children once learned to paddle their first canoes were reduced to narrow strips of sand, some vanished completely.

Even the graves of his ancestors, once safely inland, had been cracked open and swallowed by the tide.

“The ancestors didn’t build graves on the coast. They built them far inland. But now, half of our biggest cemetery is washed away.”

For families uprooted from low-lying atolls, climate change is not measured in degrees or policy papers; it is the erosion of beaches where children once played, the saltwater that poisons taro patches, and the ancestral graves washed away by tides.

While international conferences like COP30 debate “loss and damage” and billions now trillions in climate finance, communities like Makili’s often see nothing reaching them.

His story is a mirror of a global struggle, from Oceania to the Amazonia the people who contributed least to the crisis are paying its heaviest price, and they are demanding the world to finally act.

Today, Makili lives on Guadalcanal, but his dreams still carry the shape, the scent, and the spirit of Ontong Java.

The land beneath his feet now is not the land of his ancestors, it is borrowed ground, held through fragile understandings that can shift like the tide.

His family may be safer from the encroaching sea, yet they live suspended between two worlds: one that is slipping beneath the waves, his Island home, and another that is never fully theirs.

“There is no sense of identity here,” he says quietly. “Home is more than land, it is a spiritual connection, and that connection still lives in the islands.”

He added: “That is the reason why, even if I urge families back home to consider leaving for safer ground, I know the weight of what I am asking.”

“It is the most heartbreaking thing,” he admits.

“That place is where they grew up. That is their identity, their culture and heritage, their gardens, and where they  live all their lives. You cannot move them. They will choose to stay. They will say, ‘It’s okay. We will die here.’”

Makili’s wish was conveyed by his Member of Parliament, Polycarp Paea, the Solomon Islands Minister for Environment, who is currently attending COP30 in Balem, Brazil.

The Minister, who is Makili’s nephew, echoed the narrative of being born and raised in an atoll severely impacted by climate change.

“Solomon Islands stand on the front lines of the climate crisis, where loss, displacement, threatened livelihoods, food insecurity, and erosion of culture and heritage are daily realities.”

His national statement at COP30 resonated deeply, not just on a global stage but also on a profoundly personal level for him.

“For Solomon Islands, the 1.5°C limit is non-negotiable, it is a matter of survival.

“We are people of the ocean, and we love our beautiful islands. These shores hold our memories, our cultures, and our very identity. Our survival has always depended on the gifts of our land and sea.”

He added, “But now, the rising waves you have caused threaten to take it all from us. We are fighting to hold on, but we are losing this battle alone.

“Please, see our plight. Do not let our home, our story, and our future be erased from the Earth. We need the world to act now.”

At COP30, Minister Paea is witnessing a historic convergence of climate advocacy, the thunderous cultural uprising from the Amazon meets the strategic, resolute diplomacy of Pacific Island nations.

Together, they deliver a moment of undeniable clarity to the world, a declaration that the Global South is no longer pleading for climate justice, but demanding it.

On the streets of Belém, more than 70,000 people staged a monumental “Funeral for Fossil Fuels,” one of the most unforgettable artistic and political interventions in the history of the COPs.

Meanwhile, inside the conference halls, Pacific representatives were preparing for another pivotal moment, the possibility of Australia hosting COP31 alongside the Pacific Islands, and with it, a chance to force a global confrontation with the region’s fossil fuel contradictions.

The simultaneous unfolding of these two narratives expressed a shared reality, from Amazonia to Oceania, frontline communities are urgently demanding a cessation of fossil fuel consumption.

A Global Demand Rises From the Amazon

The “Funeral for Fossil Fuels” brought Indigenous leaders, activists, artists, and civil society groups together in a massive display of resistance and vision.

Giant coffins representing coal, oil, and gas were carried through the streets, accompanied by 80 jaguar performers, towering suns, wind turbines, and a 30-metre serpent weaving through the crowds.

It was theatre, but also prophecy, a symbolic burial of the fuels that have driven the climate crisis.

“From the Global South to the world, we are showing what a fair and courageous energy transition must look like,” said João Talocchi of Alianza Potência Energética in a statement.

For Pacific nations already relocating villages, fortifying coastlines, and confronting cyclones of increasing intensity, the statement cut close to home.

“The Pacific has long warned that expanding coal and gas is incompatible with a liveable future,” Pacific leaders echoed collective voices in the Koror declaration, Palau, a week before the COP30 and even during the COP30.

Indigenous leader Juan Carlos Jintiach captured the shared struggle, “Every time the forest is destroyed by mining or oil, Mother Earth suffers. We expect a clear roadmap to move beyond fossil fuels and protect biodiversity, nature and our rights.”

Pacific Voices Seize a Crucial Opening: COP31 in Australia

As tens of thousands marched outside, Pacific negotiators and civil society groups were weighing another historic shift, Australia’s campaign to host COP31.

WWF-Pacific Senior Policy and Government Affairs Manager Alfredo Ralifo said the moment presents both risk and opportunity.

“If COP31 is held in Australia, it brings the world’s attention to our region and gives us a critical platform to push back against the fossil fuel industry operating there,” Ralifo said during a virtual briefing.

Australia remains one of the world’s largest exporters of coal and gas, even as it seeks Pacific backing for its COP31 bid. While Pacific leaders supported the bid, some leaders and the civil society groups have questioned the contradiction.

But Ralifo says the Pacific should view COP31 not as an Australian event, but as a Pacific one.

“It’s an opportunity for us to highlight the importance of phasing out fossil fuels and to push Australia to take a leadership role in a just transition to renewable energy,” he said.

WWF-Pacific confirmed it stands ready to support governments in arranging visits for Australian officials to frontline communities, where rising seas, eroding coastlines, and collapsing reefs offer undeniable evidence of the crisis.

“Our priorities must be shaped by what Pacific communities and leaders want for COP31,” Ralifo said.

Fiji Minister for Envirionement and Climate Change Mosese Bulitavu said, “A decade after the Paris Agreement, the world is still drifting away from the 1.5 degrees Celsius limit that determines whether our islands survive, for us in Fiji and across the Pacific, 1.5 degrees Celsius, it is not a political target, it is a lifeline.”

Vanuatu Minister of Climate Change, Ralph Regenvanu said, “My country remains among the most climate vulnerable nations on earth. For us, climate impacts are not just environmental shots. They are economic shots of an existential scale.” 

 One Fight, Shared Across Oceans

The Caribbean’s warnings about intensifying hurricanes echoed the Pacific’s experience with cyclones and sea-level rise.

“We contribute less than 2% of global emissions, yet our communities suffer the strongest impacts,” said Carolina Sánchez of Red Gran Caribe Libre de Fósiles.

The Amazon march’s blend of art, culture, and political urgency also resonated deeply with Pacific traditions, where storytelling and ceremony have long anchored climate advocacy.

“When art takes to the streets, resistance becomes collective,” said cultural coordinator Inês Santos Ribero. “This funeral is a poetic cry: the fossil era must end.”

Latin America and Caribbean Managing Director for 350.org and environmental activist, Ilan Zugman added, “Humanity already knows the way forward… It is time to put fossil fuels where they belong, in the ground of history.”

A Turning Point for the Global South

A new Greenpeace International report, Toxic Skies: How Agribusiness is Choking the Amazon, stated Science leaves no ambiguity, fossil fuels are the biggest driver of climate change and air pollution, causing millions of deaths every year.

But from the Amazonia to the Pacific Oceania, frontline peoples are pushing the world toward a new reality. The spectacle in Belém and the strategic Pacific push around COP31 share a single message: “The age of fossil fuels must end, and the Global South is leading the way.”

As COP30 draws to a close, the world is witnessing a new alignment of moral, cultural, and political power. From Amazonia to Oceania, communities most affected by the climate crisis are shaping the narrative, setting expectations, and demanding the courage that global leaders have too often lacked.

The question now is “whether the world, including Australia, will finally listen?” said Alfredo.

 Echoing the sentiment of Marshall Islands President Hilda Heine’s call for a “COP of truth,” Coral Pasisi, Director of Climate Change and Sustainability at the Pacific Community (SPC), delivered a similarly blunt message: “Climate finance is not charity.”

A Message to COP30, and to Solomon Islands Government

This year, Makili watched and hoped the new generation of leadership by Minister Paea and Solomon Islands leadership will push for real change.

“He (Paea) grew up in the village. He has seen the salt destroying our gardens. He has seen the erosion. I hope he can bring policies that capture the true issues of our islands.”

But he worries that decisions made at COP do not always reflect the real suffering of communities back home.

“Those sitting at COP don’t understand what is happening on the ground. That is the big gap.”

For Makili, the fight must start at home, through real data, real assessments, real community consultations, and real national action. Only then, he believes, can Solomon Islands speak with authority on the global stage.

 When the Island Forgets You

Makili looks away for a long moment, voice low and heavy.

“Being a member of a community that is now sitting and watching his own island sinking… it is nothing but painful..heart breaking.”

He pauses, then adds softly: “I still have the memories. But the island has forgotten them.”

From Amazonia to Oceania, from the “Funeral for Fossil Fuels” in Belém to Pacific delegations demanding a just energy transition, the world is finally seeing the faces of climate change. But for Makili, the fight is personal, and urgent. Unless the world listens, unless the country itself listens, the island may one day forget its people entirely.

For Makili and countless families across the Pacific, the rising tides are not abstract, they are a daily reality, washing away homes, memories, and the lands of their ancestors. Yet even in the face of loss, the world is beginning to respond.

Simon Stiell, UN Climate Change Executive Secretary, called attention to the global roadmap that could make a difference.

“The Circle of Finance Ministers has provided invaluable leadership, grounding the Baku to Belém Roadmap in the real-world realities of economic management and national budgets. This roadmap is a signal of confidence: that the $1.3 trillion in annual climate finance needed by 2035 is not just achievable. It is essential. And it offers concrete examples of what can work.”

“Climate finance is the lifeblood of climate action,” he said. “It is what turns plans into progress, and ambition into implementation,” he added.

For the Pacific Islands, these commitments are more than numbers or policies, they are lifelines.

They carry the possibility that stories like Makili’s, of islands lost and lives uprooted, might be the last of their kind.

“They are a call to the world. To act with courage, to fund with urgency, and to ensure that the next generation can inherit a home, not just memories,” Makili said.

This story was produced as part of the COP30 Climate Change Media Partnership, a journalism fellowship organized by Internews’ Earth Journalism Network and the Stanley Center for Peace and Security.