Beyond Green Promises

by Jonatan Fohlin

As the effects of climate change intensify globally, the push for climate justice has become a critical focus, emphasizing the need for fair and inclusive solutions. But are the solutions proposed truly equitable? Many climate policies in wealthier, democratic countries are designed to mitigate environmental damage, such as carbon offset programs, green technology, clean energy investments, and even protected areas that promise a common sustainable future. Efforts to create a sustainable, equitable future(s), however, are often met with contradictions. While climate policies aim to address the crisis, they may inadvertently deepen existing inequalities. It can be argued that traditional “top-down” approaches to policy-making often exclude the communities most affected by climate change, such as those in the Global South, marginalized groups, and low-income populations, who face disproportionate risks and consequences. These communities often have little to no influence over policy formulation, which is frequently shaped by more affluent countries, yet these decisions have a direct impact on their lives. Because the experiences of vulnerable groups vary based on geography, social conditions, and economic structures, one-size-fits-all solutions in a typical top-down governance are frequently ineffective or even harmful. 

A key question then emerges: how can we transform visions of sustainability into democratic, inclusive models of action that truly benefit all? This requires rethinking how knowledge is created and applied on climate policies. The development of the future of sustainability is very much driven by knowledge and action. In other words, understanding the issue and how various actors of society use that knowledge and put it into practice. Moreover, knowledge and action can often be seen as being created in a step-by-step process—we can think of this as them being separately produced—first, science analyzes information and develops theories and techniques which later get implemented in society, commonly in a top-down approach by policymakers. The problem with this is that it leads to a disconnect: knowledge produced in isolation may not fully consider the specific needs and contexts of various communities, or unintended negative impacts may arise from the absence of a more integrated process. Instead, science should be viewed as a process where knowledge and action are co-produced together. Such an approach would instead encourage collaboration and participation from different stakeholders in society, bringing together different values and interests to create truly shared solutions for sustainability.

Nordic Carbon offset project - a case from Uganda

One example that can be viewed as knowledge and action being separately produced is carbon offset programs, particularly those involving large-scale tree planting or reforestation projects. These programs are often driven by the scientific understanding that forests absorb carbon dioxide, which helps to mitigate climate change. Policymakers and corporations, in turn, adopt this knowledge and develop carbon offset initiatives to meet climate goals or achieve "net zero" emissions in wealthier countries. 

The adoption of this particular knowledge—forests absorb carbon dioxide—within the policy formulation is not in itself problematic. However, the shift from understanding carbon absorption in forests to the development of carbon offset initiatives has, in some cases, led to unfortunate outcomes for communities where tree plantations are taking place, particularly when co-produced knowledge with local communities—reflecting their values, behaviors, and livelihoods—was overlooked or absent. These initiatives have resulted in conflicts over land rights, and even displacing people. For instance, in Uganda, the Norwegian forest company Green Resources has faced severe criticism over the years due to this disconnect. Green Resources was granted a plantation license in 1999, and by 2011 its project was approved as a 'Clean Development Mechanism' —that is, carbon credits that industrialized countries can use to partially meet their Kyoto Protocol goals—which allowed a large area of grasslands to be converted into non-native eucalyptus and pine forests. Eucalyptus in particular is highly invasive, having the potential to disrupt local ecosystems. This is a reminder of how certain knowledge leads to a poorly designed policy that sacrifices biodiversity for the sake of carbon credits. 

Eventually, the project attracted a partnership with the Swedish Energy Agency. However, as the trees were planted on land previously used by local communities who now had less farming area and no access to grazing meadows for their livestock, reports of forced evictions of farmers, pesticide pollution in nearby water sources, and violations of indigenous peoples' rights to land and consent quickly emerged. Talk about climate injustice! 

In 2014, Green Resources faced serious backlash due to the reported situation experienced by local communities. As a consequence, the company was barred from participating in carbon markets. In 2015, its main carbon credit buyer, Sweden's state- owned Energy Agency, pulled its funding and set out ten reforms the company must follow to regain its previous support (Oakland Institute and Energimyndigheten). Whether Green Resources has succeeded in meeting these reforms still remains a matter of debate. 

This case highlights the serious consequences that arise when co-produced knowledge—especially that of local communities—is absent from climate policy development and how its implementation should be formed. Without input from those directly impacted, policies like carbon offset programs can lead to unintended harm that manifests over time and deepen the already existing global inequalities.

Native to southern Australia and Tasmania, eucalyptus has been used worldwide for more than a century for it’s fast growth, making it highly invasive in many areas of the world. McClatchie, Alfred James, No restrictions, via Wikimedia Commons

Protected Areas, for who again?

Another pertinent example can be found in the realm of protected areas. The designation of protected areas (PAs) is one of the cornerstones of modern conservation approaches, with nearly 17% of the world’s habitable land now under protection to preserve biodiversity. The convention was first adopted at the UN Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro in 1992, and a new framework was further developed at the COP 15 after almost four years of consultation and negotiation between states and actors. As per the Convention on Biological Diversity, the main goal is now to protect 30% of the Earth’s land and sea areas by 2030. It includes monitoring frameworks, mechanisms for planning, reporting and reviewing implementation, strategic frameworks for capacity development as well as technical and scientific cooperation. The establishment of protected areas and management mechanisms that improve the sustainability of biodiversity conservation has succeeded in some cases and failed in others (Chaplin-Kramer et al., 2023: 2 & 3). While protected areas aim to preserve biodiversity, research and case-studies have shown that they can also have unintended negative effects, such as displacing local populations and causing hardships for the communities that depend on the land. 

Protected areas established through traditional top-down approaches in governance, without local knowledge, values or community involvement, have had negative impacts on both biodiversity and people living in or near these areas. Such examples are seen in Tarangire National Park, Tanzania (Baird, Leslie, & McCabe, 2009) where the removal or legal dispossession of indigenous communities left behind a deep-rooted legacy of mistrust toward PA authorities, shaping the region's tensions and strained relationship with those in power over the protected area (Chaplin-Kramer et al., 2023: 6). In the case of the Chitwan National Park, Peru, (Lipton & Bhattarai, 2014) the Tharu people perceived the establishment of the protected area as a disruption to their traditional way of life, as it altered their resource use patterns and led to the loss of their sense of identity due to forced relocation. 

On the other hand, some PA projects that instead restore or protect local values, where traditional co-managed governance structures are in power have had a higher legitimacy and long-term effect of sustainability. For example, a local initiative to preserve local stewardship in the Hawaiian archipelago in Hā‘ena and Ka‘ūpūlehu (Delevaux et al., 2018) have seen an increased recovery of culturally important species such as reef fish and waterbirds. Likewise, a study at the Raja Ampat Marine Reserve in Indonesia found that putting local voices at the center of the PA management (Mangubhai et al., 2012) translated into significant improvements, with increases in fish and overall reef health, along with positive impacts on quality-of-life indicators such as economic well-being, health, and education levels in the surrounding communities (ibid.) 

The key point here is that, as the global push to protect 30% of the world's habitable land by 2030 gains momentum, the question remains: will these ambitious goals replicate the mistakes of the past of protected-area management, or pave the way for more inclusive, sustainable solutions? The future of protected areas hinges not just on learning from different cases, but on consistently embracing co-produced knowledge at every stage—within the monitoring frameworks, scientific and technical collaborations, and in the reporting and reviewing processes of protected-area implementation, which are, nevertheless, established by the Convention on Biological Diversity.

Bridging knowledge and action

There are certainly more examples and other perspectives, such as the role of power, to consider beyond those discussed here regarding both successful and unsuccessful outcomes where the goal has been to promote co-produced knowledge and action for sustainability. In fact, advocating for co-produced knowledge has a history in many disciplines, including public health, environmental social science, educational research, and in many interdisciplinary programs. 

However, the result of successful and unsuccessful examples exists, and it can be argued that it is often situated into a specific context or case. Take, for instance, the case of the carbon offset program. Although they stem from a well-founded scientific understanding that forests absorb carbon dioxide, the disconnect between this knowledge and how the initiative was implemented has led to detrimental outcomes for local communities in Uganda. Similarly, the intention to conserve biodiversity through PAs has in cases been undermined by a lack of local engagement and knowledge. 

But various solutions to climate change are out there. The challenge, it seems, lies not just in recognizing the importance of co-produced knowledge and action, but in fundamentally integrating and scaling it up into governance systems. Equitable climate policies depend on our ability to bridge the gap between knowledge and action, and the future(s) of sustainability seems to hang in the balance.