In 2007 Ioane Teitiota and his wife left their homeland of Kiribati and moved to New Zealand. Although their visas expired within 3 years, New Zealand soon became home, especially as their family expanded to include three children.
In 2013 Mr. Teitiota was arrested for a traffic violation and threatened with deportation. He applied for asylum, arguing he was a climate refugee on the basis of the environmental degradation that had endangered his home in Kiribati.
Unfortunately, he was denied, four times.
Mr. Teitiota was not the first to have made such a case, nor the first to be denied. He is representative of a community that is largely being ignored and is growing.
But how do courts determine who is or isn’t a climate refugee? And why is it so contested?
Refugees are a protected group.
Mr. Teitiota, and others who made similar claims as early as 2000, were trying to tap into the protections offered to refugees under the 1951 UN Refugee Convention.
In the agreement, refugees are considered those who due to the “ fear of being persecuted for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group or political opinion,” are unable to stay in their country of nationality.
When climate change impacts are tracked, it is clear that they fall hardest on the marginalized communities described in the Refugee Convention. Such communities are also the least likely to be major contributors of climate change. The disastrous and unequal impacts, pushing people from their homes and falling on vulnerable populations can be considered persecution.
Refugees seeking asylum have been forced from their homelands and are unable to return. In the case of Mr. Teitiota and his wife, sea-level rise forced them to leave Kiribati.
Under the Convention, refugees are guaranteed asylum and basic rights such as those to family life, education, and access to justice. These protections offer prospects of safety and a new life for those fleeing climate disasters and degradation.
But things are complicated.
Refugees are already under-resourced.
For starters, existing refugees are under-resourced. While climate-related factors are quickly passing typical refugee-makers such as war or poverty, there is already an unprecedented number of refugees. Enabling climate migrants to tap into the scarce resources and protections offered to existing refugees will strain the existing system.
It will also drive competition, as climate migrants seeking refugee protections may struggle to prove the cause of their condition. This is especially difficult since climate change exacerbates existing inequities and tensions (like war or poverty) which are also drivers of migration. So even when climate change is a factor, it may be hidden behind other social or political factors.
And how do we distinguish which climate events are products of global warming? Such questions and challenges could lead to long and costly legal battles – something asylum seekers have few resources to pursue.
As a part of being under-resourced, existing refugees are also ostracized. The term “refugee” comes with a lot of social and political baggage – so many wonder if climate migrants should pick up the term at all.
Climate refugee designation links the Global North’s climate change negligence with persecution.
One of the benefits of expanding the refugee designation is that it links climate change to persecution. Linking it acknowledges the disproportionate impacts that fall on vulnerable communities and establishes their minimal contributions.
Such a connection between climate change and persecution formalizes the responsibility of the Global North to the communities impacted by their actions. Persecution implies intentionality, and if nations are aware of the impact of their actions and don’t act to curb them, that is intentional. The current framing of support for climate migrants is seen as merely a social good or charity. It is a duty. The Global North could then be held accountable and required to not only offer asylum to climate migrants but to more drastically curb emissions and stop their overall climate change negligence.
One drawback to the persecution framing is that it portrays climate changes as forcing migration. While that can be true, it is not always the case. There is no sharp division between voluntary and involuntary migration. In most contexts, climate is one of many push factors of migration. Framing migration so one-dimensionally also denies the autonomy of climate migrants, who are able to weigh other factors and considerations.
Refugee status feels like an abandonment of all hope.
Despite the benefits of having a legal acknowledgment of responsibility by the Global North, and the obligation of refugee-designated protections, many would-be-recipient communities are wary of celebrating refugee status. For many, pushing for refugee status for those that choose to flee is the same as abandoning hope for those that decide to stay. Refugee status acknowledges the dire situation, but in a way that can feel dismissive of local efforts to manage the effects of climate change and stay home.
Requiring rich countries to take in the climate displaced or to offer aid, without requiring them to change their actions comes across as merely imposing a fine – a fine to live as they choose and ignore the consequences. While financial opportunities and legal pathways must be offered, they are not nearly enough to compensate for leaving one’s home, or the ancestral ties and strong community networks it can represent. They cannot just pay their dues, they must reform.
Why it matters.
As Mr. Teitiota’s story shows, framing matters. Legal status as a refugee can mean the difference between receiving aid or not. Language cannot become the end goal, but it is a useful starting point.