• #Niger coup: increasing instability, forced displacement & irregular migration across the #Sahel

    Niger coup: increasing instability, forced displacement & irregular migration across the Sahel, amidst billions of EU Trust Fund for Stability investments.

    On July 26, a military coup took place in Niger, when the democratically elected president was deposed and the commander of the presidential guard declared himself the leader. A nationwide curfew was announced and borders were closed. The military junta justified its actions claiming it was in response to the continuing deterioration of the security situation. On August 10, the leaders of the coup declared a new government, naming 21 ministers, including several generals, but with civilian economist Ali Mahaman Lamine Zeine as the new prime minister.

    This was the latest in a series of seven military coups in West and Central Africa since 2020, including in neighbouring Mali and Burkina Faso. In Mali, a coup within a coup took place in May 2021, when the junta leader of the 2020 coup stripped the president and prime minister of their powers and declared himself president. Burkina Faso suffered two military coups in 2022; in September 2022, the head of an artillery unit of the armed forces ousted the previous junta leader who had led a coup in January 2022, and declared himself president of Burkina Faso.

    To add to further potential instability and escalation in the region, the military governments of Burkina Faso and Mali quickly warned – in response to remarks by ECOWAS – that any military intervention against last week’s coup leaders in Niger would be considered a “declaration of war” against their nations. The coup leaders ignored an August 6 deadline by ECOWAS to relinquish power and release the detained elected president. At the August 10 ECOWAS emergency summit in Abuja, West African heads of state repeated that all options remain on the table to restore constitutional order in Niger and ordered the activation of its standby force.
    Niger, Mali, Burkina Faso: military coups in the three major recipients of the EU Trust Fund for Stability and addressing the root causes of irregular migration and displaced persons in the Sahel

    Interestingly, Niger, Mali and Burkina Faso have been prime target countries in the European Union’s efforts to increase stability in the region and address the root causes of irregular migration and displacement.

    In 2015, the European Union established the “EU Emergency Trust Fund for stability and addressing root causes of irregular migration and displaced persons in Africa”. Of a total fund of 5 billion EUR, the Sahel and Lake Chad is the biggest funding window, with 2.2 billion EUR committed between the start of the programme and the end of December 2022, across 214 projects.

    The three biggest recipient countries in the Sahel and Lake Chad region are indeed Niger (294 million), Mali (288 million) and Burkina Faso (190 million), in addition to 600 million for regional projects. Among the four various strategic objectives, overall the largest share of the budget (34%) went to security and governance activities (the other strategic priorities are economic opportunities, strengthening resilience and improved migration management). The security and governance objective has been the main priority in Mali (49% of all EUTF funding), Niger (42%) and Burkina Faso (69%) (as well as in Nigeria and Mauritania).

    However, the most recent EUTF monitoring report on the Sahel window offers a sobering read on the state of stability and security in these three countries. In summary:

    “In Burkina Faso, 2022 was marked by political instability and deepening insecurity. Burkina Faso has suffered from attacks from armed groups. The conflict has sparked an unprecedented humanitarian crisis. Burkina Faso is facing the worst food crisis in a decade”.

    In Mali, “the political process remains at risk considering the country’s worsening security situation and strained diplomatic relations. In an increasingly insecure environment, 8.8 million people were in need of humanitarian assistance in January 2023. In 2022, 1,378 events of violence were reported, causing 4,862 fatalities, a 31% and 155% increase, respectively, compared to 2021”.

    In Niger, it was estimated the country would “face an unprecedented food crisis during the 2022 lean season, resulting from conflict, drought, and high food prices. The humanitarian crisis is strongly driven by insecurity. The number of internal displacements and refugees in Niger kept rising.” These conclusions on Niger date from before the July 2023 coup.

    The report also concluded that 2022 was the “most violent and deadliest year on record for the countries of the Sahel and Lake Chad window, driven by the profound and continuing security crises in Nigeria, Mali, and Burkina Faso. Fatalities recorded in the ACLED database in Mali (4,867) and Burkina Faso (4,266) were the highest ever recorded, more than doubling (144% and 119%, respectively) compared to the average for 2020-2021.” Meanwhile, UNICEF reported 11,100 schools are closed due to conflict or threats made against teachers and students. The number of attacks on schools in West and Central Africa more than doubled between 2019 and 2020.

    In other words: despite billions of funding towards stability and addressing the root causes of irregular migration and displacement, we are seeing increasing instability, conditions in these countries actually driving more displacement and no lasting drop in irregular migration.
    Increasing forced displacement and irregular migration

    Indeed, as of July 2023, UNHCR reports a total of almost 3.2 million Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) in the Sahel, compared to just under 50,000 when the EUTF was established in 2015. Similarly, UNHCR reports almost 1.5 million refugees and asylum seekers in the Sahel, compared to over 200,000 when the EUTF was established in 2015.

    Irregular migration across the Mediterranean between North Africa and Europe is also on the rise again. According to ISPI, the latest surge in irregular arrivals that Italy is experiencing (136,000 migrants disembarked in Italy in the twelve-month period between June 2022 and May 2023) is almost comparable, in magnitude, to the period of high arrivals in 2014-2017, when on average 155,000 migrants landed each year, which was one of the major drivers for establishing the EUTF. Between 2014 and 2017 close to 80% of all irregular arrivals along the Central Mediterranean route were citizens from sub-Saharan Africa. While figures for 2020-2022 show that the share of arrivals from sub-Saharan Africa fell – suggesting that the efforts to reduce migration may have had an impact – the trend has now reversed again. In the first five months of 2023, sub-Saharan Africans make up more than half of all arrivals again.
    Instability, displacement and irregular migration: because, despite, or regardless of billions of investments in stability and addressing root causes?

    Of course, despite all of the above, we cannot simply conclude the EUTF actually contributed to instability, more displacement and more irregular migration. We cannot even conclude that it failed to have much positive effect, as it not possible to establish causality and we do not have a counterfactual. Perhaps the situation in the Sahel would have been even worse without these massive investments. Surely, the billions of euros the EUTF spend on the Sahel have contributed to successful projects with a positive impact on people’s lives. However, we can conclude that despite these massive investments, the region is more unstable and insecure and faces much more forced displacement than when the EUTF investments started.

    As outlined in an earlier Op-Ed in 2020, the ‘root causes’ approach to migration is both dishonest and ineffective. One of the warnings referred to in that Op-Ed came from a 2019 report by the UK Foreign Affairs Committee concluding that the “EU’s migration work in the Sahel and Sub-Saharan Africa risks exacerbating existing security problems, fuelling human rights abuses, and endorsing authoritarian regimes. Preventing local populations from crossing borders may help cut the numbers arriving in Europe in the short term, but in the long term it risks damaging economies and creating instability—which in itself can trigger displacement”. This warning seems to be more valid then ever when looking at the current situation across the Sahel.

    In response to the latest coup in Niger, the EU announced immediate cessation of budget support and indefinite suspension of all cooperation actions in the domain of security. Similarly, France suspended all development aid and budget support with immediate effect. However, Niger has been a prime partner of the EU in fighting the jihadist insurgency in the Sahel and in curbing irregular migration to Europe. Niger’s new military leaders – when looking at the EU’s dealings with third countries to address irregular migration, most recently with Tunisia and Egypt, as well as earlier deals with Morocco and Turkey – are aware of the importance of migration cooperation with third countries for the EU. As such, they may use these issues as leverage in negotiations and to force acceptance of the new regime. It remains to be seen to what extent – and for how long – the EU will be able to maintain its current stance, and resist the pressure to engage with the new regime and resume cooperation, given the political importance that the EU and its member states accord to stemming irregular migration.
    Changing course, or not?

    The bigger question remains: it is becoming increasingly clear the current approach of addressing so-called root causes and trying to create stability to reduce migration and forced displacement is not really working. Now that we have seen military coups in all three major recipient countries of EUTF funding in the Sahel, will there be a significant change in the EU’s external migration policy approach in Africa and the Sahel going forward? Or will the current approach prevail, doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results? What is ultimately needed is a more humane, rational, coherent and comprehensive approach to migration governance, which not only takes into account all aspects of migration (including visa policies, returns, labour migration, etc.), but goes beyond migration and migration-related objectives, and takes into account other policy areas, including trade, agriculture, arms and commodities exports, peace building and conflict resolution. When we are discussing the root causes of migration, we need honest debate and actions that include the real and very serious causes of migration and displacement.


    #coup_d'Etat #migrations #politiques_migratoires #instabilité_politique #externalisation #EU_Emergency_Trust_Fund #Trust_Fund #Mali #Burkina_Faso #causes_profondes #root_causes #EUTF #insécurité #déplacés_internes #sécheresse

    ping @_kg_

  • Rentrer ou pas à #Futaba, près de #Fukushima : le dilemme des anciens habitants

    La dernière des 11 municipalités évacuées en 2011 à proximité de la centrale nucléaire de Fukushima accueille de nouveau des habitants sur 10 % de son territoire. La levée de l’#interdiction_de_résidence, présentée comme un pas vers la #reconstruction, ne déclenche pas l’enthousiasme.

    Lorsque Shinichi Kokubun, 72 ans, emménagera dans son logement HLM tout neuf, il pourra apercevoir au loin les ruines de son ancienne maison, qui fut détruite à 80 % par le tremblement de terre de mars 2011. Devant l’ampleur des travaux, il a préféré la laisser pour s’installer dans un trois pièces du projet immobilier flambant neuf actuellement en construction près de la gare de Futaba.

    « Mon ancien voisin, lui, est retourné chez lui. Moi, je vais devoir attendre octobre 2023 pour rentrer mais je peux bien patienter un an de plus », dit en souriant le septuagénaire. Plus de onze ans qu’ils attendent. En mars 2011, les 7 000 habitant·es de Futaba ont fui leur ville, dans la peur et la panique, chassé·es par la menace de la centrale nucléaire de #Fukushima_Daiichi, qui se trouve à trois kilomètres de là. Maisons, affaires, souvenirs, ils ont tout abandonné, contraints de recommencer leur vie ailleurs.

    Mais depuis le 31 août dernier, 10 % du territoire de Futaba a été déclaré habitable par les autorités. Une décision qui entre dans le projet de #revitalisation de la région mis en place après le #tremblement_de_terre. La commune, sur laquelle se trouve en partie la centrale nucléaire endommagée, était la dernière des 11 municipalités évacuées en 2011 à être encore frappée, sur 96 % de son territoire, d’une interdiction totale de résidence. 

    Depuis la réouverture partielle, une vingtaine de personnes se sont réinstallées. Le 1er octobre, le lotissement de #Shinichi_Kokubun, baptisé « Le village de la communauté », a ouvert une première tranche de 25 logements qui a accueilli ses résident·es. D’ici à un an, il comptera 86 habitations, auxquelles s’ajouteront trois bâtiments de vie commune et un service de consultations médicales.

    « Nous voulons passer la barre des 2 000 habitants à Futaba dans les cinq ans », explique Naoya Matsubara, fonctionnaire qui s’attelle au projet de reconstruction de la ville. Un pari qui est loin d’être gagné : selon une enquête réalisée cette année, moins de 11 % des 5 562 ancien·nes résident·es toujours en vie se disent prêt·es à revenir vivre à Futaba. Il faut dire qu’au-delà des logements, il n’y a rien. Pas de commerces, de supermarchés, de médecins ni d’écoles…

    En guise de restauration, une camionnette vient le midi, en semaine, pour proposer quelques plateaux-repas et snacks. La ville vit au rythme des engins de chantier. En plus d’être aux portes de la #zone_interdite, celles et ceux qui viendront vivre ici seront cerné·es d’immeubles et d’habitations toujours en cours de #décontamination et de démolition, qui ponctuent le paysage.

    Fin août, le gouverneur de Fukushima, Masao Uchibori, déclarait que « les étapes du chantier de décontamination à venir, ainsi que le traitement des maisons et des terres de ceux qui ne souhaitent pas rentrer, n’ont pas encore été définis ». 

    Le retour n’est-il pas prématuré ? « Au Japon, lorsqu’il s’agit de construire des bâtiments, ils sont très efficaces, explique Trishit Banerjee, étudiant à l’université du Tohoku, investi dans le tourisme dans la préfecture de Fukushima, en particulier Futaba. Mais l’aspect communautaire n’est pas suffisamment réfléchi. C’était la même chose en 1995, après Kōbe. » 

    Les beaux bâtiments donnent « l’impression que la reconstruction va vite. Mais lorsque l’on creuse, on se rend compte que les besoins des résidents n’ont pas été pris en compte ». À une heure d’ici, dans le quartier de #Nakoso, dans la ville d’#Iwaki, 237 personnes évacuées, parmi lesquelles 131 venaient de Futaba, vivent dans une HLM.

    Shinichi Kokubun y réside depuis quatre ans. Lors d’une réunion de consultation tenue en 2020, les personnes évacuées avaient émis de nombreuses inquiétudes à propos du « village de la communauté », par exemple son manque d’accessibilité.

    « Beaucoup d’anciens résidents sont âgés aujourd’hui. Les allées sont trop étroites dans le nouveau lotissement », se désole Shinichi Kokubun. Il bondit à la sirène de l’ambulance. « Les secours viennent souvent ici. Je vais vérifier si quelqu’un a besoin d’aide », dit en s’éclipsant quelques minutes celui qui prête volontiers main-forte à la communauté.

    L’abnégation de Shinichi Kokubun est désarmante : « Il ne me reste plus beaucoup d’années à vivre : autant me rendre utile. » Dans le nouveau lotissement, il espère simplement pouvoir aider. « Je n’ai pas besoin de grand-chose, confie-t-il. Je suis veuf, mes deux fils sont grands. Mes parents sont décédés. Je n’ai pas de petits-enfants. Je peux vivre n’importe où et je ne pense pas aux risques pour ma vie. » 

    Une population discriminée

    Né à Motomiya, un peu plus au nord de la préfecture, il s’installe à Futaba, à l’époque pour travailler dans la centrale. En 2011, il s’apprêtait à prendre sa retraite quand la catastrophe frappe. Ce jour-là, comme les 165 000 personnes évacuées de la préfecture de Fukushima, il ne l’oubliera jamais. Il était à Tokyo – « c’était la panique ». Il remue alors ciel et terre pour rentrer chez lui et retrouver sa famille.

    Une fois à Futaba, l’ordre d’évacuer tombe : les heures de bouchons sur les routes pour fuir la radioactivité, les nuits en centres d’évacuation. « C’était le chaos, la nuit on ne pouvait pas dormir. » De cette expérience tragique, il veut en tirer un enseignement pour l’avenir : « Je suis sûr que je peux aider à la prévention de catastrophes. »

    Le 11 mars 2011, le tremblement de terre du Tohoku fait près de 20 000 morts, dont 1 614 dans la préfecture de Fukushima, auxquels s’ajoutent 196 personnes disparues. Depuis, la préfecture a déclaré 2 333 décès supplémentaires parmi les personnes évacuées (chiffre de mars 2022), dus aux conséquences de la catastrophe.

    La femme de Shinichi Kokubun, décédée en 2015, en fait partie, confie-t-il sans s’étendre. Problèmes de santé mais aussi suicides sont élevés chez les évacué·es : comme les hibakusha, les survivants de la bombe atomique avant eux, ils ont souffert et souffrent toujours d’une #discrimination sévère.

    On ne veut pas d’eux en ville, on ne veut pas leur dire bonjour. Comme si l’exposition à la #radioactivité était honteuse, voire contagieuse. Dans le nouveau Futaba, « va-t-on devenir une attraction ? », s’inquiète Shinichi Kokubun, qui craint l’étiquette de village de la zone interdite. « À Tchernobyl, on ne peut pas approcher si près. Futaba va attirer du tourisme macabre, je le crains. » 

    Pour Katsuyoshi Kuma, 71 ans, rentrer à Futaba dans les conditions actuelles, c’est hors de question. « Ce n’est pas que l’on ne veut pas rentrer, c’est plutôt que l’on ne peut pas décemment le faire. » Pour cet enfant du pays, l’ensemble est pensé à l’envers : avant d’installer des gens, il faut d’abord réfléchir à leurs conditions de vie. « Comment va-t-on survivre ? Et ceux qui ne veulent pas d’une HLM, où vont-ils aller ? » 

    La maison de Katsuyoshi Kuma se trouve dans la partie de la ville où l’interdiction de résider n’a toujours pas été levée. Sa maison risque de rester inaccessible encore un certain temps, si ce n’est toujours. « La zone qui a été rouverte concentrait autrefois plus de 60 % de la population. Nous, nous vivions dans la montagne. » Futaba, c’était le quotidien d’une « petite ville de campagne ». « Il y avait pas mal d’agriculteurs. » 

    Les habitant·es qui travaillaient la terre « ne veulent plus revenir ». Désabusé, Katsuyoshi Kuma rêve néanmoins de « rentrer un jour pour cultiver des légumes et du riz sur [s]on lopin de terre ». En attendant, il ne retournera pas vivre à Futaba. « Si je ne peux pas retourner dans ma maison, cela ne m’intéresse pas. » 

    Il vit aussi à Nakoso, mais pas dans le quartier des personnes évacuées. Il préfère s’en éloigner un peu mais pas trop : comme autrefois, lorsque du haut de ses montagnes il continuait de garder un œil bienveillant sur sa communauté, sans trop s’y mêler.

    La zone devrait-elle rester condamnée ? La menace de la radioactivité est-elle pleinement levée ? Cette ville dont la centrale assurait autrefois l’emploi d’une grande partie des habitant·es parviendra-t-elle à recréer un bassin économiquement viable ?

    Dans la mairie, une centaine de fonctionnaires travaillent à relancer la machine. Ils comptent aussi sur de nouveaux arrivants, originaires d’autres régions du Japon, qui veulent participer à l’effort de reconstruction. Sur la question de la radioactivité, les autorités locales se veulent rassurantes.

    « Je comprends la peur, avoue Naoya Matsubara. Mais en 2011, les doses de radioactivité étaient très élevées, cela n’a plus rien à voir avec aujourd’hui. » Shinichi Kokubun et Katsuyoshi Kuma ont décidé de faire confiance. Malgré ce qu’ils ont vécu, ils ne sont pas contre le nucléaire. Pour eux, la décontamination est « un chantier qui fonctionne et il n’y a pas de raisons de croire que l’on nous ment ».

    Trishit est plus tourmenté. « C’est une peur que je garde dans un coin de ma tête… Mais que faire ? Abandonner ? Est-ce que l’on devrait empêcher les gens de rentrer chez eux si c’est leur vœu le plus cher ? » Il poursuit : « Il faut garder espoir. » 

    Ce redémarrage à zéro, l’étudiant, débordant d’optimisme, le perçoit aussi comme une « occasion de réfléchir à notre lieu de résidence, de repenser la ville selon les besoins des citoyens, de façon durable ». Si la communauté se reconstruit ainsi, « ce sera une expérience humaine incroyable ».

    Katsuyoshi Kuma boit son café glacé. Il se redresse et sans un mot, il tire sur son tee-shirt, découvrant sa gorge et une large cicatrice. « J’ai été opéré de la thyroïde il y a quatre ans. Tout de suite, j’ai pensé à la centrale. Y a-t-il un lien ? » À l’époque, il contacte Tepco. « Un employé, qui est resté anonyme, m’a dit d’aller au tribunal. » 

    Pourtant, Katsuyoshi Kuma ne fera rien. « C’est compliqué pour moi, ce type de procédure. Je me suis résigné. La cause, je ne la connaîtrai jamais... » Mais il affirme : « Je ne suis pas le seul. D’autres ont vécu la même chose que moi. On ne saura jamais vraiment à quelles doses nous avons été exposés lorsque nous avons évacué. C’est vrai que nous aussi nous sommes des #hibakusha. » Depuis le 11 mars 2011, « nos vies ont été bien sombres ».


    #nucléaire #retour #catastrophe_nucléaire #IDPs #déplacés_internes #habitabilité


    voir aussi ce fil de discussion, qui traite aussi des questions des retours :

  • Perché bisogna demolire la “#new_town” di #Berlusconi

    Il processo di ricostruzione dell’Aquila deve concludersi, simbolicamente e praticamente, con una demolizione: quella del progetto C.A.S.E

    Pochi giorni fa un servizio della celebre trasmissione televisiva Report è tornato per un attimo a puntare i riflettori dell’attenzione pubblica sulla gestione del post-sisma all’Aquila, denunciando in particolare lo stato di degrado in cui versano alcuni alloggi del progetto C.A.S.E. (acronimo di Complessi Antisismici, Sostenibili ed Ecocompatibili).

    Il progetto è il principale intervento realizzato dal governo nazionale (allora presieduto da Silvio Berlusconi) per dare alloggio temporaneo alla popolazione sfollata a seguito del sisma che, nel 2009, colpì il capoluogo abruzzese – provocando 309 morti e decine di migliaia di sfollati, e riducendo in macerie ampie porzioni della città e di alcuni comuni limitrofi. Stiamo parlando di quasi 4500 alloggi, destinati a ospitare circa 17.000 persone, costituiti da palazzine residenziali realizzate su enormi piastre antisismiche in cemento armato. Le palazzine del progetto C.A.S.E. sono raggruppate in piccoli “quartieri dormitorio” (i servizi pubblici sono pochi, gli esercizi commerciali assenti) localizzati in varie aree, per lo più periferiche, della città. Questi quartieri sono conosciuti giornalisticamente come le “new towns” di Berlusconi: fu infatti il Cavaliere a spingere fortemente per la loro realizzazione. Al suono dello slogan “dalle tende alle case”, l’allora presidente del Consiglio fece un enorme investimento politico e di immagine sulla costruzione di queste strutture. I primi appartamenti furono inaugurati a soli cinque mesi dal sisma, con un Berlusconi raggiante che poteva dichiarare di aver vinto la sfida di sistemare velocemente un numero elevato di sfollati all’interno di strutture in tutto e per tutto simili a tradizionali abitazioni. Dalle tende dell’emergenza alle case del progetto C.A.S.E., per l’appunto.

    Il costo di tale apparente successo è però stato abilmente scaricato sulla collettività, senza che quest’ultima quasi se ne accorgesse. Ciò non riguarda tanto la spesa astronomica (superiore agli 800 milioni di euro) per la costruzione degli alloggi del progetto C.A.S.E., quanto la salatissima ipoteca che hanno imposto al territorio aquilano, legata alla loro nefasta natura in bilico tra temporaneo e permanente. Il progetto è stato infatti realizzato per dare rapidamente un alloggio temporaneo alla popolazione sfollata e, per questo, è stato costruito con materiali inadatti a durare a lungo. Ciò è stato plasticamente testimoniato, nel 2014, dal crollo di un balcone in una delle “new towns”, successivamente interamente evacuata. Simultaneamente, il progetto C.A.S.E. è stato realizzato nell’idea, inizialmente non troppo sbandierata, che le strutture edificate in verità non sarebbero mai state rimosse. Si trova traccia di questa intenzione già in alcuni documenti ufficiale di 2011 (tra cui il Piano di Ricostruzione, che avanzava l’ipotesi, invero alquanto strampalata, che quegli appartamenti “temporanei” avrebbero potuto ospitare studenti e turisti alla fine della ricostruzione).

    Oggi, con la ricostruzione della città che non è lontana dall’essere completata, questi alloggi sono entrati in una traiettoria di sotto-utilizzo e degrado. Su 4450 abitazioni, solo circa 2850 sono oggi occupate, in parte dagli sfollati del sisma, in parte da altri soggetti fragili (popolazione a basso reddito, famiglie monoparentali e anziani, a cui si sono aggiunte recentemente alcune decine di profughi ucraini). Dei rimanenti alloggi, solo 300 sono effettivamente disponibili, mentre risultano inagibili 870 appartamenti (quelli in corso di manutenzione sono 420). Con il passare del tempo, la quota di abitazioni inoccupate crescerà, così come, probabilmente, quella degli alloggi inagibili (e i costi di manutenzione). Che fare, dunque, del progetto C.A.S.E.?

    Il servizio di Report menzionato all’inizio di questo post ha scatenato all’Aquila un rimpallo di responsabilità tra la presente amministrazione (di centro-destra) e la precedente (di centro-sinistra), che ha dimostrato solo, in maniera inequivocabile, come nessuno, indipendentemente dal colore politico, abbia un piano unitario, a lungo termine, per queste strutture. Quello che si sta facendo è procedere a tentoni, per frammenti. In campo ci sono alcuni interessanti progetti di riutilizzo di alcune porzioni del progetto C.A.S.E., legati all’istituzione all’Aquila del Centro Nazionale del Servizio Civile Universale e alla Scuola Nazionale dei Vigili del Fuoco.

    Ma la verità è che c’è un limite ai progetti di riutilizzo che si possono inventare, motivo per cui si dovrà prima o poi ammettere che c’è un elefante nella stanza: l’unica strada percorribile per un elevato numero di queste strutture è la demolizione. E ciò nonostante l’enorme massa di denaro pubblico spesa per realizzarle poco più di un decennio fa. Si deve infatti prendere atto che il loro mantenimento non rappresenta un’opportunità (semplicemente, la città non ha bisogno di tutti quegli spazi, tanto più che c’è un problema rilevante di vuoti anche all’interno del tessuto urbano consolidato), ma un fardello, i cui costi di manutenzione non faranno che aumentare, di pari passo con l’avanzare del loro degrado e il crescere del loro inutilizzo. L’abbattimento è però più facile a dirsi che a farsi, se non altro per una questione economica: si parla di un’operazione dai costi elevatissimi (svariate decine di milioni di euro), che l’amministrazione comunale non è sicuramente in grado di affrontare. Demolire deve diventare così il tassello finale dell’azione del governo centrale rispetto al sisma dell’Aquila: simbolicamente e praticamente la ricostruzione deve terminare con una distruzione, quella del progetto C.A.S.E.


    #tremblement_de_terre #Aquila #L'Aquila #temporaire #CASE #reconstruction #logement #Silvio_Berlusconi #déplacés #sfollati #new_towns #dalle_tende_alle_case #coût #logement_temporaire

  • Guerra: pensieri dall’Ucraina

    Aleksandr V. è originario del Donbass. Sino al 24 febbraio lavorava a Kiev, nell’ambito di progetti di cooperazione e sviluppo. In questi giorni siamo riusciti a raccogliere le sue impressioni su quanto sta avvenendo

  • La #Grande_Famine de #Mao

    Entre 1958 et 1962, le « #Grand_bond_en_avant », conçu par Mao pour que la #Chine dépasse la production de la Grande-Bretagne et gagne son autonomie face à l’URSS, a entraîné une #famine dramatique et provoqué la mort de 30 à 50 millions de personnes. « Catastrophes naturelles », c’est ainsi qu’aujourd’hui encore le Parti justifie ce terrible bilan. Témoignages, archives et interviews des principaux historiens ayant enquêté sur cette catastrophe viennent divulguer l’incroyable secret qui a entouré cette tragédie.


    #faim #histoire #réforme_agraire #violence_de_classe #paysans #redistribution_des_terres #terres #collectivisation_agricole #cents_fleurs #répression #camps_de_travaux_forcés #camps_de_rééducation #communes_populaires
    #points_de_travail #pénurie_alimentaire #corruption #violence #cantines_collectives #acier #prélèvement_de_céréales #déplacés_internes #cannibalisme #collectivisation_radicale

    • Stèles. La Grande Famine en Chine (1958-1961)

      Ce récit unique, œuvre d’un intellectuel chinois, est le premier compte-rendu historique complet de la Grande Famine provoquée par le régime communiste en Chine entre 1958 et 1961. Fruit d’une douzaine d’années de recherches sur le terrain, appuyé sur des milliers de pages de sources locales et de nombreux témoignages de première main, Stèles constitue un document exceptionnel.

      A la fin des années 1950, Mao Zedong lança le « Grand Bond en avant » dans le but d’accélérer la transition vers le communisme. Cela provoqua un gigantesque désastre économique dans les campagnes chinoises. La folie de la collectivisation à outrance détruit toute la société rurale, jusqu’à la famille. Pour nourrir les villes, on en est réduit à affamer les paysans. La ferveur révolutionnaire des cadres locaux se mêle à la terreur qu’inspire la hiérarchie et aggrave la situation ; la transmission de fausses informations (exagération des récoltes, occultation des morts de faim) donne lieu à des instructions insensées (achat forcé de quantités basées sur les résultats exagérés) auxquelles l’administration n’ose s’opposer. Dès la fin 1958 s’abat l’horreur : des villages entiers sont effacés par la famine, les cas de cannibalisme se multiplient, les survivants perdent la raison ; en sus des morts de faim, beaucoup sont battus à mort, ou poussés au suicide, des milliers d’enfants sont abandonnés...

      #livre #Jisheng_Yang #communisme #régime_communistes

  • L’#Odyssée_d'Hakim T01

    L’histoire vraie d’Hakim, un jeune Syrien qui a dû fuir son pays pour devenir « réfugié » . Un témoignage puissant, touchant, sur ce que c’est d’être humain dans un monde qui oublie parfois de l’être.L’histoire vraie d’un homme qui a dû tout quitter : sa famille, ses amis, sa propre entreprise... parce que la guerre éclatait, parce qu’on l’avait torturé, parce que le pays voisin semblait pouvoir lui offrir un avenir et la sécurité. Un récit du réel, entre espoir et violence, qui raconte comment la guerre vous force à abandonner votre terre, ceux que vous aimez et fait de vous un réfugié.Une série lauréate du Prix Franceinfo de la Bande Dessinée d’Actualité et de Reportage.


    Tome 2 :


    Tome 3 :


    #BD #bande_dessinée #livre

    #réfugiés #réfugiés_syriens #asile #migrations #parcours_migratoires #itinéraire_migratoire #Syrie #histoire #guerre_civile #printemps_arabe #manifestation #Damas #Bachal_al-Assad #violence #dictature #contestation #révolution #répression #pénurie #arrestations_arbitraires #prison #torture #chabihas #milices #déplacés_internes #IDPs #Liban #Beyrouth #Amman #Jordanie #Turquie #Antalya #déclassement #déclassement_social #Balkans #route_des_Balkans #Grèce

  • Le #Nigeria vide les camps de déplacés de #Maiduguri

    Ces réfugiés avaient fui les exactions de #Boko_Haram, mais le gouverneur de l’Etat de #Borno les presse aujourd’hui de revenir sur leurs terres, malgré le risque humanitaire et la présence du groupe #Etat_islamique en Afrique de l’Ouest.

    Un silence de plomb est tombé sur le camp de déplacés de #Bakassi. Il ne reste presque rien de ce gros village de fortune qui abritait, il y a encore quelques semaines, plus de 41 800 déplacés, à la sortie de la grande ville de Maiduguri, chef-lieu de l’Etat de Borno, dans le nord-est du Nigeria. Les tentes et les abris de tôle ont disparu, la clinique a fermé ses portes et les enclos de terre se sont vidés de leurs bêtes.

    Pendant sept ans, des dizaines de communautés fuyant les exactions des djihadistes de Boko Haram se sont réfugiées sur ce terrain, initialement occupé par des logements de fonction, aujourd’hui à l’abandon. Mais, le 19 novembre, les déplacés de Bakassi ont été réveillés au beau milieu de la nuit par une délégation officielle, venue leur annoncer qu’ils avaient onze jours pour plier bagage et reprendre le chemin de leurs champs.

    Dans les heures qui ont suivi, #Babagana_Zulum, le gouverneur de l’Etat de Borno, a supervisé en personne l’attribution d’une #aide_alimentaire et financière à chaque chef de famille présent : 100 000 nairas (215 euros) ont été versés pour les hommes et 50 000 nairas (107 euros) pour les femmes, ainsi qu’un sac de riz de 25 kilos, un carton de nouilles et cinq litres d’huile de friture. Une aide censée leur permettre de tenir trois mois, le temps de reprendre la culture de leurs terres ou de trouver un autre lieu de vie, à Maiduguri ou à proximité de leur terre d’origine.

    Le #plan_de_développement établi par les autorités indique qu’au moins 50 % des déplacés de l’Etat de Borno devront avoir quitté les camps d’ici à l’année prochaine et que tous les camps de l’Etat devront avoir fermé leurs portes d’ici à 2026. Pour l’heure, le gouverneur a ordonné la fermeture des #camps_officiels situés autour de la ville de Maiduguri, afin de pousser les populations vers l’#autonomie_alimentaire. Quatre camps, abritant environ 86 000 personnes, ont déjà fermé ; cinq autres, accueillant plus de 140 000 personnes, doivent suivre.

    Abus subis par les réfugiés

    Le gouvernement local, qui assure qu’il « ne déplace personne de force », a justifié sa décision en pointant notamment les #abus que les réfugiés subissent dans ces espaces surpeuplés, où ils sont victimes de #violences_sexuelles et à la merci des détournements de l’aide alimentaire d’urgence. Mais les moyens déployés pour vider les camps ne sont pas à la hauteur des besoins.

    « Pendant la distribution de l’aide au départ, les autorités ont demandé à tous les hommes célibataires de s’éloigner. Beaucoup de gens de mon âge n’ont rien reçu du tout », assure Dahirou Moussa Mohammed. Ce paysan de 25 ans a passé un peu plus d’un an dans le camp après avoir fui les territoires occupés par Boko Haram, où il dit avoir été emmené de force après l’invasion de son village par les djihadistes en 2014.

    Depuis que Bakassi a fermé ses portes, Dahirou s’est installé sur une dalle de béton nu, à quelques mètres seulement du mur d’enceinte désormais surveillé par des gardes armés. « Nous avons récupéré la toile de nos tentes, les structures en bois et les tôles de la toiture, et nous les avons déplacées ici », explique le jeune homme.

    Dans un communiqué publié le 21 décembre, l’organisation Human Rights Watch regrette le manque « de consultations pour préparer les déplacés à rentrer chez eux ou pour les informer des alternatives possibles » et rappelle qu’on ignore tout du sort de 90 % des personnes ayant quitté Bakassi fin novembre. « Les déplacements multiples risquent d’accroître les besoins dans des zones où la présence humanitaire est déjà limitée. Cela est particulièrement préoccupant, compte tenu des indicateurs d’#insécurité_alimentaire dans la région », note, de son côté, la coalition d’ONG internationales Forum Nigeria.

    2,4 millions de personnes menacées par la #faim

    Selon un rapport des Nations unies datant du mois d’octobre, 2,4 millions de personnes sont menacées par la faim dans le Borno, ravagé par douze années de conflit. L’inquiétude des ONG est encore montée d’un cran avec la publication d’une lettre officielle datée du 6 décembre, interdisant expressément les #distributions_alimentaires dans les communautés récemment réinstallées.

    « La création délibérée de besoins par les humanitaires ne sera pas acceptée. (…) Laissons les gens renforcer leur #résilience », a insisté le gouverneur lors d’une réunion à huis clos avec les ONG, le 21 décembre. Il les accuse de rendre les populations dépendantes de l’#aide_humanitaire sans leur proposer de solutions de développement à long terme, afin de continuer à profiter de la crise.

    Même si le projet de fermeture des camps de Maiduguri a été évoqué à de multiples reprises par les dirigeants du Borno ces dernières années, la mise à exécution de ce plan par le gouverneur Babagana Zulum a surpris tout le monde. « Les gens ont besoin de retrouver leurs terres et on comprend bien ça, sauf que le processus actuel est extrêmement discutable », s’alarme la responsable d’une ONG internationale, qui préfère garder l’anonymat étant donné le climat de défiance qui règne actuellement dans le Borno. « On ne sait même pas comment ils vont rentrer chez eux, vu la dangerosité du voyage, et nous n’avons aucun moyen de les accompagner », regrette-t-elle.

    « Il faut que le gouvernement local reconnaisse que la situation sécuritaire ne permet pas ces retours, pour l’instant. Dans le contexte actuel, j’ai bien peur que les déplacés ne soient poussés dans les bras des insurgés », appuie un humanitaire nigérian qui travaille pour une autre organisation internationale.

    C’est par crainte des violences que Binetou Moussa a choisi de ne pas prendre le chemin du retour. « Ceux qui ont tenté de rejoindre notre village d’Agapalawa ont vite abandonné. Il n’y a plus rien là-bas et il paraît qu’on entend chaque jour des coups de feu dans la brousse. Je ne veux plus jamais revivre ça ! », justifie la vieille femme, qui garde en elle le souvenir terrifiant de sa longue fuite à pied jusqu’à Maiduguri, il y a sept ans.

    Faute d’avoir pu rejoindre leur village, beaucoup de déplacés de Bakassi ont finalement échoué à #Pulka ou #Gwoza, à plus de 100 kilomètres au sud-est de la capitale régionale. « Ils dorment dehors, sur le marché, et ils n’ont même plus assez d’argent pour revenir ici ! », gronde Binetou, en tordant ses mains décharnées. Dans ces villes secondaires sécurisées par l’armée, la menace d’une attaque demeure omniprésente au-delà des tranchées creusées à la pelleteuse pour prévenir l’intrusion de djihadistes. Une situation qui limite les perspectives agricoles des rapatriés.

    Attaques probables

    Le groupe Etat islamique en Afrique de l’Ouest (Iswap) est effectivement actif dans certaines zones de réinstallation. « L’armée contrôle bien les villes secondaires à travers tout le Borno, mais ils ne tiennent pas pour autant les campagnes, souligne Vincent Foucher, chercheur au CNRS. L’Iswap fait un travail de fond [dans certaines zones rurales] avec des patrouilles pour prélever des taxes, contrôler les gens et même rendre la justice au sein des communautés. »

    Et bien que l’organisation Etat islamique se montre plus pacifique dans ses rapports aux civils que ne l’était Abubakar Shekau – le chef historique de Boko Haram, disparu en mai 2021 au cours d’affrontements entre factions djihadistes rivales –, les risques encourus par les populations non affiliées sont bien réels. « Si on renvoie des gens dans les villes secondaires, l’#Iswap pourrait bien les attaquer », prévient Vincent Foucher. Sans oublier les civils « partis travailler dans les territoires contrôlés par l’Iswap et qui ont été victimes des bombardements de l’armée ».

    Dans un rapport publié le 15 décembre, Amnesty International évoque les attaques qui ont ciblé des personnes rapatriées au cours de l’année 2021 à Agiri, New Marte et Shuwari. L’ONG ajoute que « certains ont été forcés [par les militaires] à rester dans les zones de réinstallation, malgré l’escalade de la violence ». D’un point de vue politique, la fermeture des camps serait un moyen de reconquérir des territoires et même de tenter de mettre un point final à un conflit de douze années. Même si cela revient, selon les termes de Vincent Foucher, à « laisser des gens avec peu de mobilité, encerclés par les djihadistes et forcés de cohabiter avec une armée sous pression ».


    #réfugiés #déplacés_internes #migrations #camps_de_réfugiés #fermeture #renvois #retour_au_pays (tag que j’utilise pour les réfugiés et pas les déplacés internes, en général, mais ça permettra de retrouver l’article, si besoin)

  • 10 maps to understand #Afghanistan

    Al Jazeera visualises Afghanistan – a mostly mountainous country of 38 million people – which has suffered decades of war.


    #cartographie #cartes #Afghanistan #visualisation #cartographie

    #IDPs #déplacés_internes #réfugiés #réfugiés_afghans #talibans #opium #pauvreté #alphabétisation #illettrisme
    ping @visionscarto

  • Identifying Climate Adaptive Solutions to Displacement in Somalia

    This assessment report created by Samuel Hall for IOM, UNEP, and the Directorate for Environment and Climate Change of the Somali Government explores the interactions between climate change, displacement and urbanisation. It answers two key questions in the context of the Somali cities of Baidoa and Kismayo: What factors trigger climate-induced migration? And what adaptive and transformative solutions may contribute to building resilience amid displacement and climate change – at both the community and policy levels?


    table des matières:

    #changement_climatique #Somalie #rapport #IDPs #déplacés_internes #réfugiés_environnementaux #réfugiés_climatiques

  • La Face cachée des #énergies_vertes

    Voitures électriques, éoliennes, panneaux solaires… La transition énergétique laisse entrevoir la promesse d’un monde plus prospère et pacifique, enfin libéré du pétrole, de la pollution et des pénuries. Mais cette thèse officielle s’avère être un mythe : en nous libérant des combustibles fossiles, nous nous préparons à une nouvelle dépendance à l’égard des métaux rares. De graves problèmes écologiques et économiques pour l’approvisionnement de ces ressources stratégiques ont déjà commencé. Et si le « monde vert » qui nous attend se révélait être un nouveau cauchemar ?


    #film #film_documentaire #documentaire

    #COP21 #COP_21 #transition_énergétique #technologie #technologies_vertes #voiture_électrique #énergies_propres #extractivisme #mines #green-washing #greenwashing #délocalisation_de_la_pollution #pétrole #métaux_rares #néodyme #cobalt #graphite #lithium #photovoltaïque #énergie_solaire #énergie_éolienne #éolienne #solaire #dépendance #RDC #République_démocratique_du_Congo #Australie #Chili #Bolivie #Indonésie #Chine #industrie_minière #Mongolie #Terres_rares #eaux_usées #radioactivité #réfugiés_des_technologies_vertes #eau #IDPs #déplacés_internes #cuivre #santé #Chuquicamata #cancer #Aliro_Boladas #centrales_à_charbon #modèle_économique_extractiviste #énergies_renouvelables #engie #Norvège #charbon #hypocrisie #green_tech #zéro_émissions #changement_climatique #Jean-Louis_Borloo #ADEME #Renault #bornes_électriques #Rapport_Syrota #Jean_Sirota #BYD #EDF #Photowatt #Péchiney_métallurgie #magnésium #nationalisme_des_ressources #Bolivie #recyclage #déchets #décharges_sauvages #Neocomp #fausse_transition #sobriété #progrès_technologique #décroissance #énergies_renouvelables


    déjà signalé par @odilon sur seenthis :

    • « La face positive des énergies vertes »

      Le documentaire « La face cachée des énergies vertes » est passé fin novembre sur Arte. Truffé d’erreurs et d’arguments partisans, allant jusqu’à comparer le problème des pales d’éoliennes, soit disant non recyclables, à celui posé par les déchets nucléaires !

      Autre exemple : ce documentaire assène que les énergies vertes et que les batteries nécessitent obligatoirement l’utilisation de terres rares. Ce n’est pourtant pas du tout l’avis de l’Ademe. D’autre part, le photovoltaïque n’utilise jamais de terres rares. Et pour l’éolien et les voitures électriques, leur utilisation dans les moteurs à aimants permanents permet de gagner en performances, mais cet usage n’est ni systématique, ni indispensable.

      Cet article présente :

      – La quinzaine d’erreurs grossières parmi les très nombreuses qui émaillent ce documentaire.
      – Le cercle vertueux du photovoltaïque et de l’éolien : plus on en installe, plus on réduit les émissions de gaz carbonique.
      – Que nos voitures contiennent davantage de terres rares que les voitures électriques sans moteurs à aimants permanents.
      – Pour qui roule le journaliste Guillaume Pitron, à l’origine de ce documentaire.

      En se fondant sur les avis qui se colportent, principalement sur la production des terres rares utilisées dans les énergies vertes, Guillaume Pitron, qui a enquêté dans une douzaine de pays, nous fait visiter quelques sites d’exploitation qui portent atteinte à l’environnement et à la santé des travailleurs.

      Hélas ce documentaire est gâché autant par sa partialité, que par de très nombreuses erreurs grossières.


    • Geologic and anthropogenic sources of contamination in settled dust of a historic mining port city in northern Chile: health risk implications

      Chile is the leading producer of copper worldwide and its richest mineral deposits are found in the Antofagasta Region of northern Chile. Mining activities have significantly increased income and employment in the region; however, there has been little assessment of the resulting environmental impacts to residents. The port of Antofagasta, located 1,430 km north of Santiago, the capital of Chile, functioned as mineral stockpile until 1998 and has served as a copper concentrate stockpile since 2014. Samples were collected in 2014 and 2016 that show elevated concentrations of As, Cu, Pb, and Zn in street dust and in residents’ blood (Pb) and urine (As) samples. To interpret and analyze the spatial variability and likely sources of contamination, existent data of basement rocks and soil geochemistry in the city as well as public-domain airborne dust were studied. Additionally, a bioaccessibility assay of airborne dust was conducted and the chemical daily intake and hazard index were calculated to provide a preliminary health risk assessment in the vicinity of the port. The main conclusions indicate that the concentrations of Ba, Co, Cr, Mn, Ni, and V recorded from Antofagasta dust likely originate from intrusive, volcanic, metamorphic rocks, dikes, or soil within the city. However, the elevated concentrations of As, Cd, Cu, Mo, Pb, and Zn do not originate from these geologic outcrops, and are thus considered anthropogenic contaminants. The average concentrations of As, Cu, and Zn are possibly the highest in recorded street dust worldwide at 239, 10,821, and 11,869 mg kg−1, respectively. Furthermore, the contaminants As, Pb, and Cu exhibit the highest bioaccessibilities and preliminary health risk indices show that As and Cu contribute to elevated health risks in exposed children and adults chronically exposed to dust in Antofagasta, whereas Pb is considered harmful at any concentration. Therefore, an increased environmental awareness and greater protective measures are necessary in Antofagasta and possibly other similar mining port cities in developing countries.


      #santé #mines

    • L’association #Vernunftkraft

      Aufgeklärte und deshalb zu Recht besorgte Bürger dieses Landes (https://www.vernunftkraft.de/bundesinitiative) erkennen hinsichtlich der Rationalität energiepolitischer Entscheidungen nicht hinnehmbare Defizite.

      Die Zerstörung von Wäldern zwecks Ansiedlung von volkswirtschaftlich sinnlosen Windindustrieanlagen ist dabei die Spitze des Eisbergs.

      Zentrale Elemente der gegenwärtigen Energiepolitik sind extrem unvernünftig.

      Daher möchten wir der Vernunft Kraft geben.

    • La guerre des métaux rares. La face cachée de la transition énergétique et numérique

      En nous émancipant des énergies fossiles, nous sombrons en réalité dans une nouvelle dépendance : celle aux métaux rares. Graphite, cobalt, indium, platinoïdes, tungstène, terres rares… ces ressources sont devenues indispensables à notre nouvelle société écologique (voitures électriques, éoliennes, panneaux solaires) et numérique (elles se nichent dans nos smartphones, nos ordinateurs, tablettes et autre objets connectés de notre quotidien). Or les coûts environnementaux, économiques et géopolitiques de cette dépendance pourraient se révéler encore plus dramatiques que ceux qui nous lient au pétrole.

      Dès lors, c’est une contre-histoire de la transition énergétique que ce livre raconte – le récit clandestin d’une odyssée technologique qui a tant promis, et les coulisses d’une quête généreuse, ambitieuse, qui a jusqu’à maintenant charrié des périls aussi colossaux que ceux qu’elle s’était donné pour mission de résoudre.


      #livre #Guillaume_Pitron

    • Rapport ADEME 2012 :

      Énergie et patrimoine communal : enquête 2012

      L’enquête « Énergie et patrimoine communal » est menée tous les cinq ans depuis 1990. Elle porte sur les consommations d’énergie et les dépenses payées directement par les communes sur trois cibles principales : le patrimoine bâti, l’éclairage public et les carburants des véhicules.



      Rapport ADEME 2015 :

      Scénarios 2030-2050 : une vision énergétique volontariste

      Quel mix énergétique pour les années 2030-2050 ? L’ADEME actualise son scénario Énergie Climat et propose des mesures pour contribuer à la déclinaison du plan CLIMAT.

      Les objectifs ambitieux du Plan Climat lancé par Nicolas Hulot, ministre de la Transition écologique et solidaire, confirment la stratégie volontariste de la France pour la transition énergétique. Dans le contexte actuel de mise à jour de la Stratégie nationale bas carbone (SNBC) et de la Programmation pluriannuelle de l’énergie (PPE), l’actualisation du scénario énergie-climat de l’ADEME vient contribuer aux réflexions pour mettre en oeuvre ces objectifs.

      Cette contribution est double : d’une part, l’actualisation des « Visions énergétiques » de l’ADEME, qui souligne l’enjeu que représente l’atteinte des objectifs ambitieux inscrits dans la loi, et d’autre part, l’étude « Propositions de mesures de politiques publiques pour un scénario bas carbone », qui propose une liste de mesures concrètes à mettre en oeuvre.


    • En #Géorgie, la révolte de la “capitale du #manganèse” contre une exploitation hors de contrôle

      Le développement de technologies comme les voitures électriques a fait grimper la demande de manganèse. À #Tchiatoura, où cette ressource est abondante, on en paie les conséquences : excavations à tout-va, paysage saccagé, maisons qui s’effondrent, et main-d’œuvre mal payée.

      La grogne sociale monte depuis 2019 dans le district de Tchiatoura, ancienne “capitale” soviétique de la production de manganèse. Depuis trois mois, 3 500 mineurs sont en #grève pour réclamer la hausse de leurs salaires (qui ne dépassent pas 250 euros) et une meilleure assurance maladie. À la mi-mai, quelques mineurs du village de #Choukrouti, près de Tchiatoura, se sont cousus la bouche et ont entamé une #grève_de_la_faim, rapporte le site géorgien Ambebi.

      Face au silence des autorités locales et nationales, depuis le 31 mai, dix familles font un sit-in devant l’ambassade des États-Unis (la puissance occidentale la plus influente en Géorgie), à Tbilissi, la capitale. “Les gens réclament des compensations pour leur maison et demandent l’aide des diplomates étrangers”, pour rappeler à l’ordre la compagnie privée #Georgian_Manganese, filiale géorgienne de la société britannique #Stemcor, explique le site Ekho Kavkaza.

      Les habitants protestent contre les dégâts écologiques, économiques et culturels causés par une extraction intensive à ciel ouvert du manganèse. Utilisé dans la fabrication de l’acier, la demande pour ce métal est en forte croissance, notamment pour les besoins de l’industrie des véhicules électriques, des piles, des batteries et circuits électroniques.



    • En #Géorgie, la révolte de la “capitale du #manganèse” contre une exploitation hors de contrôle

      Le développement de technologies comme les voitures électriques a fait grimper la demande de manganèse. À #Tchiatoura, où cette ressource est abondante, on en paie les conséquences : excavations à tout-va, paysage saccagé, maisons qui s’effondrent, et main-d’œuvre mal payée.

      La grogne sociale monte depuis 2019 dans le district de Tchiatoura, ancienne “capitale” soviétique de la production de manganèse. Depuis trois mois, 3 500 mineurs sont en #grève pour réclamer la hausse de leurs salaires (qui ne dépassent pas 250 euros) et une meilleure assurance maladie. À la mi-mai, quelques mineurs du village de #Choukrouti, près de Tchiatoura, se sont cousus la bouche et ont entamé une #grève_de_la_faim, rapporte le site géorgien Ambebi.

      Face au silence des autorités locales et nationales, depuis le 31 mai, dix familles font un sit-in devant l’ambassade des États-Unis (la puissance occidentale la plus influente en Géorgie), à Tbilissi, la capitale. “Les gens réclament des compensations pour leur maison et demandent l’aide des diplomates étrangers”, pour rappeler à l’ordre la compagnie privée #Georgian_Manganese, filiale géorgienne de la société britannique #Stemcor, explique le site Ekho Kavkaza.

      Les habitants protestent contre les dégâts écologiques, économiques et culturels causés par une extraction intensive à ciel ouvert du manganèse. Utilisé dans la fabrication de l’acier, la demande pour ce métal est en forte croissance, notamment pour les besoins de l’industrie des véhicules électriques, des piles, des batteries et circuits électroniques.



  • #Développement_humain (2020)

    - L´#indice_de_développement_humain et ses composantes
    – L´évolution de l´indice de développement humain
    – L´indice de développement humain ajusté aux #inégalités
    – L´indice de développement de #genre
    – L´indice d´#inégalités_de_genre
    – Indice de #pauvreté multidimensionnelle : pays en développement
    – Tendances démographiques
    – Niveaux d´#instruction
    #Revenu_national et composition des ressources
    #Travail et #emploi
    #Mobilité humaine et flux de capitaux
    – Qualité du développement humain
    – Inégalités femmes-hommes sur le cycle de vie
    – Autonomisation des #femmes
    – Viabilité socio-économique


    #cartothèque #cartes #visualisations #développement_humain
    #ressources_pédagogiques #statistiques #chiffres #monde
    #inégalités #démographie #éducation #mobilité_humaine #dette #tourisme #migrations #téléphone #téléphone_mobile #mortalité_infantile #paludisme #tuberculeuse #VIH #HIV #scolarisation #alphabétisation #PIB #chômage #réfugiés #IDPs #déplacés_internes #suicide #suicides #violence_domestique #violence_conjugale #alimentation #déficit_alimentaire #espérance_de_vie #lits_d'hôpitaux #soins #médecin #PISA #électricité #eau_potable #assainissement #travail_domestique #accouchement #contraception #congé_maternité #combustibles_fossiles #CO2 #émissions_de_CO2 #forêt #engrais #industrie_agro-alimentaire #pollution #pollution_atmosphérique #hygiène #dépenses_militaires #armée #pauvreté

    ping @reka

  • Over 1,300 IDPs and refugees arrived in Kurdistan Region in January 2021- KUrdistan 24

    “The displacement process is continuing to Kurdistan Region. On January 2021 nearly 1,307 IDPs and Refugees arrived in the Kurdistan Region,” the JCC said.

    According to the JCC report the return to the region’s displacement camps is due to poor living conditions, lack of job opportunities and lack of services, instability, and security in their places of origin.

    Iraq’s economy, including that of the Kurdistan Region, has further suffered from an economic crisis due to the coronavirus pandemic and the resulting drop in oil prices.



  • IDPs return to camps in Iraq, Kurdistan Region | Rudaw.net

    Internally displaced people (IDPs) from across Iraq are returning to camps in Iraq and the Kurdistan Region amid a lack of services and security in their areas of origin.
    “We don’t live a good life. We are a family of seven and we can’t buy things. We don’t have a house and we can’t afford to rent. The security situation is not good. Even healthcare is not good, and coronavirus has spread. But the situation is better in the camp,”



  • Keep Out... Come Again. The underbelly of American-styled conservation in the Indian Himalayas.

    IN DECEMBER, THE ROAD leading to the #Tirthan_Valley entrance archway of the #Great_Himalayan_National_Park (#GHNP), a #UNESCO World Heritage site in India’s mountain state of Himachal Pradesh, is a potholed mudslide: For miles, a fleet of excavators and tunnel-boring machines are lopping and drilling the mountains to widen and extend the highway. Most of the traffic passing through a big, dark tunnel blasted through the mountain is headed to Manali — the mass-tourist hub of the Western Himalayas, about an hour’s drive farther north.

    My partner and I pass through the archway and weave the motorcycle along a cliffside road into the gorgeous, narrow valley. Villages and orchards dot the ridges. The first snow is melting off the roofs, and far below the Tirthan River runs free and fast. This is still the off-beaten path. But around every turn, we see signs that development is on the rise. Guesthouses, campsites, cottages, hotels, and resorts are sprouting up outside the park’s boundaries. Trucks carrying construction material drive traffic off onto the shoulder. On the opposite ridge, a new helipad access road is being carved out. The area appears to be under construction, not conservation.

    It seems that by putting this once little-known national park on the global map, conservationists have catalyzed a massive wave of development along its border. And ecotourism, though ostensibly a responsible form of development, looks over here, as one researcher put it, more like “old wine in a new bottle.”

    In the two decades since it was formed, the park has displaced over 300 people from their land, disrupted the traditional livelihoods of several thousand more, and forced yet more into dependence on a risky (eco)tourism industry run in large part by outside “experts.” In many ways, the GHNP is a poster child of how the American national park model — conceived at Yellowstone and exported to the Global South by a transnational nexus of state and nonstate actors, continues to ignore the sociopolitical and cultural realities of a place. As a result, protected areas around the world continue to yield pernicious impacts on local communities, and, to some extent, on the local ecology as well. It also raises the question: If protecting one piece of land requires moving its long-time human residents out, developing adjacent land, and flying in tourists from around the world — what is actually being conserved?

    IN THE EARLY 1980s, at the invitation of the Himachal government, a team of Indian and international wildlife biologists led by a British researcher named Tony Gaston surveyed the Western Himalayas for a possible location for the state’s first national park. The state government had been eyeing the Manali area, but after a broad wildlife survey, Gaston’s team recommended the Upper Tirthan and Sainj valleys instead.

    The ecosystem was less disturbed, home to more wildlife, and thus had “excellent potential for attracting tourists”— especially foreign tourists — who might constitute both a “substantial source of [park] revenues” as well as “an enormous input to the local economy,” the team’s report said.

    The proposed 754.4-square-kilometer park included the upper mountain glacial and snow melt water source origins of the Jiwa Nal, Sainj Tirthan, and Parvati rivers, which are all headwater tributaries to the Beas River and subsequently, the Indus River. Given its location at the junction of two of the world’s major biogeographic realms — the Palearctic and Indomalayan — its monsoon-fed forests and alpine meadows sustain a diversity of plant, moss, lichen, bird, and mammal species, many of which are endemic, including the Himalayan goral, blue sheep, and the endangered western Tragopan pheasant and musk deer.

    The park’s boundary was strategically drawn so that only four villages needed to be relocated. But this glossed over the problem of resource displacement. To the northwest, the proposed park was buffered by high mountain systems that include several other national parks and wildlife sanctuaries, but the land in and around its southwest boundary was home to about 150 villages with a total population of at least 11,000 people, all of whom were officially dispossessed of the forests they depended on for centuries when the Indian government inaugurated The Great Himalayan National Park in 1999. These villages are now part of a 265.6-square-kilometer buffer, or so-called “ecozone,” leading into the park.

    A large majority of these families were poor. Many of them cultivated small parcels of land that provided subsistence for part of the year, and they relied on a variety of additional resources provided by the forestlands in the mountains around their homes to meet the rest of their food and financial requirements. That included grazing sheep and goats in the alpine meadows, extracting medicinal herbs that they could sell to the pharmaceutical and cosmetics industry, and collecting gucchi, or morel mushrooms, that fetched high prices in international markets.

    “IN THE INDIAN CONTEXT, the notion that you can have a landscape that is pristine and therefore devoid of humans is an artificial creation,” says Dr. Vasant Saberwal, a wildlife biologist and director of the Centre for Pastoralism, an organization based in Gujarat state that aims to enhance our understanding of pastoralist ecosystems. “India has [long] been a heavily populated country. So, when you think of alpine meadows at 15,000 feet above sea-level, they have been used by pastoral communities for several hundred years. You cannot now go into those landscapes and say we want a pristine alpine meadow. There’s no such thing.”

    In keeping with the lingering idea, tracing back to early American conservationism, that pastoral societies destroy their own land, the Gaston team’s original report claimed that firewood collecting, hunting, and especially overgrazing, were degrading habitat within the area. It recommended a ban on grazing and medicinal plant collection in order to maintain the park’s biodiversity.

    But Saberwal’s research shows that grazing practices in the park’s high alpine meadows — which constitute almost half the park’s area — were likely necessary to maintain its high levels of herb diversity. Before the area was closed off to people, traditional herders of the Indigenous Gaddi tribe would travel up to the alpine meadows with about 35,000 sheep and goats entrusted to them by individual families, and graze them in these meadows for six snow-free months from April through September.

    “So, when you talk to people and suggest to people that their use of the park leads to degradation, they say that we have been using these resources for the past 150-200 years,” he says. “They say, if our presence here has been such a threat, then why would there be biological diversity here?”

    Saberwal’s findings are consistent with reams of scholarship in recent years documenting how local and Indigenous communities, without external pressures, live convivially with nature.

    That is not to say that external pressures aren’t impacting the region. There has definitely been an uptick in morel and medicinal herbs extraction from the park area, especially since the early 1990s when India “liberalized” its economy. Yet today, without adequate enforcement, it remains unclear just how much the park actually helped curtail extraction of these herbs or instead just forced the market underground.

    Other threats include poaching, human-wildlife conflicts, and hydropower development. Ironically, a 10-square-kilometer area was deleted from the original map of the GHNP for building of a hydro-power project, underscoring a typical approach towards conservation “wherein local livelihoods are expendable in the interests of biodiversity, but biodiversity must make way for national development,” Saberwal says.

    India’s Wildlife Protection Act, which prohibits all human activities within a national park, does recognize people’s traditional rights to forest resources. It therefore requires state governments settle or acquire these rights prior to finalizing a new national park’s boundaries, either through financial compensation or by providing people alternative land where such rights can be exercised. But India’s record of actually honoring these rights has been sketchy at best. In GHNP’s case, the state chose to offer financial compensation to only about 300 of the 2,300 or so impacted households, based on family names listed in a colonial report with census data for the area dating back to 1894. It eventually provided the rest of the villagers alternative areas to graze their livestock, but this land was inadequate and nutrient-poor compared to the grasses in the high alpine meadows. Only a handful of families in these villages still have sheep and goat herds today.

    Saberwal, and many mainstream conservationists, says there is an argument to be made for allowing villagers into the park, and not only because it supports their livelihoods. “The presence of people with a real stake in the biological resources of the park can also lead to far greater levels of support for effective management of the park, including better monitoring of who goes into the park, for what, and at what times of the year. Poaching could be more effectively controlled, as could the excessive extraction of medicinal herbs,” he says.

    DESPITE STIFF LOCAL RESISTANCE, the forest department — with support from an international nonprofit called Friends of GHNP, as well as the World Bank, which chipped in a $2.5 million loan — developed an ecotourism industry in the area to help local communities adapt.

    Eco-development, of course, is the current cool idea for making exclusionary conservation acceptable. On paper, it requires community involvement to create “alternative livelihoods” to reduce locals’ dependence on a park’s resources. So, with the support of Friends of GHNP, the forest department helped form a street theater group. It developed firewood and medicinal herb plantations in an effort to wean villagers off of foraging for these the park. A women’s savings and credit collective called Sahara was set up to produce vermicompost, apricot oil, and handicrafts. The Forest Department also handed out “doles” — stoves, handlooms, televisions, pressure cookers — what Mark Dowie, in his book Conservation Refugees, calls “cargo conservation,” or the exchange of commodities for compliance.

    Yet, the project was mired in corruption and mismanagement. The male director of the women’s collective, for instance, was discovered to be siphoning off the collective’s funds. Meanwhile, local ecodevelopment committees set up to coordinate expenditure on livelihood projects were run by the most powerful people in the villages, usually upper-caste males of the devta (deity) community, and chose to spend the money on things like temple and road repairs. According to a 2001 study of the ecodevelopment project, 70 percent of the funds were spent on infrastructure initiatives of this kind. Much later, in 2002, in an attempt to distance itself from the program, the World Bank concluded ecodevelopment had left “very little or no impact … on the ground.”

    In 2014, the park, along with the adjacent Sainj and Tirthan wildlife sanctuaries, was designated a UNESCO World Heritage site, again in spite of more protests from the impacted local communities. Friends of GHNP wrote the application.

    If creating the park cracked the door to development in the Tirthan Valley, minting it a UNESCO World Heritage site flung it wide open.

    On the economic front, it’s certainly true that the influx of tourists has injected more money into the Tirthan Valley than ever before. And it’s true, too, that many locals, the youth especially, are excited, or at least hopeful, that the industry will improve their lives and alleviate poverty. But on the whole, locals are losing opportunities to outside entrepreneurs who come with deeper pockets, digital marketing savvy, and already established networks of potential clientele.

    “That kind of investment and marketing involvement is difficult for locals for figure out,” says Manashi Asher, a researcher with Himdhara, a Himachal-based environmental research and action collective. “Basically, what many locals have done instead, is circumvent local ecotourism policies by turning their properties into homestay or other kinds of [tourist] lodgings and leasing them out to outsiders to run.”

    Though there are no official estimates yet, there’s a consensus among locals that outsider-run guesthouses have already cornered a majority of the valley’s tourism revenue. “City-based tourism operators are licking out the cream, while the peasantry class and unemployed youth earn a pittance from the seasonal, odd jobs they offer,” Dilaram Shabab, the late “Green Man” of Tirthan Valley who spearheaded successful movements against hydropower development on the Tirthan river, wrote in his book Kullu: The Valley of Gods.

    When I read this quote to Upendra Singh Kamra, a transplant from the northwestern state of Punjab who runs a tourism outfit for fishing enthusiasts called Gone Fishing Cottages, he emphasizes how, unlike at most properties, they don’t lay off their local staff during low season. Some have even bought motorcycles or cars. “Logically, you have nothing and then you have something and then you’re complaining that something is not enough. So it doesn’t make sense for me.”

    Many locals see it differently. Narotham Singh, a veteran forest guard, told me he leased his land for 30 years, but now worries for his son and grandchildren. “If they don’t study, what they’re going to be doing is probably cleaning utensils and sweeping in the guesthouses of these people. That’s the dark future.” Karan Bharti, one of Shabab’s grandsons, told me many youth are so ashamed to work as servants on their own land that they’re fleeing the valley altogether.

    More broadly, tourism is also a uniquely precarious industry. Global market fluctuations and environmental disasters frequently spook tourists away for years. (The Western Himalayas is primed for an 8.0-plus magnitude quake tomorrow). And when destination hotspots flip cold, once self-reliant shepherds turned hoteliers are left holding the bill for that high-interest construction loan.

    Sadly, this is exactly what’s happened. In Himachal, the Covid-19 pandemic has exposed just how dependent the state has become on tourism. After the borders were shut in late March, pressure to reopen to salvage a piece of the summer high season was palpable in the press. Chief Minister Jai Ram Thakur proposed Himachal advertise itself for “Quarantine Tourism.” The hotel unions shot down the idea as absurd.

    THERE’S NO SIGN NOR ROAD to Raju’s Guesthouse. To get to it, you have to cross the Tirthan River in a cable basket or makeshift plank bridge and climb up the opposite bank into a fairytale. Vines climb the dark wood facade. There are flowers, fruit trees, and a fire pit. When I visit, kittens are playing around an old cherry tree and a pack of dogs bark up the steep south face; leopards, I learn, come over the ridge at night sometimes and steal dogs.

    Raju, in his late sixties, toothpick-thin, and wearing a baseball cap, is the pioneer of ecotourism in Tirthan Valley. He is also Shabab’s son. When I first spoke with him on the phone, he called the park an “eyewash.” What he meant was that most people don’t come to the park for the park. It’s a steep, half-day trek just to the official boundary, and, inside, the trails aren’t marked. Most tourists are content with a weekend kickback at a guesthouse in the ecozone.

    Still, if real ecotourism exists, Raju’s comes as close as I’ve ever seen. Food scraps are boiled down and fed to the cows. There’s fishing and birding and trekking on offer. No corporate groups allowed, even though that’s where the big bucks are. And no fume-expelling diesel generator, despite guests’ complaints after big storms. There’s a feeling of ineffable wholesomeness that has kept people coming back year after year, for decades now.

    In a 1998 report titled “Communtity-Based Ecotourism in the GHNP,” a World Bank consultant was so impressed by Raju’s that she recommended it be “used as a model for the whole area.” But this was a consultant’s fantasy. Rather than provide support to help locals become owners in the tourism industry, the government and World Bank offered them tour guide, portering, and cooking training. Today, similar second-tier job trainings are part of an $83 million project funded by the Asian Development Bank to develop tourism (mainly by building parking lots) across Himachal.

    Varun, one of Raju’s two sons who runs the guesthouse, doesn’t think any tourist property in the area is practicing ecotourism, even his own. People are illegally catching trout for guests’ dinners, cutting trees for their bonfires, and dumping their trash into the river, he says.

    In 2018, Varun founded the Tirthan Conservation and Tourism Development Association (https://www.facebook.com/Tirthan-conservation-and-tourism-development-association-101254861218173), a union of local guesthouses that works to “eliminate the commercialization of our neighborhood and retain the aura of the valley.” They do tree plantings, enforce camping bans around the river, and meet regularly to discuss new developments in the valley.

    Yet, Varun doesn’t see any way of stopping the development wave. “I mean, it’s inevitable. No matter how much you resist, you know, you’ll have to accept it. The only thing is, we can delay it, slow it down.”

    #Inde #montagne #conservation_de_la_nature #nature #protection_de_la_nature #parc_national #Himachal_Pradesh #Manali #tourisme #colonialisme #néo-colonialisme #circulation_des_modèles #Hymalayah #Jiwa_Nal #Sainj_Tirthan #Parvati #rivières #Beas_River #paysage #conservationnisme #biodiversité #Gaddi #élevage #ressources #exploitation_des_ressources #Friends_of_GHNP #banque_mondiale #éco-tourisme #écotourisme #cargo_conservation #corruption #devta #deity #éco-développement #développement #World_Heritage_site #énergie_hydroélectrique #Asian_Development_Bank #Tirthan_Conservation_and_Tourism_Development_Association


  • ’It’s like Judgment Day’: Syrians Recount Horror of an Underreported COVID-19 Outbreak - Newlines Magazine

    For almost two months after the first case was announced in Syria, official figures showed limited circulation of the virus, with under 50 cases by mid-May. At the time of this writing, that figure had risen to 4,457 cases in territories run by the government, 1,072 in rebel-controlled areas in northwestern Syria, and 1,998 in northeast Syria, where a predominantly Kurdish de facto autonomous administration is in charge. Only 192 deaths have been registered by the Ministry of Health.

    In quarantine centers, which housed suspected domestic COVID-19 cases as well as ones coming from abroad including hundreds of repatriated citizens, people were jammed together in small rooms and forced to share unsanitary utilities. Karam, an administrative assistant at a cash transfer agency, was taken to a center in the Damascus countryside upon his return from Baghdad, where he had to sleep on unwashed sheets and pillowcases.

    In Idlib in the northwest, where Turkey-backed opposition forces hold sway, the outbreak continues to grow, albeit at a slower pace. The northwest is home to vulnerable populations of internal refugees who cannot adhere to social distancing or adequate handwashing in crowded camps. The region has also lost many of its medical centers and health care workers due to Russian and Syrian regime airstrikes over the past few years.



  • #Décolonisations : du sang et des larmes. La rupture (1954-2017) —> premier épisode de 2 (voir plus bas)

    Après huit années de conflits meurtriers, l’#Empire_colonial_français se fragilise peu à peu. La #France est contrainte d’abandonner l’#Indochine et ses comptoirs indiens. Les peuples colonisés y voient une lueur d’espoir et réalisent que la France peut-être vaincue. Les premières revendications d’#indépendance se font entendre. Mais la France reste sourde. Alors qu’un vent de liberté commence à se répandre de l’Afrique aux Antilles en passant par l’océan indien et la Polynésie, un cycle de #répression débute et la République répond par la force. Ce geste va nourrir des décennies de #haine et de #violence. Ce #documentaire, réalisé, à partir d’images d’archives, donne la parole aux témoins de la #décolonisation_française, qui laisse encore aujourd’hui des traces profondes.

    #décolonisation #film_documentaire #colonialisme #colonisation #film

    #France #Indochine #Empire_colonial #FLN #Algérie #guerre_d'Algérie #guerre_de_libération #indépendance #François_Mitterrand #Algérie_française #Section_administrative_spécialisée (#SAS) #pacification #propagande #réformes #attentats #répression #Jacques_Soustelle #Antoine_Pinay #conférence_de_Bandung #Tunisie #Maroc #Gaston_Defferre #Cameroun #Union_des_populations_du_Cameroun (#UPC) #napalm #Ruben_Um_Nyobe #Ahmadou_Ahidjo #Milk_bar #armée_coloniale #loi_martiale #bataille_d'Alger #torture #haine #armée_française #Charles_de_Gaulle #paix_des_Braves #humiliation #camps #déplacement_des_populations #camps_de_déplacés #déplacés #internement #Madagascar #Côte_d'Ivoire #Guinée #Ahmed_Sékou_Touré #communauté_franco-africaine #liberté #Organisation_de_l'armée_secrète (#OAS) #17_octobre_1961 #accords_d'Evian #violence #pieds-noirs #rapatriés_d'Algérie #Harki #massacre #assassinats #déracinement #camp_de_Rivesaltes #invisibilisation #néo-colonialisme #ressources #gendarme_d'Afrique #Françafrique #Felix-Roland_Moumié #territoires_d'Outre-mer #Michel_Debré #La_Réunion #Paul_Vergès #Polynésie #Bureau_pour_le_développement_des_migrations_dans_les_départements_d'Outre-mer (#Bumidom) #racisme #Djibouti #Guadeloupe #Pointe-à-Pitre #blessure #mépris #crimes #mémoire


    Et à partir du Bureau pour le développement des migrations dans les départements d’Outre-mer... un mot pour désigner des personnes qui ont « bénéficier » des programmes :
    les « #Bumidomiens »
    –-> ajouté à la métaliste sur les #mots en lien avec la #migration :
    #terminologie #vocabulaire


    Une citation de #Jean-Pierre_Gaildraud, qui dit dans le film :

    « Nous étions formatés dans une Algérie française qu’il ne fallait pas contester. C’était ces rebelles, c’étaient ces bandits, ces égorgeurs qui menaçaient, qui mettaient en péril une si belle France. En toute bonne foi on disait : ’La Seine traverse Paris comme la Méditerranée traverse la France’ »


    « Il faut tourner une page et s’abandonner au présent. C’est sûr, mais comment tourner une page quand elle n’est pas écrite ? »

    Hacène Arfi, fils de Harki

  • New research shows devastating economic impact of Covid-19 on displaced | NRC

    More than three quarters of displaced and conflict-affected people surveyed by the Norwegian Refugee Council (NRC) have lost income since the start of the Covid-19 pandemic. The devastating economic impact is tipping many into a hunger, homelessness and education crisis, the organisation said in a report released today.

    The report, Downward Spiral, is based on detailed surveys and needs assessments in 14 countries, including a multi-country survey of 1,400 conflict and displacement-affected people in eight countries, which shows that:

    77 per cent of people surveyed had lost a job or income from work since March.
    70 per cent of people had to cut the number of meals for their household since the pandemic broke out.
    73 per cent reported that they were less likely to send their children to school because of economic hardship.

    “The world’s most vulnerable communities are in a dangerous downward spiral. Already forced from their homes by violence, often with limited rights to work or access to government services, the economic impact of the pandemic is pushing them to catastrophe,” said Jan Egeland, Secretary General of NRC.



  • How Climate Migration Will Reshape America. Millions will be displaced. Where will they go?

    August besieged California with a heat unseen in generations. A surge in air-conditioning broke the state’s electrical grid, leaving a population already ravaged by the coronavirus to work remotely by the dim light of their cellphones. By midmonth, the state had recorded possibly the hottest temperature ever measured on earth — 130 degrees in Death Valley — and an otherworldly storm of lightning had cracked open the sky. From Santa Cruz to Lake Tahoe, thousands of bolts of electricity exploded down onto withered grasslands and forests, some of them already hollowed out by climate-driven infestations of beetles and kiln-dried by the worst five-year drought on record. Soon, California was on fire.

    This article, the second in a series on global climate migration, is a partnership between ProPublica and The New York Times Magazine, with support from the Pulitzer Center. Read Part 1.

    Over the next two weeks, 900 blazes incinerated six times as much land as all the state’s 2019 wildfires combined, forcing 100,000 people from their homes. Three of the largest fires in history burned simultaneously in a ring around the San Francisco Bay Area. Another fire burned just 12 miles from my home in Marin County. I watched as towering plumes of smoke billowed from distant hills in all directions and air tankers crisscrossed the skies. Like many Californians, I spent those weeks worrying about what might happen next, wondering how long it would be before an inferno of 60-foot flames swept up the steep, grassy hillside on its way toward my own house, rehearsing in my mind what my family would do to escape.

    But I also had a longer-term question, about what would happen once this unprecedented fire season ended. Was it finally time to leave for good?

    I had an unusual perspective on the matter. For two years, I have been studying how climate change will influence global migration. My sense was that of all the devastating consequences of a warming planet — changing landscapes, pandemics, mass extinctions — the potential movement of hundreds of millions of climate refugees across the planet stands to be among the most important. I traveled across four countries to witness how rising temperatures were driving climate refugees away from some of the poorest and hottest parts of the world. I had also helped create an enormous computer simulation to analyze how global demographics might shift, and now I was working on a data-mapping project about migration here in the United States.

    So it was with some sense of recognition that I faced the fires these last few weeks. In recent years, summer has brought a season of fear to California, with ever-worsening wildfires closing in. But this year felt different. The hopelessness of the pattern was now clear, and the pandemic had already uprooted so many Americans. Relocation no longer seemed like such a distant prospect. Like the subjects of my reporting, climate change had found me, its indiscriminate forces erasing all semblance of normalcy. Suddenly I had to ask myself the very question I’d been asking others: Was it time to move?

    I am far from the only American facing such questions. This summer has seen more fires, more heat, more storms — all of it making life increasingly untenable in larger areas of the nation. Already, droughts regularly threaten food crops across the West, while destructive floods inundate towns and fields from the Dakotas to Maryland, collapsing dams in Michigan and raising the shorelines of the Great Lakes. Rising seas and increasingly violent hurricanes are making thousands of miles of American shoreline nearly uninhabitable. As California burned, Hurricane Laura pounded the Louisiana coast with 150-mile-an-hour winds, killing at least 25 people; it was the 12th named storm to form by that point in 2020, another record. Phoenix, meanwhile, endured 53 days of 110-degree heat — 20 more days than the previous record.

    For years, Americans have avoided confronting these changes in their own backyards. The decisions we make about where to live are distorted not just by politics that play down climate risks, but also by expensive subsidies and incentives aimed at defying nature. In much of the developing world, vulnerable people will attempt to flee the emerging perils of global warming, seeking cooler temperatures, more fresh water and safety. But here in the United States, people have largely gravitated toward environmental danger, building along coastlines from New Jersey to Florida and settling across the cloudless deserts of the Southwest.

    I wanted to know if this was beginning to change. Might Americans finally be waking up to how climate is about to transform their lives? And if so — if a great domestic relocation might be in the offing — was it possible to project where we might go? To answer these questions, I interviewed more than four dozen experts: economists and demographers, climate scientists and insurance executives, architects and urban planners, and I mapped out the danger zones that will close in on Americans over the next 30 years. The maps for the first time combined exclusive climate data from the Rhodium Group, an independent data-analytics firm; wildfire projections modeled by United States Forest Service researchers and others; and data about America’s shifting climate niches, an evolution of work first published by The Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences last spring. (See a detailed analysis of the maps.)

    What I found was a nation on the cusp of a great transformation. Across the United States, some 162 million people — nearly one in two — will most likely experience a decline in the quality of their environment, namely more heat and less water. For 93 million of them, the changes could be particularly severe, and by 2070, our analysis suggests, if carbon emissions rise at extreme levels, at least four million Americans could find themselves living at the fringe, in places decidedly outside the ideal niche for human life. The cost of resisting the new climate reality is mounting. Florida officials have already acknowledged that defending some roadways against the sea will be unaffordable. And the nation’s federal flood-insurance program is for the first time requiring that some of its payouts be used to retreat from climate threats across the country. It will soon prove too expensive to maintain the status quo.

    Then what? One influential 2018 study, published in The Journal of the Association of Environmental and Resource Economists, suggests that one in 12 Americans in the Southern half of the country will move toward California, the Mountain West or the Northwest over the next 45 years because of climate influences alone. Such a shift in population is likely to increase poverty and widen the gulf between the rich and the poor. It will accelerate rapid, perhaps chaotic, urbanization of cities ill-equipped for the burden, testing their capacity to provide basic services and amplifying existing inequities. It will eat away at prosperity, dealing repeated economic blows to coastal, rural and Southern regions, which could in turn push entire communities to the brink of collapse. This process has already begun in rural Louisiana and coastal Georgia, where low-income and Black and Indigenous communities face environmental change on top of poor health and extreme poverty. Mobility itself, global-migration experts point out, is often a reflection of relative wealth, and as some move, many others will be left behind. Those who stay risk becoming trapped as the land and the society around them ceases to offer any more support.

    There are signs that the message is breaking through. Half of Americans now rank climate as a top political priority, up from roughly one-third in 2016, and three out of four now describe climate change as either “a crisis” or “a major problem.” This year, Democratic caucusgoers in Iowa, where tens of thousands of acres of farmland flooded in 2019, ranked climate second only to health care as an issue. A poll by researchers at Yale and George Mason Universities found that even Republicans’ views are shifting: One in three now think climate change should be declared a national emergency.

    Policymakers, having left America unprepared for what’s next, now face brutal choices about which communities to save — often at exorbitant costs — and which to sacrifice. Their decisions will almost inevitably make the nation more divided, with those worst off relegated to a nightmare future in which they are left to fend for themselves. Nor will these disruptions wait for the worst environmental changes to occur. The wave begins when individual perception of risk starts to shift, when the environmental threat reaches past the least fortunate and rattles the physical and financial security of broader, wealthier parts of the population. It begins when even places like California’s suburbs are no longer safe.

    It has already begun.

    Let’s start with some basics. Across the country, it’s going to get hot. Buffalo may feel in a few decades like Tempe, Ariz., does today, and Tempe itself will sustain 100-degree average summer temperatures by the end of the century. Extreme humidity from New Orleans to northern Wisconsin will make summers increasingly unbearable, turning otherwise seemingly survivable heat waves into debilitating health threats. Fresh water will also be in short supply, not only in the West but also in places like Florida, Georgia and Alabama, where droughts now regularly wither cotton fields. By 2040, according to federal government projections, extreme water shortages will be nearly ubiquitous west of Missouri. The Memphis Sands Aquifer, a crucial water supply for Mississippi, Tennessee, Arkansas and Louisiana, is already overdrawn by hundreds of millions of gallons a day. Much of the Ogallala Aquifer — which supplies nearly a third of the nation’s irrigation groundwater — could be gone by the end of the century.

    It can be difficult to see the challenges clearly because so many factors are in play. At least 28 million Americans are likely to face megafires like the ones we are now seeing in California, in places like Texas and Florida and Georgia. At the same time, 100 million Americans — largely in the Mississippi River Basin from Louisiana to Wisconsin — will increasingly face humidity so extreme that working outside or playing school sports could cause heatstroke. Crop yields will be decimated from Texas to Alabama and all the way north through Oklahoma and Kansas and into Nebraska.

    The challenges are so widespread and so interrelated that Americans seeking to flee one could well run into another. I live on a hilltop, 400 feet above sea level, and my home will never be touched by rising waters. But by the end of this century, if the more extreme projections of eight to 10 feet of sea-level rise come to fruition, the shoreline of San Francisco Bay will move three miles closer to my house, as it subsumes some 166 square miles of land, including a high school, a new county hospital and the store where I buy groceries. The freeway to San Francisco will need to be raised, and to the east, a new bridge will be required to connect the community of Point Richmond to the city of Berkeley. The Latino, Asian and Black communities who live in the most-vulnerable low-lying districts will be displaced first, but research from Mathew Hauer, a sociologist at Florida State University who published some of the first modeling of American climate migration in the journal Nature Climate Change in 2017, suggests that the toll will eventually be far more widespread: Nearly one in three people here in Marin County will leave, part of the roughly 700,000 who his models suggest may abandon the broader Bay Area as a result of sea-level rise alone.

    From Maine to North Carolina to Texas, rising sea levels are not just chewing up shorelines but also raising rivers and swamping the subterranean infrastructure of coastal communities, making a stable life there all but impossible. Coastal high points will be cut off from roadways, amenities and escape routes, and even far inland, saltwater will seep into underground drinking-water supplies. Eight of the nation’s 20 largest metropolitan areas — Miami, New York and Boston among them — will be profoundly altered, indirectly affecting some 50 million people. Imagine large concrete walls separating Fort Lauderdale condominiums from a beachless waterfront, or dozens of new bridges connecting the islands of Philadelphia. Not every city can spend $100 billion on a sea wall, as New York most likely will. Barrier islands? Rural areas along the coast without a strong tax base? They are likely, in the long term, unsalvageable.

    In all, Hauer projects that 13 million Americans will be forced to move away from submerged coastlines. Add to that the people contending with wildfires and other risks, and the number of Americans who might move — though difficult to predict precisely — could easily be tens of millions larger. Even 13 million climate migrants, though, would rank as the largest migration in North American history. The Great Migration — of six million Black Americans out of the South from 1916 to 1970 — transformed almost everything we know about America, from the fate of its labor movement to the shape of its cities to the sound of its music. What would it look like when twice that many people moved? What might change?

    Americans have been conditioned not to respond to geographical climate threats as people in the rest of the world do. It is natural that rural Guatemalans or subsistence farmers in Kenya, facing drought or scorching heat, would seek out someplace more stable and resilient. Even a subtle environmental change — a dry well, say — can mean life or death, and without money to address the problem, migration is often simply a question of survival.

    By comparison, Americans are richer, often much richer, and more insulated from the shocks of climate change. They are distanced from the food and water sources they depend on, and they are part of a culture that sees every problem as capable of being solved by money. So even as the average flow of the Colorado River — the water supply for 40 million Western Americans and the backbone of the nation’s vegetable and cattle farming — has declined for most of the last 33 years, the population of Nevada has doubled. At the same time, more than 1.5 million people have moved to the Phoenix metro area, despite its dependence on that same river (and the fact that temperatures there now regularly hit 115 degrees). Since Hurricane Andrew devastated Florida in 1992 — and even as that state has become a global example of the threat of sea-level rise — more than five million people have moved to Florida’s shorelines, driving a historic boom in building and real estate.

    Similar patterns are evident across the country. Census data show us how Americans move: toward heat, toward coastlines, toward drought, regardless of evidence of increasing storms and flooding and other disasters.

    The sense that money and technology can overcome nature has emboldened Americans. Where money and technology fail, though, it inevitably falls to government policies — and government subsidies — to pick up the slack. Thanks to federally subsidized canals, for example, water in part of the Desert Southwest costs less than it does in Philadelphia. The federal National Flood Insurance Program has paid to rebuild houses that have flooded six times over in the same spot. And federal agriculture aid withholds subsidies from farmers who switch to drought-resistant crops, while paying growers to replant the same ones that failed. Farmers, seed manufacturers, real estate developers and a few homeowners benefit, at least momentarily, but the gap between what the climate can destroy and what money can replace is growing.

    Perhaps no market force has proved more influential — and more misguided — than the nation’s property-insurance system. From state to state, readily available and affordable policies have made it attractive to buy or replace homes even where they are at high risk of disasters, systematically obscuring the reality of the climate threat and fooling many Americans into thinking that their decisions are safer than they actually are. Part of the problem is that most policies look only 12 months into the future, ignoring long-term trends even as insurance availability influences development and drives people’s long-term decision-making.

    Even where insurers have tried to withdraw policies or raise rates to reduce climate-related liabilities, state regulators have forced them to provide affordable coverage anyway, simply subsidizing the cost of underwriting such a risky policy or, in some cases, offering it themselves. The regulations — called Fair Access to Insurance Requirements — are justified by developers and local politicians alike as economic lifeboats “of last resort” in regions where climate change threatens to interrupt economic growth. While they do protect some entrenched and vulnerable communities, the laws also satisfy the demand of wealthier homeowners who still want to be able to buy insurance.

    At least 30 states, including Louisiana, Massachusetts, North Carolina and Texas, have developed so-called FAIR plans, and today they serve as a market backstop in the places facing the highest risks of climate-driven disasters, including coastal flooding, hurricanes and wildfires.

    In an era of climate change, though, such policies amount to a sort of shell game, meant to keep growth going even when other obvious signs and scientific research suggest that it should stop.

    That’s what happened in Florida. Hurricane Andrew reduced parts of cities to landfill and cost insurers nearly $16 billion in payouts. Many insurance companies, recognizing the likelihood that it would happen again, declined to renew policies and left the state. So the Florida Legislature created a state-run company to insure properties itself, preventing both an exodus and an economic collapse by essentially pretending that the climate vulnerabilities didn’t exist.

    As a result, Florida’s taxpayers by 2012 had assumed liabilities worth some $511 billion — more than seven times the state’s total budget — as the value of coastal property topped $2.8 trillion. Another direct hurricane risked bankrupting the state. Florida, concerned that it had taken on too much risk, has since scaled back its self-insurance plan. But the development that resulted is still in place.

    On a sweltering afternoon last October, with the skies above me full of wildfire smoke, I called Jesse Keenan, an urban-planning and climate-change specialist then at Harvard’s Graduate School of Design, who advises the federal Commodity Futures Trading Commission on market hazards from climate change. Keenan, who is now an associate professor of real estate at Tulane University’s School of Architecture, had been in the news last year for projecting where people might move to — suggesting that Duluth, Minn., for instance, should brace for a coming real estate boom as climate migrants move north. But like other scientists I’d spoken with, Keenan had been reluctant to draw conclusions about where these migrants would be driven from.

    Last fall, though, as the previous round of fires ravaged California, his phone began to ring, with private-equity investors and bankers all looking for his read on the state’s future. Their interest suggested a growing investor-grade nervousness about swiftly mounting environmental risk in the hottest real estate markets in the country. It’s an early sign, he told me, that the momentum is about to switch directions. “And once this flips,” he added, “it’s likely to flip very quickly.”

    In fact, the correction — a newfound respect for the destructive power of nature, coupled with a sudden disavowal of Americans’ appetite for reckless development — had begun two years earlier, when a frightening surge in disasters offered a jolting preview of how the climate crisis was changing the rules.

    On October 9, 2017, a wildfire blazed through the suburban blue-collar neighborhood of Coffey Park in Santa Rosa, Calif., virtually in my own backyard. I awoke to learn that more than 1,800 buildings were reduced to ashes, less than 35 miles from where I slept. Inchlong cinders had piled on my windowsills like falling snow.

    The Tubbs Fire, as it was called, shouldn’t have been possible. Coffey Park is surrounded not by vegetation but by concrete and malls and freeways. So insurers had rated it as “basically zero risk,” according to Kevin Van Leer, then a risk modeler from the global insurance liability firm Risk Management Solutions. (He now does similar work for Cape Analytics.) But Van Leer, who had spent seven years picking through the debris left by disasters to understand how insurers could anticipate — and price — the risk of their happening again, had begun to see other “impossible” fires. After a 2016 fire tornado ripped through northern Canada and a firestorm consumed Gatlinburg, Tenn., he said, “alarm bells started going off” for the insurance industry.

    What Van Leer saw when he walked through Coffey Park a week after the Tubbs Fire changed the way he would model and project fire risk forever. Typically, fire would spread along the ground, burning maybe 50 percent of structures. In Santa Rosa, more than 90 percent had been leveled. “The destruction was complete,” he told me. Van Leer determined that the fire had jumped through the forest canopy, spawning 70-mile-per-hour winds that kicked a storm of embers into the modest homes of Coffey Park, which burned at an acre a second as homes ignited spontaneously from the radiant heat. It was the kind of thing that might never have been possible if California’s autumn winds weren’t getting fiercer and drier every year, colliding with intensifying, climate-driven heat and ever-expanding development. “It’s hard to forecast something you’ve never seen before,” he said.

    For me, the awakening to imminent climate risk came with California’s rolling power blackouts last fall — an effort to pre-emptively avoid the risk of a live wire sparking a fire — which showed me that all my notional perspective about climate risk and my own life choices were on a collision course. After the first one, all the food in our refrigerator was lost. When power was interrupted six more times in three weeks, we stopped trying to keep it stocked. All around us, small fires burned. Thick smoke produced fits of coughing. Then, as now, I packed an ax and a go-bag in my car, ready to evacuate. As former Gov. Jerry Brown said, it was beginning to feel like the “new abnormal.”

    It was no surprise, then, that California’s property insurers — having watched 26 years’ worth of profits dissolve over 24 months — began dropping policies, or that California’s insurance commissioner, trying to slow the slide, placed a moratorium on insurance cancellations for parts of the state in 2020. In February, the Legislature introduced a bill compelling California to, in the words of one consumer advocacy group, “follow the lead of Florida” by mandating that insurance remain available, in this case with a requirement that homeowners first harden their properties against fire. At the same time, participation in California’s FAIR plan for catastrophic fires has grown by at least 180 percent since 2015, and in Santa Rosa, houses are being rebuilt in the very same wildfire-vulnerable zones that proved so deadly in 2017. Given that a new study projects a 20 percent increase in extreme-fire-weather days by 2035, such practices suggest a special form of climate negligence.

    It’s only a matter of time before homeowners begin to recognize the unsustainability of this approach. Market shock, when driven by the sort of cultural awakening to risk that Keenan observes, can strike a neighborhood like an infectious disease, with fear spreading doubt — and devaluation — from door to door. It happened that way in the foreclosure crisis.

    Keenan calls the practice of drawing arbitrary lending boundaries around areas of perceived environmental risk “bluelining,” and indeed many of the neighborhoods that banks are bluelining are the same as the ones that were hit by the racist redlining practice in days past. This summer, climate-data analysts at the First Street Foundation released maps showing that 70 percent more buildings in the United States were vulnerable to flood risk than previously thought; most of the underestimated risk was in low-income neighborhoods.

    Such neighborhoods see little in the way of flood-prevention investment. My Bay Area neighborhood, on the other hand, has benefited from consistent investment in efforts to defend it against the ravages of climate change. That questions of livability had reached me, here, were testament to Keenan’s belief that the bluelining phenomenon will eventually affect large majorities of equity-holding middle-class Americans too, with broad implications for the overall economy, starting in the nation’s largest state.

    Under the radar, a new class of dangerous debt — climate-distressed mortgage loans — might already be threatening the financial system. Lending data analyzed by Keenan and his co-author, Jacob Bradt, for a study published in the journal Climatic Change in June shows that small banks are liberally making loans on environmentally threatened homes, but then quickly passing them along to federal mortgage backers. At the same time, they have all but stopped lending money for the higher-end properties worth too much for the government to accept, suggesting that the banks are knowingly passing climate liabilities along to taxpayers as stranded assets.

    Once home values begin a one-way plummet, it’s easy for economists to see how entire communities spin out of control. The tax base declines and the school system and civic services falter, creating a negative feedback loop that pushes more people to leave. Rising insurance costs and the perception of risk force credit-rating agencies to downgrade towns, making it more difficult for them to issue bonds and plug the springing financial leaks. Local banks, meanwhile, keep securitizing their mortgage debt, sloughing off their own liabilities.

    Keenan, though, had a bigger point: All the structural disincentives that had built Americans’ irrational response to the climate risk were now reaching their logical endpoint. A pandemic-induced economic collapse will only heighten the vulnerabilities and speed the transition, reducing to nothing whatever thin margin of financial protection has kept people in place. Until now, the market mechanisms had essentially socialized the consequences of high-risk development. But as the costs rise — and the insurers quit, and the bankers divest, and the farm subsidies prove too wasteful, and so on — the full weight of responsibility will fall on individual people.

    And that’s when the real migration might begin.

    As I spoke with Keenan last year, I looked out my own kitchen window onto hillsides of parkland, singed brown by months of dry summer heat. This was precisely the land that my utility, Pacific Gas & Electric, had three times identified as such an imperiled tinderbox that it had to shut off power to avoid fire. It was precisely the kind of wildland-urban interface that all the studies I read blamed for heightening Californians’ exposure to climate risks. I mentioned this on the phone and then asked Keenan, “Should I be selling my house and getting — ”

    He cut me off: “Yes.”

    Americans have dealt with climate disaster before. The Dust Bowl started after the federal government expanded the Homestead Act to offer more land to settlers willing to work the marginal soil of the Great Plains. Millions took up the invitation, replacing hardy prairie grass with thirsty crops like corn, wheat and cotton. Then, entirely predictably, came the drought. From 1929 to 1934, crop yields across Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas and Missouri plunged by 60 percent, leaving farmers destitute and exposing the now-barren topsoil to dry winds and soaring temperatures. The resulting dust storms, some of them taller than skyscrapers, buried homes whole and blew as far east as Washington. The disaster propelled an exodus of some 2.5 million people, mostly to the West, where newcomers — “Okies” not just from Oklahoma but also Texas, Arkansas and Missouri — unsettled communities and competed for jobs. Colorado tried to seal its border from the climate refugees; in California, they were funneled into squalid shanty towns. Only after the migrants settled and had years to claw back a decent life did some towns bounce back stronger.

    The places migrants left behind never fully recovered. Eighty years later, Dust Bowl towns still have slower economic growth and lower per capita income than the rest of the country. Dust Bowl survivors and their children are less likely to go to college and more likely to live in poverty. Climatic change made them poor, and it has kept them poor ever since.

    A Dust Bowl event will most likely happen again. The Great Plains states today provide nearly half of the nation’s wheat, sorghum and cattle and much of its corn; the farmers and ranchers there export that food to Africa, South America and Asia. Crop yields, though, will drop sharply with every degree of warming. By 2050, researchers at the University of Chicago and the NASA Goddard Institute for Space Studies found, Dust Bowl-era yields will be the norm, even as demand for scarce water jumps by as much as 20 percent. Another extreme drought would drive near-total crop losses worse than the Dust Bowl, kneecapping the broader economy. At that point, the authors write, “abandonment is one option.”

    Projections are inherently imprecise, but the gradual changes to America’s cropland — plus the steady baking and burning and flooding — suggest that we are already witnessing a slower-forming but much larger replay of the Dust Bowl that will destroy more than just crops. In 2017, Solomon Hsiang, a climate economist at the University of California, Berkeley, led an analysis of the economic impact of climate-driven changes like rising mortality and rising energy costs, finding that the poorest counties in the United States — mostly across the South and the Southwest — will in some extreme cases face damages equal to more than a third of their gross domestic products. The 2018 National Climate Assessment also warns that the U.S. economy over all could contract by 10 percent.

    That kind of loss typically drives people toward cities, and researchers expect that trend to continue after the Covid-19 pandemic ends. In 1950, less than 65 percent of Americans lived in cities. By 2050, only 10 percent will live outside them, in part because of climatic change. By 2100, Hauer estimates, Atlanta, Orlando, Houston and Austin could each receive more than a quarter million new residents as a result of sea-level displacement alone, meaning it may be those cities — not the places that empty out — that wind up bearing the brunt of America’s reshuffling. The World Bank warns that fast-moving climate urbanization leads to rising unemployment, competition for services and deepening poverty.

    So what will happen to Atlanta — a metro area of 5.8 million people that may lose its water supply to drought and that our data also shows will face an increase in heat-driven wildfires? Hauer estimates that hundreds of thousands of climate refugees will move into the city by 2100, swelling its population and stressing its infrastructure. Atlanta — where poor transportation and water systems contributed to the state’s C+ infrastructure grade last year — already suffers greater income inequality than any other large American city, making it a virtual tinderbox for social conflict. One in 10 households earns less than $10,000 a year, and rings of extreme poverty are growing on its outskirts even as the city center grows wealthier.

    Atlanta has started bolstering its defenses against climate change, but in some cases this has only exacerbated divisions. When the city converted an old Westside rock quarry into a reservoir, part of a larger greenbelt to expand parkland, clean the air and protect against drought, the project also fueled rapid upscale growth, driving the poorest Black communities further into impoverished suburbs. That Atlanta hasn’t “fully grappled with” such challenges now, says Na’Taki Osborne Jelks, chair of the West Atlanta Watershed Alliance, means that with more people and higher temperatures, “the city might be pushed to what’s manageable.”

    So might Philadelphia, Chicago, Washington, Boston and other cities with long-neglected systems suddenly pressed to expand under increasingly adverse conditions.

    Once you accept that climate change is fast making large parts of the United States nearly uninhabitable, the future looks like this: With time, the bottom half of the country grows inhospitable, dangerous and hot. Something like a tenth of the people who live in the South and the Southwest — from South Carolina to Alabama to Texas to Southern California — decide to move north in search of a better economy and a more temperate environment. Those who stay behind are disproportionately poor and elderly.

    In these places, heat alone will cause as many as 80 additional deaths per 100,000 people — the nation’s opioid crisis, by comparison, produces 15 additional deaths per 100,000. The most affected people, meanwhile, will pay 20 percent more for energy, and their crops will yield half as much food or in some cases virtually none at all. That collective burden will drag down regional incomes by roughly 10 percent, amounting to one of the largest transfers of wealth in American history, as people who live farther north will benefit from that change and see their fortunes rise.

    The millions of people moving north will mostly head to the cities of the Northeast and Northwest, which will see their populations grow by roughly 10 percent, according to one model. Once-chilly places like Minnesota and Michigan and Vermont will become more temperate, verdant and inviting. Vast regions will prosper; just as Hsiang’s research forecast that Southern counties could see a tenth of their economy dry up, he projects that others as far as North Dakota and Minnesota will enjoy a corresponding expansion. Cities like Detroit, Rochester, Buffalo and Milwaukee will see a renaissance, with their excess capacity in infrastructure, water supplies and highways once again put to good use. One day, it’s possible that a high-speed rail line could race across the Dakotas, through Idaho’s up-and-coming wine country and the country’s new breadbasket along the Canadian border, to the megalopolis of Seattle, which by then has nearly merged with Vancouver to its north.

    Sitting in my own backyard one afternoon this summer, my wife and I talked through the implications of this looming American future. The facts were clear and increasingly foreboding. Yet there were so many intangibles — a love of nature, the busy pace of life, the high cost of moving — that conspired to keep us from leaving. Nobody wants to migrate away from home, even when an inexorable danger is inching ever closer. They do it when there is no longer any other choice.


    Quelques cartes:

    #migrations_environnementales #USA #Etats-Unis #réfugiés_climatiques #climat #changement_climatique #déplacés_internes #IDPs

  • Coronavirus: Iraq’s ’Covid-19 generation’ faces forced labour, lack of school | Middle East Eye

    Yusuf, a 10-year-old Arab boy originally from Iraq’s central Salahaddin province, sells plastic bags in the centre of Sulaymaniyah.

    Yusuf is one of hundreds, if not thousands, of children working across northern Iraq’s autonomous Kurdish region to help their families - or just to survive - at a time that Iraqi government coffers have shrunk due to the crash in oil prices, an economic crisis and a pandemic that has caused mayhem around the world.

    “I never attended school [and] have been working here for more than two years,” he told Middle East Eye. “My parents were killed by the Islamic State.”

    Many Kurdish families, internally displaced persons (IDPs) and Syrian refugees are forced to take their children out of school and send them to work in dangerous conditions in order to make ends meet.



  • IDPs from Syria’s Tel Abyad fear coronavirus outbreak in camps - North press agency

    The displaced people of Tel Abyad (Gre-Spi) who reside in the camp of Tel Samen, 40 kilometers north of Raqqa, live in fear of the spread of coronavirus in the densely-packed camp.

    The camp is home to 700 families living in over 800 tents, with the camp administration forced to provide two tents to some of the camp’s larger families.

    Abla Darwish, a resident of Tel Samen camp displaced from Tel Abyad, expressed her fears of the spread of the pandemic in the camp, explaining that “all IDPs share the same toilets, bathrooms, and water tanks.”



  • COVID-19: Highest death toll in Kurdistan Region, as WHO and KRG launch COVID awareness campaign - Kurdistan 24

    Rising cases in Dohuk Province

    The ministry said in a statement that it had conducted 4,699 new tests across the region, with 458 returning positive: 199 were in Dohuk province, marking a significant increase in cases there. Some 127 new cases were reported in Erbil and 91 in Sulaimani.

    The ministry also said that 27 people had died of the virus over the past 24 hours—the highest coronavirus death count in one day, raising the total to 930 fatalities from the disease across the Kurdistan Region.

    COVID-19 is highly contagious, and health authorities have repeatedly explained what needs to be done to control its spread: wear a face mask; practice social distancing; and regularly wash hands.



  • A decade of desperation for refugees across the globe

    Rising numbers

    Refugees and asylum seekers may be displaced by war or threats due to their ethnicity, political beliefs or sexual orientation. Those fleeing their homes often leave family and friends behind, only to face new traumas, including new societies that can often appear unwelcoming.

    In 2018, 70 million people were displaced – 26 million were refugees and 84 per cent of those were from underdeveloped countries. Many are still waiting to be resettled.

    Recent figures indicate that more than half the world’s refugees live in urban areas, and almost 40 per cent are confined to camps or similar facilities.

    #migeartion #asile #réfugiés #statistiques

  • Land grabs at gunpoint: Thousands of families are being violently evicted from their farms to make way for foreign-owned plantations in Kiryandongo, Uganda

    Three multinational companies – Agilis Partners, Kiryandongo Sugar Limited and Great Season SMC Limited – are involved in grabbing land, violently evicting people from their homes and causing untold humiliation and grief to thousands of farming families residing in Kiryandongo district, Uganda. The land grabs are happening on abandoned national ranches, which have long since been settled and farmed by people who came to the area fleeing war and natural calamities in neighbouring areas. The local people are being displaced without notice, alternatives or even negotiations and are now desperately trying to save their homes and lives.

    #Ouganda #terres #évictions_forcées #canne_à_sucre

  • COVID-19 case detected at IDP camp in Duhok: migration and displacement ministry- NRT Tv

    The federal Ministry of Displacement and Migration announced on Wednesday (August 5) that it has identified a coronavirus case at the Chamishku camp in Duhok’s Zakho district, the first at that facility.

    The General Director of the ministry’s Branches Affairs Department Ali Abbas said in a statement that the person in question was a 39-year-old internally displaced person (IDP).

    “Thirty of those who were in contact with him have been isolated according to the initial report issued by the competent authorities in the province,” read the statement.

    “With the guidance of Minister of Immigration and Displacement Evan Faeq, immediate measures have been taken to sterilize the camp and prevent entries and exits to limit the spread of the virus,” Abbas added.

    “Necessary measures have been taken in coordination with Duhok Health Department to take samples, transport patients, and isolate the contacts.”

    A request for comment sent to the Kurdistan Regional Government’s (KRG) Joint Crisis Coordination Centre (JCC) was not immediately returned.

    Located just north of Zakho city, Chamishku is home to 26,520 IDPs, according to UNHCR.

    Since the beginning of the Kurdistan Region’s coronavirus outbreak in March, Duhok has been relatively free of the virus, but cases have increased significantly in the past two week, surging from 357 cases on July 21 to 801 on Tuesday.

    For many, the nightmare scenario is that the coronavirus outbreak spreads to the displacement camps, where social distancing and other public health measures are difficult to achieve



  • In northern Syria, COVID-19 worsens an already dramatic humanitarian crisis - Global Voices

    The ongoing armed conflict in Syria has displaced over 1.6 million people who have fled mostly to the north of the country. The resulting catastrophic humanitarian crisis is now worsened by the impact of COVID-19 in the region.

    In the Idlib region in northern Syria, residents already endure drastic conditions on a daily basis. Although Idlib has confirmed only one case of COVID-19 in July, many factors contribute to rising tensions, one of which is the continuing and deliberate violence inflicted on Idlib’s vital infrastructure by the Syrian-Russian military alliance which has completely destroyed its health sector.

    According to Human Rights Watch, “northern Syria is not at all ready to face the ‘COVID-19′ pandemic.”

    Hani al-Hariri, an activist from southern Syria now living in Idlib, told Global Voices that the situation could be catastrophic if COVID-19 reaches northern Syria, where displaced people barely have access to basic needs, including health care, water, and food, making social distancing and hygiene almost impossible to maintain.