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Japan Today
22-06-2025
- Business
- Japan Today
Guardians of the ocean: How SIDS are leading the 1.5°C agenda and what the world must do next
By Shafraz Rasheed Small Island Developing States (SIDS) are at the leading edge of the climate crisis. Threatened by rising sea levels, intensifying storms, and fragile marine ecosystems, these nations face existential risks to their economies, cultures, and ways of life. However, the vast oceans surrounding them offer more than just vulnerability they hold the key to resilience and global climate leadership. The ocean is not only a victim of climate change; it also plays a vital part in the solution. When approached sustainably, the "blue economy" can enhance climate resilience, reduce emissions, and sustain livelihoods in SIDS. The real challenge lies in unlocking this potential amid growing environmental threats and limited resources. The Blue Economy: Beyond Resource Extraction For many SIDS, the ocean is central to their territory and economic sustainability. Fisheries, tourism, shipping, and marine biodiversity are essential for development and food security. However, overexploitation, pollution, coral degradation, and uncontrolled coastal development have driven marine ecosystems to the edge. A sustainable blue economy prioritizes responsible utilization of the ocean to drive economic growth, social equity, and environmental conservation. Restoring mangroves and coral reefs, expanding marine protected areas, and promoting sustainable aquaculture represent nature-based solutions that capture carbon, safeguard biodiversity, and create jobs. U.N. Trade and Development (UNCTAD) states that climate initiatives based on oceans could provide more than 20% of the required emissions reductions by 2050 to restrict global warming to 1.5°C. SIDS are uniquely situated to lead this shift, but they require financial support, technology transfer, and equitable market access. Toward Ocean-Positive Development The United Nations Development Program's (UNDP's) "ocean-positive" development approach requires a fundamental shift in perspective. Instead of perceiving the ocean solely as a resource to exploit or a delicate ecosystem to protect, this approach combines climate initiatives, economic resilience, and social advancement. This demands a recalibration of global policies from the World Trade Organization to COP (the decision-making body of the U.N. Framework Convention on Climate Change)to prioritize ocean health as an indicator of climate progress. For island nations, it includes expanding ocean-based renewable energy sources (such as offshore wind and tidal energy), creating marine-sector jobs for women and youth, and building climate-resilient infrastructure. Initiatives like the Ocean Risk and Resilience Action Alliance (ORRAA) bring together public and private stakeholders to finance coastal resilience through blue bonds, insurance schemes, and blended finance. Innovative Solutions: Solar-Powered Mobility A recent article from Japan Times (June 2025) highlights an emerging breakthrough: solar electric vehicles (solar EVs). These self-charging vehicles, equipped with solar panels, provide eco-friendly, cost-effective transit perfect for island environments. Solar EVs offer a compelling solution for SIDS, many of which face high transport emissions and dependence on fossil fuel imports. These vehicles are already being piloted in island nations, especially in marine tourism zones and port cities. Solar ferries and marine logistics systems powered by microgrids are also being tested, complementing wider efforts to decarbonize transport and strengthen energy independence. When integrated with blue economy initiatives, solar mobility systems reduce emissions, support sustainable tourism, and create new jobs in the green tech sector. From Vulnerability to Visionary Leadership Despite their size, SIDS have played a significant role in international climate diplomacy. They championed the 1.5°C target in the Paris Agreement, advocated for ocean conservation in U.N. forums, and pioneered financial instruments such as Seychelles' Blue Bond and Fiji's Green Bond. The Maldives is phasing out single-use plastics and adopting nature-based coastal protections. Samoa is investing in sustainable fisheries and renewable energy. Through alliances like AOSIS, Caribbean and Pacific nations are promoting climate-smart marine policies. These efforts prove that with appropriate assistance, small islands can become hubs of innovation and resilience, offering lessons for coastal areas globally. What the World Must Do Next To unlock the full potential of SIDS in leading the ocean and climate agenda, the global community must act decisively. First, climate finance must become more accessible, predictable, and tailored to island contexts through simplified procedures, concessional loans, and public-private investment models. Second, innovation must be fast-tracked in key areas including solar EVs, blue energy, sustainable fisheries, and ocean carbon markets. Third, ecosystems must be protected and restored through expanded marine protected areas, habitat conservation, and stricter anti-pollution and anti-overfishing measures. Fourth, trade systems must be reformed to ensure SIDS gain fair value for their marine exports and can build resilient, inclusive economies. Finally, stronger regional governance, maritime monitoring, and policy coordination will help secure the ocean commons for future generations. SIDS are more than climate victims. They are visionary leaders showing the world how to build a just, sustainable future rooted in ocean stewardship and resilience. Their success is our shared success. If we want to safeguard the planet, we must start by standing with its smallest defenders who are proving to be among its strongest. Shafraz Rasheed is a Maldivian diplomat serving in Japan. He holds a Master's degree in International Relations from China Foreign Affairs University. His research focuses on climate diplomacy in Asia and the Pacific, and the role of small states in shaping global climate and ocean governance. © Japan Today
Time Magazine
10-06-2025
- Sport
- Time Magazine
This New Tool Will Help Sports Teams Cut Their Carbon Footprint
Sports teams around the world are backing a first of its kind playbook to help the industry measure its carbon footprint. The Carbon Methodology and Calculator for Sport, launched by sustainability and social impact consultancy Think Beyond, aims to create a consistent standard by which teams can measure emissions and make inroads towards climate action. Thirty-five organisations, including World Athletics, Liverpool FC, and LIV Golf have already adopted the approach. The playbook's calculator measures the environmental footprint of everything from fan travel to merchandise. 'If you claim the economic impact, then you have to account for the environmental footprint of it,' Susie Tomson, senior partner at Think Beyond, told TIME. Until now, the industry has lacked a standard, sector-wide approach to measuring its climate impact. The playbook's methodology aligns with the most widely used method for measuring emissions, known as the Greenhouse Gas Protocol, as well as the U.N. Framework Convention on Climate Change's Sports for Climate Action Framework, and the Science Based Targets initiative—but it has translated the frameworks into user-friendly, sports-specific terms. 'We wanted to make sure that we're aligned to Greenhouse Gas Protocol, but we're talking sport language,' says Tomson. Once teams plug in their data, a dashboard shows emissions by category, and will help them track changes year over year. Teams can also break their year down into different footprints, to compare the climate impact of various events throughout the season. The playbook is part of a wider industry effort to go green. Many sports organizations have pledged to reduce emissions by 50% by 2030 and reach net-zero by 2040 under the U.N. Sports for Climate Action Framework. The 2024 Super Bowl and the Paris Olympics were both powered entirely by renewable energy. But challenges remain. A 2020 estimate found that the global sports industry is responsible for approximately 350 million tonnes of CO2. One study by Scientists for Global Responsibility found that the carbon emissions from the FIFA World Cup alone is equivalent to that of between 31,500 and 51,500 cars driving for one year. At the same time, the industry is also grappling with how to keep games going in the face of climate change. A 2022 study found that half of the former Winter Olympic host cities could be unable to sponsor winter games by 2050 due to melting snow and ice. And in many parts of the world, the impacts of climate change are already impacting events—the U.S. Tennis Association introduced an extreme heat policy after the 2018 U.S. Open where players faced off in 100 degree temperatures at the USTA Billie Jean King National Tennis Center in New York City. Meanwhile NFL players are swapping out their traditional uniforms for ones in heat reflecting colors. Think Beyond plans to publish an annual State of Sport Carbon Report, which will show where organizations are successfully reducing emissions, and where growth remains. Tomson hopes that the calculator can be used across the industry—from the Olympics to amateur teams. 'The more people who use it, the better traction we're going to get,' she says. 'The more groundswell [of people], all talking the same language, measuring the same thing.'
Time Magazine
05-06-2025
- General
- Time Magazine
Loading... Fishing Communities in the Philippines Are Fighting for their Future as Waters Rise Climate Oceans View of the Philippine Sea from Dipaculao municipality, Aurora Province, Central Luzon Region, the Philippines, March 10, 2025. View of the Philippine Sea from Dipaculao municipality, Aurora Province, Central Luzon Region, the Philippines, March 10, 2025. Photographs by Joshua Irwandi for TIME Story by Charlie Campbell and Chad de Guzman View of the Philippine Sea from Dipaculao municipality, Aurora Province, Central Luzon Region, the Philippines, March 10, 2025.
It's around 10 a.m. each morning that Noemi Reyes's heart fills with hope. That's when her husband Marionito's boat appears on the shimmering horizon of the Pacific. By the time his skiff has been hauled onto the shingle beach, it's already clear whether his toil has been profitable. Today was not: just eight small sardines and mackerel from five hours casting handlines at sea. 'Almost nothing,' laments their 11-year-old son, Cjay, as he clambers back up the slope to their shack. Advertisement The catch is sufficient to provide the family a proper meal but won't help rebuild their home, which was destroyed late last year when a record-breaking six consecutive storms battered the Philippines. Ever since November, the Reyes family has lived here, beneath tarpaulin and nipa palm, wedged between crashing waves and a coastal highway in northeastern Luzon. When it rains, water gushes through gaps in the roof. At night, passing juggernauts rattle the structure, shaking them from their slumber. With no locks or even doors, passing strangers sometimes wander inside. 'I find it hard to sleep and worry that one of the trucks might hit us,' says Noemi, 42, as she cleans and guts the fish for traditional sinigang sour soup. It's a precarious existence that is all too common in the Philippines, an archipelago nation of 115 million people scattered across more than 7,000 islands. The sea remains the lifeblood of the country. Fishing employs over 1.6 million people, whose catch is the nation's principal protein source, a daily bounty of some 12,000 tons. But it's a relationship that has become increasingly strained. Intensifying typhoons and dwindling catches are transforming what has always been the font of life into a source of destruction and despair. 'Sometimes the sea is all about luck,' shrugs Marionito, 50, as he collapses exhausted onto the timber platform that sleeps the couple and five of their nine children. Read more from TIME's Ocean Issue The World Isn't Valuing Oceans Properly 'Ignorance' Is the Most Pressing Issue Facing Ocean Conservation, Says Sylvia Earle Meet the Marine Biologist Working to Protect Our Oceans from Deep-Sea Mining Geopolitical Tensions are Shaping the Future of our Oceans If fortune has deserted the Reyes family, odds are increasingly stacked against all the 600 million people around the globe who depend on small-scale fisheries and aquaculture. Coastal communities from Bangladesh to Cuba and from Senegal to Vanuatu are finding their livelihoods and security increasingly challenged. Rising greenhouse gases are increasing the intensity of extreme-weather events that both reduce fish stocks and make accessing them more difficult and dangerous for this generation and the next. 'Coastal communities are on the front lines, facing rising seas, brutal storms, and tidal surges that destroy millions of homes, businesses, public infrastructure,' Simon Stiell, executive secretary of the U.N. Framework Convention on Climate Change, and a former senior government minister of Grenada, tells TIME. Stiell is no mere onlooker. Just last July, Hurricane Beryl devastated his home island of Carriacou, where 98% of homes and buildings were severely damaged or destroyed, displacing over 3,500 people. Society's most vulnerable are bearing the brunt, especially the young. UNICEF estimates that around the world, an average of 20,000 children are displaced every day, 95% by the same floods and storms that render coastal fishing communities increasingly hazardous. And the Philippines has the dubious distinction of hosting the most child climate refugees. According to UNICEF, the Philippines experienced a record 9.7 million child displacements from 2016 to 2021, owing partly to 60% of the population living by the ocean—more people than live in Canada—as well as sea levels rising at up to four times the global average. 'Children are seeing their schools flooded, health services and water systems damaged, and crops and other food sources washed away,' says UNICEF executive director Catherine Russell. Along with a litany of health risks including malnutrition and waterborne disease like cholera and dengue, displaced youngsters suffer disrupted education and are more likely to drop out of school to support their families, meaning fewer opportunities for them to build more prosperous and secure lives than those of their parents, whose own occupations are ever more fraught. 'Constant threats of displacement create chronic anxiety and trauma, particularly among children,' says Gwendolyn Pang, secretary general of the Philippine Red Cross. 'There's no semblance of normalcy because they constantly move, evacuate, relocate. Frequent disasters become emotionally and mentally exhausting.' The cascade of hardships stands to compound a larger peril. Each pound of fish caught by wild fisheries involves just 1⁄2 to 3 lb. of carbon, while red-meat production ranges from 15 to 50 lb. But the tropics are predicted to see communities displaced from the coast to cities, and declines in potential seafood catch of up to 40% by 2055, turning coastal populations from sustainable food producers into urban consumers with an exponentially larger carbon footprint. In response, governments, NGOs, and the local people are striving to instill resilience into coastal communities, strengthen homes and infrastructure to better cope with extreme weather, and diversify incomes to mitigate the impact of a changing climate. But providing future generations with greater prospects than the last is an uphill battle. 'What people told me is simple: they want their families, their wider communities, their businesses and livelihoods to be better protected,' says Stiell. 'They want to focus on education, health care, economic opportunity—not have to scramble to survive the next storm.' Few nations have internalized the ocean like the Philippines. For centuries before Ferdinand Magellan first set foot here in 1521, the inhabitants were natural seafarers, docking on its islands and thriving aboard floating communities on boats called balangay, a word that today has come to mean the country's smallest political unit, or village. Filipinos make up over a quarter of the global seafaring worker community. Put differently, 1 out of every 5 Filipinos currently employed abroad are working on the water. Manila remains one of Southeast Asia's top ports, while the surrounding waters, including those within the hotly contested South China Sea, teem with oil and gas deposits. But this kinship with the ocean has also made the Philippines acutely vulnerable to the extreme weather that is becoming both more fierce and frequent. Situated in the Pacific's 'typhoon belt,' the Philippines experiences an average of 20 tropical cyclones annually, most occurring from July to October. Typhoons are known as compound events, since low pressure effectively sucks up seawater to inundate land just as heavy rainfall surges down hillsides and high winds batter homes and infrastructure. 'The coast is really where all the problems meet and the intensity is increasing,' says Robert Vautard, a working group co-chair at the U.N. Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. Many Filipinos live with the constant fear of displacement. At the opposite end of Luzon from the Reyes family, the village of Sula, Vinzons, in the Bicol region sits nestled on a sandbank barely 400 ft. wide separating the Pacific Ocean from tidal mangroves. Without even an access road, life here revolves around fishing, shrimping, and farming oysters and crab. The only non-aquatic industries are a nearby watermelon farm and the occasional cluck and snuffle of chickens and pigs. Around four times each year, village captain Rosemarie Abogado gives the order to evacuate, and Sula's 269 families clamber onto boats for the 20-minute journey to a nearby elementary school. There they must hunker down on mats for days while inclement weather submerges the village in swirling eddies of seawater, destroying crab pots, fishing nets, and homes. 'Usually, it's men who are reluctant to leave the village because they want to take care of their livestock,' says Abogado, sitting beneath the mango tree whose shade serves as an informal village hall. After the typhoon passes, the villagers return to see what remains. Following last November's storms, Ricky Pioquinto found his two-room thatch house had been flattened. 'It's only luck whether the pigs get flooded or not,' says the dad of three. A fattened swine can fetch 12,000 pesos, or $215. 'Sell a pig and you can buy anything,' Pioquinto, 41, says. By comparison, fishing and crabbing are less profitable these days. A pound of crabs brings between 100 and 200 pesos ($1.75 to $3.50) depending on the size and quality. But catches have been getting sparser. 'Sometimes we don't catch anything,' says Pioquinto. Around one-third of the world's fish stocks are overfished, including those in Southeast Asia, where China operates a colossal fishing operation. Climate change is compounding the problem. Oceans play a major role in climate dynamics: 83% of the global carbon cycle is circulated through the oceans, which have absorbed 93% of the excess heat from greenhouse-gas emissions since the 1970s. But warmer waters alter the distribution of fish species, pushing those more suited to cooler temperatures farther and deeper, while reducing oxygen levels, impacting fish survival and productivity. Estimates suggest that at current rates of warming, fish and other marine species will be pushed around 20 km (12 miles) every decade. Meanwhile, ocean acidification, caused by increased carbon dioxide absorption from the atmosphere, is degrading coral reefs vital for marine life, while harming shellfish and other organisms with calcium carbonate shells. 'On top, these cyclones and storms have a really negative impact on the ecosystems as well as fishing infrastructure,' says Michelle Tigchelaar, senior scientist and impact area lead for climate and environmental sustainability at the WorldFish NGO. All of this means future generations of artisanal fishers will not see the catches that sustained their parents. The frequency of typhoons, locally called bagyo, means Filipinos are used to responding to them. The national weather bureau has an alphabetical list of names for storm systems which repeats every four years. A name is retired only when it is attached to a cyclone that has caused widespread destruction and loss of life. One name that will never return is Yolanda—what Filipinos call Typhoon Haiyan—which killed more than 7,000 people, displaced 47.5 million, and caused more than $12 billion in damage in 2013. Yolanda was the deadliest storm to have ever struck the Philippines and more than anything served to redefine the nation's relationship with the ocean. Stretching 500 miles from tip to tip, its sustained winds of 195 m.p.h. tore into the central Visayas region, where storm surges of up to 23 ft. snapped coconut palms like matchsticks and razed entire towns. Marinel Sumook Ubaldo was just 16 years old when the maelstrom ripped apart her home perched on the shoreline of Matarinao, Salcedo municipality, in Eastern Samar. 'Only three concrete pillars remained,' she recalls. Survivors were isolated for days without food or clean water and spent months with no electricity nor proper shelter. 'We were literally eating whatever we could find floating on the water,' says Ubaldo. All the Ubaldo family possessions disappeared; dead bodies littered the devastation. Like nearly all the local fishermen, her father lost his boat, destroying both his livelihood and sense of self-worth. Even if it had survived, the seas remained too rough for small vessels for some six months after the storm, and people recoiled at the thought of consuming fish that may have grown plump on the corpses of their departed neighbors. 'He has been fishing since he was 8 years old,' she says. 'So it really affected him.' Yolanda's wake left hundreds of orphans, but even those like Ubaldo whose family had survived had their childish innocence ripped away. 'Afterwards, I felt grown up,' she recalls. 'We lost our home. We literally went back to zero. I don't know how I would be able to go to college, so I became a breadwinner.' While working multiple jobs including at a fast-food restaurant to support her family, Ubaldo eventually won scholarships to study social work at university. But that helpless feeling stuck with her. A month after Yolanda, another typhoon struck, but this time nobody would take in her family, which was forced to shelter huddled next to a mountain. 'I felt like I was just done being 'resilient,'' she says. 'So we lobbied our local government unit to be more proactive.' In 2019, Ubaldo organized the Philippines' first youth climate strike. Today, she works in Washington, D.C., for the League of Conservation Voters environmental advocacy group, and has testified on climate issues at the U.N. and U.S. Senate. 'During disasters, people are gracious that they help each other,' she says. 'But trauma really comes after a disaster: What should I do now?' After Yolanda, the Philippine government added a new 'level 5' to the existing four grades of storms, stressing the imperative for people to seek shelter when the worst arrives. But for many, the psychological bond with the ocean had been forever broken. 'That relationship of the ocean both giving life and unfortunately, with these climate disasters, increasingly taking life away, is something that's very difficult to wrestle with,' says Sean Devlin, a Filipino Canadian comedian and filmmaker who has been documenting displaced communities for over a decade. Yolanda exposed other vulnerabilities that have made the Philippines a test case of disaster response. The sheer force of these storms can remake the very shoreline where communities exist. Too often, poor villagers don't have deeds or other documentation to codify their ownership of land that has been used by their families for generations. This lack of documentation exposes these communities to disaster capitalism. Around the world, natural disasters—including the Indian Ocean tsunami in 2004 and Hurricane Katrina the following year—have entrenched this concept, whereby crises create a blank sheet ready to be exploited by Big Business. It can happen even where ownership is clear. In post-Katrina New Orleans, destroyed public schools, housing, and health care facilities were replaced by private alternatives. In effectively commercializing the response, financial interests clashed with humanitarian goals. Something similar is now happening in the Philippines. After Yolanda, the Philippine government enlisted the help of influential private firms to lead the recovery effort. Tellingly, those that secured development partners were mostly urbanized areas or strategic locations for transport and other investments, while remote municipalities found it harder to attract help. In the city of Tacloban, the epicenter of Yolanda, previously thriving communities were declared 'no-build zones' as they were deemed too dangerous for human habitation. Instead, retail shops and strip malls sprang up. If alternative housing was provided, it was typically set back many miles from the coast—while seemingly safer, it was impractical for those making a living at sea. 'One of the fundamental things that I see anger expressed over is lack of consultation in terms of the response to storms and how people are relocated,' says Devlin. In 2023, Devlin released Asog, a black comedy set amid a real Visayan community still struggling from the social and economic fallout of Yolanda. The film features residents of Sicogon Island, some 6,000 of whom were subjected to a poststorm land grab perpetrated by Ayala Land Inc. to build a luxury resort. Following Asog 's success on the festival circuit, Ayala eventually started listening to residents' demands and has agreed to pay $5.1 million in reparations to 784 displaced families. Most of the cash has been used to build 474 new storm-resistant homes within easy reach of the ocean. Still, the local community continues to fight with Ayala over the deeds. 'Ayala has delivered just a portion of what they committed to,' Amelia Dela Cruz, president of the Federation of Sicogon Island Farmers Fisherfolks Association (FESIFFA), said in a statement. 'We won't give up until they fully comply with the agreement they signed and we have been given the titles to our land.' (Ayala Land Inc. did not respond to repeated requests for comment from TIME.) It's a remarkable victory of society's poorest over entrenched corporate interests. The Philippines has also become a leader in securing legal protections for communities displaced by climate change. In September, lawmakers for the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao—a swath of the nation's second largest island boasting over 2,000 miles of coastline with rich fishing waters—passed a Rights of Internally Displaced Persons Act to safeguard people's access to basic necessities, health care, education, employment, cultural practices, freedom of movement, and popular representation. The law is the first of its kind in the Philippines and one of only a handful worldwide. While refugees have specific charters governing their rights, including the 1951 U.N. Refugee Convention, people displaced within their own borders still technically enjoy all their national protections, as well as those enshrined by international human-rights and humanitarian law. However, in reality they often slip through the cracks. 'Displacement has been a painful reality in our homeland,' Bangsamoro Government Chief Minister Ahod Balawag Ebrahim said upon the law's passing. 'But today, we declare that the Bangsamoro will no longer be a region where displacement defines our people's lives.' The need to instill resilience in communities is key—and remains an ongoing debate. Regions across the Philippines have begun building towering seawalls to protect against storm surges, though many locals doubt their efficacy. Tacloban residents have criticized the fact that their new seawall is shorter than the storm surge from Yolanda. And if the walls are breached, the fear is these concrete perimeters may impede receding floodwaters and increase the chance of drownings and destruction. Half an hour's drive from the Reyes family in northern Aurora, Lucy Faner Ruiz also had her home destroyed in last winter's storms and now resides with her son. The 68-year-old retired teacher believes a half-built seawall 200 m from her home exacerbated the damage by retaining the floodwater and preventing it from draining away. 'I won't rebuild until the seawall is completed,' she says, standing amid the splintered wood and corrugated-iron scraps of her toppled home. Others favor natural alternatives to seawalls. Standing in gum boots by the lapping water of northern Luzon's Casiguran Sound, Jose Bitong stabs the mud with a metal spear, pumps his arm to widen the hole, and then thrusts in a mangrove seedling. It's a routine Bitong and his small army of volunteers at the Casiguran Mangrove Rehabilitation and Protection Organization have repeated more than a million times since 1996, helping to regreen over 1,160 acres of coastline. Aside from acting as natural barriers against storms and floods, mangroves reduce erosion while providing vital habitats for aquatic species that help replenish fish stocks. In addition, mangroves and coastal wetlands sequester carbon at rates 10 times that of mature tropical forests. 'My goal is to plant as many mangroves as possible for climate-change mitigation,' says Bitong, who operates two nurseries that cultivate 20,000 mangrove seedlings for his own organization and to donate to others. It's not the only way local people are taking charge of their future. In the face of depleted fish stocks, younger coastal residents—aided by foreign and domestic NGOs—are leading the charge in trying to diversify into previously shunned species and develop new revenue streams, like cultivating seaweed for export. On Sicogon Island, once the Ayala compensation was announced, FESIFFA could've just congratulated themselves and waited for their new homes. Instead, they insisted that local people join the building work. That way, islanders can learn new trades and take charge of future renovations and construction, enhancing capacity while keeping more money inside the community. 'It's so impressive and just a testament to allowing communities to really envision and lead solutions to these disasters,' says Devlin. 'They understand their situations better than anyone else.' It's for this reason that aid groups like Oxfam Pilipinas concentrate on targeted cash donations for vulnerable families to use on housing, livelihood tools, or education as they see fit. In the 2024–2025 financial year, Oxfam Pilipinas spent over $4.5 million toward humanitarian interventions, around half in cash for 189,807 individuals belonging to 37,961 households, including the Reyes, Ruiz, and Pioquinto families. Few want to rely on a dilatory and distracted state. When TIME visited these communities, campaigning was in full swing for May's Philippines general election, and seemingly every pillar and beam had been festooned with party colors. In absurdist irony, even the Reyes family's shack had not escaped crass political adornment. 'Two candidates visited and asked if they could stick up their posters,' shrugs Noemi, glancing forlornly at the coiffured hair and beaming smiles stapled overhead. 'But neither said they would help us.' Help is desperately needed—and fast. Our mid-April visit was only the third occasion that Marionito had managed to take his boat out this year, owing to treacherous, churning currents left over from the winter storms. Instead, he's been working as a day laborer cutting grass and planting crops on a nearby farm. Now he has only until the returning monsoon renders fishing too dangerous in August to earn sufficient cash to rebuild their home. Noemi is doing her best to contribute. After preparing breakfast for her kids, she trudges to the wreckage of their former house to collect palm fronds to bundle into brooms, which she then sells for 12 pesos, or 22¢. 'Working from morning until afternoon, I can make 10 brooms,' she says. In every way, the Reyes family feels their lives drifting farther away from the ocean. Asked whether he wants his kids to follow in his footsteps, Marionito doesn't hesitate. 'Never,' he says, gazing out at the deep blue. 'The fisherman's life is full of uncertainty.' And one fighting a relentlessly rising tide. Campbell and de Guzman reported this story out of the Philippines. 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Yahoo
08-05-2025
- Business
- Yahoo
Grocery giant achieves stunning success with new policy that turns trash into treasure: 'It's a solvable problem'
At Safeway, food waste is making its way to people in need instead of landfills thanks to a partnership with the food waste prevention company Divert. Packaging World reported that, in just three months, the team effort led to a 20% increase in food donations, resulting in an average of 1,252 pounds of food per store being given to the public each month. Food waste is a major problem in the United States, with nearly 40% of all food going uneaten or unsold, according to Feeding America. That amounts to roughly 92 billion pounds of food, equivalent to 145 billion meals, being tossed into landfills each year. Meanwhile, 47 million people in the U.S., including 14 million children, are food insecure. Plus, food waste harms the environment by releasing potent planet-warming gases such as methane as it breaks down in landfills. According to the U.N. Framework Convention on Climate Change, food loss and waste are responsible for 8-10% of global heat-trapping pollution and cost the economy around $1 trillion per year. That's where companies such as Divert come in. It uses a comprehensive process that includes liquefaction, depackaging solutions, and anaerobic digestion to separate food waste from packaging and convert it into renewable energy sources and other valuable products. Divert collaborates with retailers to identify inefficiencies in their inventory management and help them reduce food waste. Any unsold food that can't be donated is turned into non-polluting clean energy, which supplies power to homes and businesses. When food waste undergoes anaerobic digestion, bacteria break it down to produce a nutrient-rich soil amendment that benefits plants and crops. In the depackaging process, food is removed from plastic packaging without releasing microplastics, keeping the harmful particles out of waterways and farmlands, where they contaminate crops and harm plant life. Divert works with nearly 8,000 customers and is looking to expand its operations so that 80% of the U.S. population will be located within 100 miles of a Divert facility by 2031. The company has already made remarkable progress in reducing food waste, processing 600 million pounds of discarded food and helping retailers donate more than 14 million pounds since its launch in 2007. "Our mission is to eliminate wasted food and create a circular economy," Ben Kuethe Oaks, vice president and general manager, told Packaging World. "By partnering with retailers like Safeway, we're able to put our data-driven solutions into action — preventing waste at the source, recovering edible food for donation, and converting what's left into renewable energy. "... Food waste isn't just an environmental issue — it's a solvable problem. With the right partnerships and the right technology, we can rethink waste and create a more sustainable food system for everyone." What's the most common reason you end up throwing away food? Bought more than I could eat Went bad sooner than I expected Forgot it was in the fridge Didn't want leftovers Click your choice to see results and speak your mind. Join our free newsletter for good news and useful tips, and don't miss this cool list of easy ways to help yourself while helping the planet.
Japan Today
26-04-2025
- Business
- Japan Today
Japan's FY2023 greenhouse gas emissions hit record low for 2nd year
Japan's greenhouse gas emissions fell to a record low in fiscal 2023 for the second straight year on the back of reduced manufacturing activity and a greater share for renewable and nuclear energy in power generation, the government said. National emissions in the year through March 2024 totaled 1.07 billion tons of carbon dioxide equivalent, down 4 percent from fiscal 2022 and marking the lowest level since comparable data became available in fiscal 1990. The decline was mainly attributable to renewable and nuclear energy accounting for over 30 percent of Japan's power generation and lower energy consumption and industrial production, Environment Ministry officials said. Japan has set a goal of net-zero greenhouse gas emissions by 2050 by subtracting CO2 absorption by forests, aiming to reduce emissions by 60 percent in fiscal 2035 and 73 percent in fiscal 2040, compared with fiscal 2013. Emissions in fiscal 2023 marked a 27.1 percent drop from fiscal 2013, with officials saying the country is on track to achieve the goal. In fiscal 2023, emissions fell 4.0 percent from fiscal 2022 in the manufacturing sector, while household emissions were down 6.8 percent, likely due to a warmer winter. "Emission reduction is on the right track but only halfway through," Environment Minister Keiichiro Asao said in a press conference, stressing the need for continued efforts by both the public and the private sectors. The ministry reported the emission data to the secretariat of the U.N. Framework Convention on Climate Change. © KYODO
