Ecology Alike

Photo by Siena Nisavic on Unsplash

I’ve been following the preparation of the Roadmap for Eradicating Poverty beyond Growth (https://www.neep-poverty.org/) in the media and its recent presentation at the 62nd session of the UN Human Rights Council. 

In a world where nationalistic competition for scarce resources sidelines the universal, rights‑based agenda, and where public‑interest protections, democratic scrutiny, and accountability are often absent, it is crucial to consider what it would actually look like to put human rights at the heart of economic policy.

At first, having human rights at the centre of economic policy might sound naive, at least because of these two points:

The international financial architecture remains largely detached from the universal, rights‑based global development agenda. International human rights commitments have little direct bearing on how money, wealth, and economic power are distributed between the imperial core and the rest of the world. This separation sustains a financial status quo in which unjust debt arrangements, unequal fiscal space, and weak financing commitments stand in stark contradiction to universal human rights. As a result, the realisation of social justice commitments and the environmental guardrails needed for a livable future is extremely difficult.

Nation‑states are increasingly erecting barriers to migration and adopting restrictive policies, driven by a broader rightward shift. These anti‑migrant approaches not only deny the reality that more people are moving across borders than ever before; they also overlook the complex dynamics of mobility, where economic necessity can be as coercive as direct persecution. As Hannah Arendt reminded us decades ago, there is no universal system that guarantees human rights. Rights ultimately depend on the capacity — and willingness — of states to grant them. In practice, the right to have rights, the very precondition for realising human rights, is determined by the arbitrary lottery of where, when, and into which country one is born — a reality far from universal.

In this context, it is particularly enlightening to listen to the former UN Special Rapporteur on extreme poverty and human rights, Olivier De Schutter, as he details his ideas on what states can still do; his words remind us that we, the people, shape economic policy and determine governance systems. It means that even within the barriers listed above (flaws of the economic system and increasingly protectionist states),  it is possible to do otherwise. As Olivier points out, however, in the current global order, it may not be a universal debate among all nation-states and their dictatorial figureheads, but rather a growing alliance of those willing to swim against the tide. 

For some of us, thinking about the rapid evolution of climate change causes nightmares; for others, it is a lived physical reality that keeps them awake at night. Professor Amita Baviskar captures this reality in a painful yet poetic way in her recent LSE lecture, Cooling a Warming India: Ecology and Equity in Our Time, where she unpacks the shifting conditions of urban life in Delhi. She paints a picture that is now unfolding in many cities around the world, where traditional ways of coping with heat are no longer tenable and everyday life becomes increasingly unbearable.

It is rare to see a researcher tell this story so holistically:

Traditional cooling practices such as using water or headscarves are no longer viable as humidity rises.

The construction logic of sprawling, unplanned urbanisation produces heat‑trapping housing in one of the hottest regions on earth.

Changing lifestyles and falling prices have made air conditioners a top priority for the upper and lower-middle classes, even as their widespread use further heats the city.

At the centre of this unfolding story of sleep deprivation and ill health are women and girls in poor neighbourhoods without access to air conditioning. Because of gender norms, safety concerns, and fear of violence, they have even fewer options than men and boys to escape their boiling‑hot homes at night.

The accelerating need for ACs to cool poorly planned cities is, of course, deeply paradoxical: electricity in these cities is often generated from coal and other non‑renewable sources, which only intensifies the crisis. Having lived in Asian megacities myself, I understand how escaping the heat has become a necessity of modern life, yet this necessity makes the underlying problems even more dire.

As Baviskar describes, long‑term solutions to transform cities into livable environments for all do exist, but they remain out of reach. Political structures are ill‑suited to long‑term planning, and elites who benefit from the current system often resist change. And so the merry‑go‑round continues, without a deeper look at the root causes and sustainable change.

We need research like Baviskar’s to expose the deepening inequalities produced by the climate emergency. But the solutions we need are not only climate solutions; they require confronting the structural injustices embedded in our social order.

In a little over a year, at the SDG Summit in September 2027, the world will gather again to debate the future of the global goals. But long before anyone walks onto that stage, someone is already shaping the script for what the world will debate next.

Photo by Katja Ano on Unsplash 

To understand where we’re heading, it helps to remember where we began. Two decades ago, the global conversation revolved around eight simple, urgent promises: the Millennium Development Goals. It was a time when HIV/AIDS loomed like a shadow across continents, and when the UN struggled under the weight of its own fragmentation. There was even a moment when leaders imagined a single, unified UN presence in every country. A bold idea of the One UN that dissolved quietly, filed away as too idealistic. Now, as the SDGs approach their final stretch, the UN stands at a far more precarious crossroads. Not just fragmented but also underfunded, it faces existential questions about its future.  

The MDGs were signposts in the development discourse and central to measuring the sector's progress. Although donor-driven, they did contribute to a more coherent understanding of what was the role of international development cooperation in contributing to a better future. The later editions of the 17 goals have been harder to grasp, and the results of the SDGs, beyond the cry "we are not on track", have been difficult to hear.  The truth is, dividing the ambitions of humankind into 17 distinct, colourful boxes is, of course, quite absurd. Goals overlap, collide, and sometimes undermine each other when pursued in isolation. And yet, the idea of a shared structure for debating the global goals, a place where the world gathers to imagine its future, is worth defending. 

This is exactly the question that the World Inequality Lab asked in its Global Justice by 2100 report. And their answer was YES, we could. Researchers behind the Global Justice project propose: 

eradicating the billionaire class, which represents 0,001% of the world population, to redistribute wealth, 

investing (in a big way) in health and education,

achieving gender equality, and 

reducing working hours to 2,5 day working week.

The suggested changes seem like proposals of the degrowth community, but the World Inequality Conference also brought growth optimists into the debate. I felt empowered listening to their vision. Of course, the devil is in the details, and personally I don’t think the current capitalist world order is compatible with reducing global inequality, but debate is needed across borders. 

In the current geopolitical order, it might seem naive to advance such a radical proposal, but I believe there is a real need to bring people together to question the motives behind many recent global developments, including increases in military spending, immigration crackdowns, and the rollback of climate and gender protections. And besides, who would not want to earn 5,000 euros a month in a world that reaches 1.8°C with rapid emissions reductions?

Seeking the shapes of the familiar covered in contours under the snow.

Every day it is the same but different.

When fire cleared the ground for the new growth,

when wind felled the trunks crossing the way,

when light was not enough to take the next step.

It was there.

You run to catch a fleeting moment, not afraid of defeat, again and again expecting the new beginning to start.

Stars on the ground we walk.

Your paws make marks on the powder snow.

The sky dotted with sparkles

curves

to lid us in

the universe.

This morning I see blue patches on the white blanket.

Branches sugar covered swaying in the wind.

I look out from the window,

and momentarily

life is light.

When I wake up again,

the blue patches are gone,

dissolved in the white background,

the grey light on the blanket is not gay,

still, covered with heavy eyelids,

a fragment of life carries on.

With deep shadows under their eyes,

they speak a foreign language.

He sleeps under his black hoodie.

She scrolls through her latest feed.

On the train back home,

in the dark blue of the passing morning,

we are too tired to embrace the coming reunion.

I watch out to The Land of Winter,

lights are lit in houses, sometimes,

many dark and muted, why

perhaps they are still asleep, I smile

or they are at work and school, already, I nod

or is there emptiness that fills the bare walls of what once was home?

A shell without a pearl.

Surrounded by the white snow, waiting for the reunion.

Rows of cut hay pierced through the surface of the shallow snow,

the marks of the wheels from the late harvest,

crisscrossing on the rolling fields.

He is present in the landscape,

he inhales, he exhales,

I listen to his sighs.

It’s the shortest day of the year.

And when I turn,

he disappears.

Facing the breeze, cold on my cheeks,

I hear my own breathing.

Against the stiff breeze and towards the sea

we walk.

Our path is freckled with slippery ice.

When fingers numb and a double layer of stockings

is not enough

to protect the thighs.

There is something more precious than our bodies.

Scacrifie of comfort is cheap,

when light is what hearts desire.

They are young, younger,

travelling from north to south,

adding the final touches to their make-up.

To be what they want to be,

and they are,

beautiful.

I look at them

when the fog envelops the carriage,

snow is melting, turning into water,

already dripping wet on the surface of the wagon.

Creating creeks from what once was ice.

They are young, younger,

travelling from north to south

for the party.

But it is us who left the furnace on.

And mascara stains their smooth cheeks.

She rests her forehead on the surface of the cold glass.

Behind the window, bending white they sleep.

Majestic in their softness.

Unaware of following her

in her dream,

carrying the remains of the day.

We are going home,

my first one and I,

and the blue light on their branches

is her blessing.

I follow a crinkled surface all the way down.

You make yourself visible.

There is no room for guesswork.

Water presses at the tips of my fingers

and when I spill,

it leaves a mark.

Those few hours

when I see you.

The contours of familiar.

And I am in you

only briefly.

When time is short

you must look

lovingly.

I took a bus through white Helsinki

walked the corridors of consumerism.

Irrevocably

wearing black we gathered.

Five glasses unalike placed on the shaky table

careful in crafting the space between the words

holding the threads of light in the darkness of the mundane.

It was not much

but it was more than

yesterday

so fragile is hope.

Cracks on the surface of the lake.

Brushstrokes from heaven.

Every step I take I break.

You are more careful,

soft paws imprinted on the snow.

Following in your footsteps,

I feel I’m not alone,

for a while,

and when I leave, you do not know.

I hear the gunshots only later.

How cold is cold?

You ask.

Nobody knows.

While a white blanket hangs above the treetops.

There is not enough time to craft a new day.