At this time of year, in Russia’s far north Laptev Sea, the sun hovers near the horizon during the day, generating little warmth, as the region heads towards months of polar night. By late September or early October, the sea’s shallow waters should be a vast, frozen expanse.

But not this year. For the first time since records have been kept, open water still laps this coastline in late October though snow is already falling there.

Her triangular computer mouse finds the blue circular logo with the white camera on the bottom of her screen. She hovers over it for a second, taking a deep breath before clicking on the icon. Remembering the last program meeting, Marina Lubanov commits herself to listening more to the other participants, prepping herself to take a step back and really absorb what everyone is saying. With nervous excitement, she clicks on her zoom app and is launched into a meeting with other young professionals from her home country of Israel, and neighboring Jordan and Palestine.

The team of people tasked with coordinating the global climate change negotiations for the 26^th UN Climate Change Conference (COP26) in 2021, we recently learned, consists entirely of men. While not surprising to many feminists in this space, this blatant disregard of gender diversity and women’s perspectives in climate policy is all too common. And it reflects broader ignorance of how gender and climate change intersect.

Climate change is a threat multiplier; it is an underlying and exacerbating factor that makes things worse at a level that all actors, including security actors, need to pay attention to, said Geoff Dabelko, Professor and Associate Dean at the George V. Voinovich School of Leadership and Public Affairs at Ohio University and Senior Advisor to the Wilson Center’s Environmental Change and Security Program. He spoke in a recent interview about climate change and security as part of CimpaticoTV’s Climate Adaptation Channel.

In a video clip, seven fishermen climb into a wooden “Popo” boat that’s beached on the Republic of the Congo’s sandy shoreline. They start up the motor of the 40-foot, limo-length motorized canoe and head out into the Atlantic. The men aboard the weathered craft — its blue paint chipped and faded by years of salt and sun — could be out for a week.

Mention London, Rome, or New York, and people immediately conjure up Big Ben, the Colosseum, the Statue of Liberty. Beijing, Cairo, Mumbai? Check. They’ve heard of them. Megacities, the ones with lots of history, lots of people, and an oversized impact on the economy and culture, tend to be well-known. 

Fewer people may know much about Addis Ababa, Dhaka, Lagos, or São Paulo — yet many would recognize the names. But who knows or has been to Darkhan, Mongolia or Santa Fe, Argentina or Boké-Kamsar in Guinea?

The Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam (GERD) poses numerous challenges for the Nile river basin, but it also presents an opportunity for regional collaboration and shared prosperity, said Aaron Salzberg, Director of the Water Institute at the University of North Carolina and Wilson Center Global Fellow, at a recent event hosted by the University of North Carolina’s Center for Middle East and Islamic Studies.

Amid the COVID-19 pandemic, communities across the globe are experiencing unprecedented climate disasters.

According to modeling by ProPublica, the Pulitzer Center, and The New York Times Magazine, in the event that governments take “modest action to reduce climate emissions, about 680,000 climate migrants might move from Central America and Mexico to the United States by 2050.” That number leaps to above a million people in a scenario where no action is taken. The impacts of climate change on people’s decision to move are not constrained to the developing world, or even across borders. A recent study found that one in 12 Americans currently residing in the southern U.S. will move to California and the Northwest over the next 45 years because of climate influences.