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IN RECENT years, climate justice has moved from the fringes of activism into mainstream environmental discourse. But what does it truly mean? Is it simply another term for environmental justice? While the two are closely linked, they are not the same. Environmental justice typically refers to the fair distribution of environmental benefits and burdens — like access to clean air and water or protection from pollution. It highlights how marginalised communities often suffer the most from environmental degradation.

Climate justice, however, is more specific. It focuses on how the climate crisis — and the global responses to it — affect communities unequally. It recognises that climate change is not just a scientific or environmental problem but a deeply political one, shaped by systems of power and privilege.

This distinction is critical. Communities least responsible for climate change — often in the global south — are the most vulnerable to its impacts: rising sea levels, extreme weather, droughts and displacement. These are not random effects; they reflect entrenched global inequalities, many of which are rooted in colonial histories. Therefore, it is impossible to separate climate justice from broader social justice. From extractive industries on indigenous lands to the oversized carbon footprints of wealthy nations, the climate crisis both reveals and deepens historical injustices.

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What about ‘green colonialism’

ONE particularly urgent yet under-discussed concept within the climate justice movement is green colonialism. At first glance, the term may seem contradictory. ‘Green’ often implies goodness, sustainability and ethical action. Yet green colonialism describes the troubling reality of environmental and climate policies being weaponised to displace, exploit or control marginalised communities — especially indigenous and formerly colonised peoples.

Green colonialism can happen in several ways: large-scale renewable energy projects built on indigenous land without consent; conservation laws used to evict local communities under the guise of protecting nature; or carbon offset programmes that claim to reduce emissions but require land grabs from vulnerable populations. While often presented as modern, sustainable solutions, these initiatives frequently replicate the same extractive logic that fuelled colonialism.

Historically, colonial powers justified their conquests by claiming to bring ‘civilisation’ or ‘development’. Today, green colonialism enacts similar logic — only this time, under the banner of ecology. A forest planted over confiscated indigenous land may now be framed as a climate solution, even if it erases communities, knowledge systems and biodiversity in the process.

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Palestine: green colonialism in full bloom

NOWHERE is the intersection of climate justice, colonialism and power more glaring than in Palestine. For decades, Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza have endured systemic land dispossession, environmental degradation, and resource extraction under Israeli occupation. Yet less discussed is how the language and imagery of environmentalism — trees, forests, nature — are used to advance settler-colonial aims.

One striking example is Israel’s use of ‘nature reserves’ and ‘green zones’ in the West Bank. These areas are often off-limits to Palestinians, who are prevented from building homes or cultivating their land. Under the pretence of environmental conservation, the land is effectively seized and later used for the expansion of illegal settlements — settlements that disproportionately consume water and energy.

The recent wildfire, the largest in Israel’s history, starkly illustrates this point. Experts traced the fire’s severity to decades of ecologically unsound afforestation policies. Since the early 20th century, Israel has planted non-native, highly flammable trees — like European pines and eucalyptus — across historic Palestine. These ‘green’ projects, while framed as reforestation, have often targeted the ruins of Palestinian villages, erasing both ecological and cultural landscapes.

According to Visualizing Palestine, over 800,000 Palestinian olive trees have been uprooted since 1967 and replaced by invasive species that threaten local ecosystems. The consequences are both ecological and political. When climate disasters like wildfires occur, they expose the dangers of applying ‘green’ policies rooted in colonial logic. Far from healing the land, these policies intensify environmental risk and injustice.

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Green colonialism beyond Palestine

PALESTINE is not the only site of green colonialism. Around the world, indigenous and marginalised communities face similar patterns.

In Australia, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples have long been excluded from managing lands they have sustained for millennia. Conservation laws have banned traditional practices like controlled burning, and recent renewable energy projects have moved forward without free, prior and informed consent.

In South Africa, the legacy of apartheid still shapes land ownership and environmental policy. Green colonialism has manifested through eco-tourism and conservation areas that exclude black South Africans from land that was once theirs. The promotion of ‘pristine wilderness’ often erases the fact that these areas were once inhabited, farmed and maintained by local communities. Moreover, mining for so-called ‘green minerals’ — minerals that are critically needed for transition to renewable energy — like lithium or cobalt, often happens in poor, Black communities under exploitative conditions and with little benefit to them.

In Kenya and Tanzania, Maasai communities have been evicted from their land in the name of conservation and safari tourism. In India, forest-dwelling Adivasi tribes have been displaced by carbon offset and tree-planting schemes. In Latin America, indigenous resistance to hydroelectric dams and wind farms — projects backed by international climate funds — has been met with repression.

The pattern clearly tells us something: climate solutions imposed without community input and using the colonial logic can become tools of oppression, not liberation.

Why this matters

IT IS tempting to see green colonialism as a faraway issue. But climate justice is not a niche concern — it touches everyone. If climate policies are built on inequality, they will never be truly sustainable. A just transition requires more than switching to solar panels or reducing emissions. It requires challenging the structures of power that caused the crisis in the first place.

What can we do?

Listen to frontline communities: Indigenous peoples, communities of colour, and those most affected by climate change must lead the conversation. Climate solutions imposed from above often fail because they ignore local realities.

Scrutinise ‘green’ narratives: Not all that is labelled sustainable is ethical. If an electric vehicle depends on child labour and exploitation, is it green? If a forest is planted to erase a population’s history and culture, is it conservation?

Support justice-oriented climate action: This means advocating for land back initiatives, resisting exploitative projects, and backing community-led solutions. It also means demanding accountability from governments and corporations — not just for emissions, but for the impact of their activities on people.

Reclaim agency within our own communities: Each of us has a role to play — in our schools, workplaces, faith spaces, and beyond. Climate action is not only about carbon footprints; it’s about fighting for dignity, equity, and a liveable future for all.

This conversation is especially vital for the global Muslim community. From Palestine to Sudan and Kashmir to Yemen, Muslim-majority regions are disproportionately affected by war, occupation, displacement and environmental harm. Climate justice thus should not be viewed as a Western framework that is alien to our tradition. In fact, it offers language that resonates deeply with Islamic principles such as justice (‘adl), stewardship (khilafah), and dignity (karamah).

We must reject the role of passive recipients of ‘green aid’ or targets of environmental blame. It is time that Muslim thinkers, scholars and youth should develop frameworks rooted in Islamic ethics, environmental care, and social justice — frameworks that speak back to both climate inaction and climate imperialism. We are not outsiders to this conversation. In many ways, we are its heart.

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Raudah M Yunus is a researcher, writer and activist from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. She is currently pursuing a postdoctoral fellowship in the United States.