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THE 30th United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change has commenced in Belém, Brazil, the gateway to the Amazon rainforest and will continue until November 21. The gathering brings together representatives from nearly two hundred countries. This year, the emphasis is not on new pledges, but on the implementation of previously made commitments. Yet a critical question arises: will the voices of the Global South truly be heard in Belém?

Decision-making remains dominated by the Global North, representing less than one per cent of participants but wielding disproportionate influence over the remaining 99 per cent the most climate-vulnerable nations. Those most affected by climate change rarely get a seat at the table, and when they do, their perspectives are filtered through the priorities of wealthy nations. Climate finance, adaptation projects and technology transfer continue to be controlled by the North, leaving the South in the role of passive recipient rather than active agent.

This is a new form of climate colonialism. Countries that once plundered the resources, labour and lives of the Global South now claim ‘global leadership’ in the fight against climate change. Yet it is precisely their industrialisation, resource-intensive lifestyles and historical emissions that have brought the planet to the brink. The struggle against climate change is no longer merely a battle against carbon it is a fight against deep injustice.

Across the Global South, farmers, indigenous peoples and local communities are striving to protect their food, seeds, ecosystems and cultural heritage. In regions like Barind Tract in northern Bangladesh, farmer’s battle prolonged droughts; in Gaibandha’s chars, communities confront river erosion, wetland are flooding; and along the coast and wetland, women struggle with saline intrusion. Their daily struggles demonstrate that climate adaptation is not just technical it is social, cultural and political. The knowledge, resilience and leadership emerging from these communities demand recognition in global policy.

Wealthy nations continue to hide behind terms like ‘net-zero’ and ‘carbon neutrality,’ shifting the burden of adaptation onto developing countries while maintaining control over finance, technology and decision-making. Institutions such as the World Bank and International Monetary Fund promote ‘resilience’ and ‘sustainability’ models that are, at their core, repackaged forms of the same development paradigm that historically marginalised local communities, treating them as subjects in an experiment rather than stakeholders.

In Bangladesh, much of the climate adaptation work is donor-driven. Programs branded as ‘climate smart agriculture’ or ‘nature-based solutions’ often overlook local realities. For farmers in drought-prone Barind Tract, ‘smart’ means protecting traditional seeds, conserving soil fertility and safeguarding water. For policymakers, ‘smart’ often means satellite data, mobile apps and imported technology. This disparity embodies the coloniality of adaptation, where local people are beneficiaries rather than leaders.

Examples from Bangladesh show the power of locally led adaptation. Community seed banks in the Barind tract of Bangladesh, the drought-tolerant rice variety developed by self-taught farmer Nur Mohammad for the drought-prone Varendra, the low-carbon clay stove crafted by Kabul Jan in Tanore, Rajshahi, women-led adaptation committees practicing agroecology, or local agricultural learning centers led by coastal farmer Alpana Rani in Shyamnagar, Satkhira near the Sundarbansall these examples demonstrate that adaptation is successful only when it is locally led. Climate justice cannot be envisioned without recognising local knowledge and cultural heritage. Acknowledging these initiatives, the community-driven support and the traditional, locally developed technologies they have innovated can serve as a role model for sustainable development and decolonisation.

Decolonising climate action is not merely a political or symbolic act, it is about restoring biological and cultural heritage. As Rina Mahali, an Indigenous woman from Barind Tract-Rajshahi, put it: ‘If our seeds are lost, we lose our soul.’ This statement captures the deeper truth of climate justice: it is about identity, culture and existence not just carbon accounting.

At COP30, the call of the Global South must be loud and unequivocal. Those who suffer the most should not only be heard they must be central to decision-making. Decolonising climate action is not a North-South conflict; it is a moral imperative: ‘Let the people who suffer the most, lead the most.’ As long as global climate politics allow wealthy nations to hide behind pledges while avoiding accountability, justice will remain incomplete.

The people of Bangladesh, Africa and Pacific island nations are not merely victims they are the teachers of the climate crisis. Their experiences and leadership will guide the world toward a truly decolonised, just and sustainable future.

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Md Shahidul Islam is an anthropologist and environmental law researcher.