Oxfam America sponsored the historic event in Addis Ababa, which brought together about 400 participants from the government, non-governmental organizations, businesses, and the UN. Each discussed how best to work together to articulate, document, and share the responsibilities around developing Ethiopia's national policy on climate change.
Ethiopia's Prime Minister, Meles Zenawi, called on all organizations in the country to join the National Climate Change Forum, which Oxfam helped establish to coordinate institutions in addressing droughts, floods, reduced crops, and an increase in illnesses like malaria and HIV/AIDS.
"However unjust it might be we have to adapt or die. We can only succeed to adapt to climate change if we fight poverty effectively and generate the resources needed for the purpose," Zenawi said. Read additional comments from Prime Minister Zenawi (PDF).
Oxfam is asking that industrialized countries like the US, as well as developing countries like Ethiopia, work together—to not only to address the existing pollution that's causing global warming—but to also put a special emphasis on responding to effects such as more severe drought and storms. We're supporting US legislation and an international climate deal that establish funding for poor communities to become more prepared, resilient, and secure. Some climate change "adaptation responses" include: planting drought resistant seeds, building food banks, and setting up water pumps.
"Here is the painful reality: Even if we completely stopped all harmful emission of greenhouse gas pollutants tomorrow, the damage from the emissions already up in the atmosphere will run its course for the next 50 years or more ... we must move forward on adaptation," said Janet McKinley, chairwoman of Oxfam America. "Oxfam is fighting hard to ensure that the poorest nations have the necessary funding and technology to do so." Read the full text of Ms. McKinley's speech (PDF).
]]>— Padmanaban, farmer of Sengapadai
The farmers of the village of Sengapadai, India, make it their business to know what's coming. They are fortune-tellers of sorts, who look deep into history in order to forecast the future. Using methods that have evolved over thousands of years, they watch the movement of the stars, notice the feel of the wind on a given day of the month or year, and carefully observe the behavior of plants and animals. At the heart of the mysteries they set out to unravel each year is this: When will the rains come?
If they miscalculate, the consequences can be grave. In years past, it has meant families postponed not only weddings but also medical care. Sons and daughters have dropped out of school, ending their formal education. They've pawned their jewelry, which represents their savings—even the necklaces that symbolize their marriages. And, says 51-year-old Jakkammal, "In a bad year, there's only one meal a day."
The specter of bad harvests looms larger than ever these days because, as one farmer put it, "We are not getting proper rain."
Rains are coming when they shouldn't and not coming when they should, and the traditional forecasting methods, unable to adapt to the speed of change, are losing their power to predict.
"There's been a vast difference in rainfall patterns in the last 10 years," says Jeeva Rathinam, another farmer. "Before that, we used to plan properly and plant one kind of seed in the fields. Now we have to mix them together and see what comes up."
"The rainfall variations these farmers are seeing now are defeating their knowledge of the way nature functions," says Hari Krishna, Oxfam's research program manager in India.
Climate change, in other words, has come to Sengapadai.
The DHAN Foundation's ACEDRR, an Oxfam partner, has set out to help communities adjust to the changing climate landscape. Researcher B. Arthirani, herself the daughter of farmers, gathered and analyzed 40 years' worth of local rainfall data, and on a sweltering day in May 2008, the farmers of Sengapadai came together to learn the results.
Rains that once fell here predictably in July, she told them, can now be expected to arrive in late August. Then she made a proposal: delay sowing peanuts until between Aug. 10 and 16.
A heated discussion followed. Shifting to accommodate the rains could make some crops more vulnerable to infestations of weeds and pests, and the farmers argued pros and cons of various plans. But an hour later, everyone had come to agreement: the best way to balance all the factors would probably be to plant corn in September.
This is not research as it's conducted at universities, where academics carry out studies at a comfortable distance from actual farmers, and where recommendations are conveyed to the villagers in top-down fashion. That day's discussion, which began with Arthirani's educated guess about what to sow when, ended with a practical plan that drew on knowledge from both inside and outside the community. The ACEDRR study, says Arthirani, "is not a one-way process."
Community members are not simply considered beneficiaries of the study, explained Hari Krishna. "Here, they are partners in the research. They know best about their soil, their sky, their water, and what crops suit their needs."
Outside the meeting place, a heifer nosed along the roadside looking for something to graze on, and a bullock cart passed by with a load of fodder. Women headloading firewood and water walked along the dusty main street in the fierce midday sun, and in the distance, a man stood knee-deep in a pond, splashing water on his team of bullocks after what had probably been a morning of hard labor in the fields.
Fossil fuels and all their labor-saving pleasures seem to have bypassed this village entirely. There were no cars or tractors in sight, and despite the scorching temperature, no one was heading home to air conditioning or refrigerated drinks. It is a painful irony that many of those who have done least to bring about climate change are the most vulnerable to its effects.
DHAN is tackling that vulnerability on two fronts: the disaster-oriented research of ACEDRR is helping ensure that changing rainfall patterns don't lead to catastrophic crop losses, while DHAN's development programs are building resilience in other ways—helping those same farmers organize themselves into self-help groups that enable savings and investment; creating federations that have clout in the marketplace; and helping farmers gain access to high-quality seed, affordable insurance, and lenders that charge two percent interest instead of ten.
It is an approach that is working. By November it was clear that the shift from peanuts to corn was a big success. But there are signs everywhere of the growing security of this community—most convincingly in the confident smile of Jakkammal. The days of one bad harvest plunging the community into debt and hunger, it seems, are over. "After joining DHAN," she says, "we are able to have three meals."
]]>The global effort required to reduce emissions and support the poorest and most vulnerable people to adapt to unavoidable changes must be based on objective indicators of countries' historic responsibilities for causing the crisis, and their capabilities to confront it.
The Poznan climate talks must mark a turning point in international negotiations, switching from analysis and discussion to full negotiation mode. For the sake of people and the planet there is no more time to lose.
]]>They were featured speakers on a week-long Oxfam America tour, which passed through five US cities on its way from New Mexico to Missouri. Inspired by Oxfam's Sisters on the Planet initiative—and supported by groups like CARE and the League of Women Voters—the tour focused on the human face of climate change here and abroad, with an emphasis the ways the US can help vulnerable communities survive the crisis.
"Pollution, greenhouse gases, they don't respect boundaries," said Voré Gana Seck, the speaker from Senegal. "This is a global problem that needs global solutions."
Sharon Hanshaw, executive director of Coastal Women for Change and one of Oxfam's Sisters on the Planet, spoke about her personal losses from Hurricane Katrina, as well as the storm's lasting effects on her home town of Biloxi, Mississippi.
Speaking at the Kansas City, Missouri, public library, Hanshaw explained that it's not just past hurricanes that concern her community, but the ones ahead, which are predicted to intensify. "This year we've had four hurricanes in the last six months," she said. "Gustav was called a dud, but it still flooded our houses."
In Biloxi, she said, hurricanes not only wreak physical damage, but also add to the burdens of people already among America's poorest.
"Times were hard pre-Katrina, and now it's even worse; prices have gone up," said Hanshaw. "We still have people living in trailers, no healthcare, no childcare, no public library. We don't need a handout from the government. We need infrastructure to help our community live again."
Seck, Executive Director of Green Senegal and president of the international NGO coalition CONGAD, highlighted the common ground between Senegal and the Gulf Coast. In both places, she said, the poorest families are the ones to bear the burden.
At an event at the Omaha, Nebraska, public library, Seck compared the effects of climate change to those of a war: "You can't produce enough food, you can't harvest. You don't have enough money. You can't send your kids to school."
For local farming families, she said, a decrease in rainfall means that staple crops like rice, millet, and vegetables often fail to reach maturity, leaving families with less food to eat and fewer extra crops to sell. To earn a better living, some of these farmers migrate to already-crowded cities like Dakar, where floods and poor sanitation are leading to an increase in water-borne diseases like cholera.
Others join the ranks of the "climate refugees": teens and young adults who leave their villages for Spain or the Canary Islands, looking to earn money to send to their families back home. Hundreds of these young people have died while attempting ocean crossings in small, fragile boats.
"In Algeciras, Spain, there is a burial ground called the "Cemetery of the Unknown People," said Seck. "These are our environmental refugees. They are the unknown."
Despite these hardships, both speakers' organizations are leading efforts to help their communities survive the crisis.
"The first thing we have to do is be resilient," said Hanshaw, whose group distributes hurricane preparedness kits—containing fresh water, food, insurance papers, and flashlights—to Biloxi seniors and families. They're also offering affordable child care options to help women in the community return to work.
Hanshaw's organization also trains local women to go to Washington, DC, and "tell the stories that are not being told." Their message to legislators: "We're still here. We're going to be here. And climate change affects all of us."
Seck's group teaches Senegalese farmers new techniques that help crops grow in a drier climate, like drip irrigation systems and faster-maturing seeds. Seck showed photos of the successful projects in action: first a riot of green seedlings, then tall plants in orderly rows, flourishing beneath a wide blue sky.
So far, she said, these innovative methods are only in place in a few villages. But with the support of wealthier countries like the US, projects like these could help farmers throughout the region.
Many audience members at these events signed up for Oxfam's online climate change action team, which provides ways to directly influence US legislators on the issue.
For some, the speakers' words brought a change in perspective. "I came here expecting to hear about Africa, but I didn't expect to hear Sharon's story, right in our backyard," said Lillian Pardo, a retired physician who attended the Kansas City speaking event. "You don't see this on the news."
Andrew Jameton, a professor at the University of Nebraska Medical Center, was the last to speak in a question and answer session in Omaha. "I want to fight this, and a lot of people feel the same way, but it will be a tough century," he said, adding that, because of the speakers' words, "I'm not optimistic—but I'm hopeful."
]]>After requesting proposals from several up-and-coming artists from around the country, Oxfam America commissioned "the painting activist" Ashley Cecil of Louisville, Kentucky to put her ideas about climate change on canvas. Her painting will be shipped to Oxfam International's exhibition at the next UN Conference of Parties (COP) meeting, which takes place this December 1-12 in Poznan, Poland. Cecil's work will be displayed alongside similar works of art created by internationally renowned professionals as well as unknown community artists from around the globe—from Malawi to the Solomon Islands, from Spain to India. The exhibition serves as a powerful reminder of the growing, global movement around climate change and poverty.
Oxfam America has also received artwork from college students in Minneapolis, Bangkok, and Chicago, which will also go on display in Poznan.
"Yes, these are oils on canvas," she says. "But I hardly ever create anything without a story behind it."
Cecil, a 27-year-old resident of Louisville, Kentucky, graduated from the University of Dayton in 2003 with a degree in fine arts and an ongoing passion for volunteering in her community. Three years later, she began combining these two interests, using each of her paintings to document a social issue like women and children's rights, education, and the environment. And as the artist for Oxfam America's "Climate Change on Canvas" project, she's now using her skills to depict the human face of climate change.
With clear, expressive brushstrokes, Cecil has portrayed domestic violence survivors, refugees, foster parents, and homeless kids. She's painted endangered fish, sustainable gardens, and sweeping New York skylines. And the paintings aren't just for show: when each is sold, Cecil donates a portion of the proceeds to a local or national nonprofit organization.
She also promotes these nonprofit groups on her website, The Painting Activist, which functions as an important showcase for her work. Part personal journal, part virtual artist's studio, Cecil's site hosts a faithful community of online readers. She says the website has helped not only to draw attention to the issues she works on, but also to identify new painting opportunities.
It was through this website that Oxfam America staff first contacted Cecil and asked her to submit a proposal for Climate Change on Canvas. Though juggling many other commitments—including her day job as a program manager at the Louisville Visual Arts Association—Cecil says she quickly threw together a sketch for the project, wanting to seize the opportunity even if the chances of selection were slim.
It came as a surprise, then, when Oxfam contacted her a few weeks later to tell her that her proposal had been selected out of a national pool of submissions. Cecil's canvas will be displayed alongside those of other emerging global artists at the next big UN climate change meeting in Poznan, Poland.
"I was flattered and honored, but I also thought, oh my gosh, now I have to find a way to do this!" Cecil recalls with a laugh. "But it turned out that it fit into my schedule after all... And some [website] subscribers even said it's the best piece I've ever done."
To begin her painting of two brightly robed women in a barren landscape, Cecil first juxtaposed several different visual elements. "It's like putting a puzzle together," she explains. "I make a collage of photos and sketches, and I glance at it while I'm painting. For this piece, I had everything from swatches of fabric, to women's profiles, to women holding bowls, to my favorite sunsets."
She also researched the effects of climate change on agriculture in poor communities. "I realized that farming is hard these days because of changing temperatures, but it's often the sole survival for people in rural areas," says Cecil. "It's hard to feed a family when you can't farm."
This struggle inspired one of the painting's most striking elements: the long trail of dust that streams from one woman's empty bowl. "I wanted to show that the women are not harvesting crops the way they had hoped," Cecil explains. "They're holding a bowl of dust, because this is what they're left with—burnt, dry dust, dry branches... In other words, what we'd expect to see is not there." (To learn more about Cecil's techniques, view a slideshow of the painting in progress.)
Cecil says she considers climate change one of the most pressing problems of our time. "The [US presidential] elections are bringing attention to it right now—the urgency is absolutely critical," she says. "And for people in developing countries, it is devastating."
She believes that Americans need to do more to tackle the crisis, even if it's just by making small changes to their lifestyle. "The first piece is education," she says. "Whether it's though statistics, words, or images—whatever turns on that light bulb for someone, and makes them act."
]]>Standing on the dirt road above the paddy, Luy Pisey Rith watches the farmer as he works. A program officer in Oxfam America's East Asia office, he is skilled at observing a situation and determining the appropriate response. Rather than lecture Kea on the drawbacks of how Cambodian farmers have planted for generations, Rith simply walks around the perimeter, gathering scraps of wood. Crouching near the ground, he lashes the wood together, creating a grid. Then he demonstrates how to use the grid to mark off parallel lines for planting. Kea laughs as he watches him. But soon he's accepted the homemade tool, carrying it with him as he moves.
This is the reality of changing minds, not just practices, in Cambodia. Eight years after Oxfam's partner brought SRI to the region, some farmers are following many but not all of its 12 practices. They immediately accept the easier steps, which save them money on the front end—such as weeding, selecting fewer but higher-quality seeds, and collecting household manure to use as compost instead of buying chemical fertilizer. But when it comes to providing proper spacing for the seedlings or managing the irrigation of the paddies, they sometimes trip up.
This is where the proper balance of patience and persistence comes in.
"We try to bring them to the method slowly," Rith says. "If we asked them to follow it 100 percent from the beginning, not everyone would. They need time to change."
Time to change, and the proper motivation to do so. After just one harvest using some of SRI's methods, Cambodian farmers experience immediate benefits, producing more than they did the year before. It's the job of Oxfam and our partner, the Cambodian Center for Study and Development in Agriculture, or CEDAC, to educate farmers about how much more they could make. To respond to this kind of need, CEDAC started the SRI Secretariat, a permanent working group of local organizations providing training in SRI; the Secretariat is now a totally independent body housed in Cambodia's Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry, and Fisheries.
Farmers who follow all of SRI's 12 steps can produce 50-150 percent more rice compared with conventional farming. They grow enough to feed their families and sell the surplus at the local market. They save money buying fewer seeds and time collecting less water. The plants are bigger, hardier, and better able to withstand some pests, droughts, and floods. At a time when the poorest 40 percent of Cambodian people struggle to deal with rising food prices, spending as much as 70 percent of their income on food, it's these promises of more stability and security that move them.
"The increased yields and decreased inputs convince the farmers," Rith says.
Created in the 1980s by a Jesuit priest in Madagascar, SRI is flourishing in places—like China and Bangladesh—where rice is the staple of every meal and farming is the main occupation. Having learned of its success, CEDAC brought the method to Cambodia in 2000, choosing a farmer named Mey Som as the first trainee.
I first met Som almost two years ago at his home in Tro Paing Raing village. We'd come during the dry season, when all the fields were yellow, the rice plants dry and stalky. Back then, Som told me that he had seen big changes with SRI just halfway through the first season; he'd noticed that his seedlings were growing bigger and stronger. The same plants that had once grown up to his knees were now growing past his head. Som was so encouraged by the results that he began traveling around the country with CEDAC, talking to other farmers about his experiences, explaining how a technique that requires less water and fewer seeds could actually produce more rice. It's all about the roots getting the right amount of water, sunlight, and nutrients, he told the farmers, a refrain I've heard from so many other farmers since then.
When Som, 68, farmed using conventional methods, he barely grew enough to feed his family. He still depended on his daughters' incomes; they were working at a garment factory in Phnom Penh, a two-hour drive from their village in Kandal province. Now, Som's farm is so productive that his daughters quit the factory to run the day-to-day operations. Their father no longer depends on their incomes; instead, he's teaching them to carry out SRI.
Earlier this morning, we watched as the sisters used strands of wire to mark off straight lines in their paddy, planting each seedling in a neat, shallow row. One of Som's daughters, So Sophal, who is 37, said that following SRI meant putting more thought into the process. But that translated into less energy in the fields. When she plants fewer seedlings, she can cover the same area in half as much time.
"We used to carry the seedlings by ox cart. Now we carry them by hand," she says. And "before, I used to hire labor from the village. Now just my relatives help."
Other farmers from Som's village admit that they struggled to convert from their traditional farming methods to all of SRI's practices in the beginning. It wasn't that they weren't interested in following the rules, Rith explains. Some steps are just harder to follow in Cambodia. For example, more developed countries like Vietnam have better infrastructure in place for irrigation and drainage. So it's easier for farmers to manage the water levels in their paddies. But the Cambodian farmers I spoke to say that they typically depend on rain for irrigation, and because of that, they keep whatever standing water that accumulates in their fields during the rainy season. It was only through their SRI training that they've learned how it's better for their rice to have shallow water soaking the roots.
This is one reason proper SRI training is so crucial; it takes these sorts of problems into account. For example, CEDAC trained Som's family and other farmers like them to build fish ponds near their rice paddies. During the wet season, farmers can use pumps to remove the excess water from the fields and use it to fill their ponds. During dry spells, they can use the water in the ponds as a backup supply to irrigate the fields.
In addition to the ponds, CEDAC teaches SRI farmers to cultivate vegetable gardens and fruit trees. By diversifying their livelihoods, farmers can eat and sell other crops when changing weather patterns or insects (like brown plant hoppers) damage their rice. But they can also use the new crops to support SRI itself. For example, Som uses the pumpkins, papayas, and mangos he grows to make natural compost. The new activities mean more to keep track of on the farm. But that can be a good problem to have, Som says.
"I'm busier, but I have more food to eat. I can sleep better because I don't worry."
Perhaps the greatest attraction of SRI, particularly in poor countries like Cambodia, is that with just a bit of training and virtually no technology, farmers can earn big returns. This approach makes it the perfect partner for another Oxfam initiative, this one a microfinance program called Saving for Change. In August 2005, Oxfam began providing funding and technical assistance to CEDAC, the same organization that trains farmers in SRI, to form savings groups in 14 provinces throughout Cambodia.
Together, the savings group members focus primarily on their financial well-being, pooling their money (a few dollars from each farmer each month) to provide loans to their neighbors. The groups set their own interest rates, with the understanding that all the interest earned goes back into the community fund. They use their monthly meetings to review the bookkeeping for financial transactions in their group and to handle any outstanding payments or collections. But when that work is done, many farmers use the meetings as an outlet to exchange information about their experiences with SRI or any other issues in the community that they want to discuss.
"We have a monthly meeting, and we talk about our experiences in agriculture and other things," says Kea, the 37-year-old farmer who, thanks to Rith, is now using the homemade wooden grid to plant in Kompong Speu province's Prey Kdai village.
In a country where 75 percent of families lack access to financial services, particularly the more than 10.5 million people who live on less than $2 a day, pairing SRI with community savings groups helps individual farmers. But because the money stays in the villages instead of going to outside lenders, the communities prosper as well.
In fact, some farmers say they don't even ask for loans for their own use. They make enough money selling rice to provide for their families, pay off their farming expenses, and leave what they've contributed within the savings group. These farmers allow their neighbors, who might not be as fortunate, to take out what they need to support their small businesses or pay for farm equipment, seeds, school fees, and medicine for their family members.
Roeun Youn, 47, a rice farmer from Som's village in Kandal province, says that, thanks to SRI, she now produces 1,600, or 50 percent, more pounds of rice per acre. She earns enough to put away 2,000 riel (50 cents) per month in her community fund.
"But I haven't borrowed any yet. I want the other villagers to be able to use the money," she says.
Oxfam is working to grow both our SRI work and our savings group work. Our partner, CEDAC, and others hope to teach the innovative agriculture method to farmers in 12,000 villages in Cambodia over the next five years. And thanks to a new, nearly $12 million grant from the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation—the largest single purpose grant ever received by Oxfam America—our microfinance program is slated to grow to over half a million members worldwide over the next three years, or over 180,000 new members in Cambodia alone.
Having worked together to improve their understanding of farming techniques, manage each other's finances, and respond to family emergencies, Cambodian farmers who participate in SRI and the savings groups now say they feel a greater sense of solidarity and closeness with their neighbors. This is no small feat in a country still recovering from the ravages of the Khmer Rouge.
As neighbors learn to trust neighbors, these farmers build loyalties and relationships within their communities. Last year, Sophal took out a loan for 50,000 riel (about $12) to buy fingerlings, or young fish, for her family's pond. Knowing that her neighbors depended on her to pay back the loan as soon as possible so that the savings group fund could keep gaining interest, Sophal says, "I paid back the loan within six months—including the 3 percent interest."
As one of the Cambodian farmers participating in both the SRI and the savings group, Sophal's work is totally integrated and the benefits, ever expanding. She uses the water from the pond to irrigate her rice. She uses the fruits and vegetables to create compost to nurture the rice. The fish, vegetables, fruit, and rice feed her family. And the extra profi ts from selling those crops go into the savings group.
Her father, Som, summarizes it simply: "When I did conventional farming, we didn't have enough rice all year. We didn't have vegetables to eat. We didn't have enough water to bathe. Now we have a surplus."
]]>Case lives in the town of Houma, in the parish now thought to be hardest hit by Hurricane Gustav. She works there, too, as director of the Terrebonne Readiness and Assistance Coalition (TRAC), an Oxfam partner. She usually sits out the storms that blow through her town, but this time she evacuated, and now she sounds worried.
"We're trying to get information from the ground, but it's coming in very slowly. We're hearing about a lot of wind damage. When Rita made landfall it was 180 miles away; this made landfall in Houma, so we got the full brunt."
She describes the vulnerability of the bayou communities. "Picture fingers going out into the Gulf. There are no barrier islands to block the storm surge. We know there's water in there. How high, we don't know."
But worry hasn't interrupted her planning. She's thinking about everything from how to help people get access to their FEMA benefits to how to get tarps onto damaged roofs as quickly—and safely—as possible. ("If I put volunteers out and put them on a roof, I want someone there who knows what they're doing.")
TRAC will carry out its own disaster response program, but Peg Case always seems to be thinking about the big picture, so she and her group have taken a leading role in coordinating the 30-40 local aid organizations in the area. At times of disaster, TRAC helps them stay abreast of each other's plans and whereabouts.
"Coordination is important because no one can do it alone," she says. "And it's very economical, because it means we're not stumbling on each other."
She keeps her eye on the future, as well, trying to work out long-term solutions to the problems of living in vulnerable coastal areas. It was in 2005 that TRAC, Oxfam America, and students from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology began to collaborate on an idea for a house built on pilings that could withstand hurricane-force wind, rains, and battering—and that bayou dwellers would find appealing and livable. Three of the so-called "lift houses" have since been built, and in the aftermath of the hurricane, she can't wait to visit one.
"I am dying to see how it weathered the storm," she says. "I'm sure it did fine," she adds. "And if it did do fine, it means let's look at building communities this way." It's not just disaster readiness that she has in mind. Case sees durable houses like these as a means of preserving a culture that makes it living off the land.
But for now, the problem in front of her is getting home to Houma and figuring out what's going on.
"We're about to see what's missing, what the weaknesses are, how we can build on that, and how we can function as a unified body. It's reassuring that we're partners in this together."
]]>