Do you remember a year ago when many of us traveled regularly? Do you remember the experience of flying into a major city somewhere in the world, picking up your bags in a modern airport (that probably functioned more efficiently than in the United States), and getting a vehicle to take you downtown? After leaving the airport, we would often drive past miles of informal settlements—self-built shelters unkindly called “slums” much of the time. We may have even found ourselves asking why local authorities “don’t do something” about them.

Waste banks are a cornerstone of Indonesia’s waste reduction efforts. Seeking to prevent plastic waste from getting burned or choking waterways, communities establish these places for people to bring plastic waste to be recycled. It only took a few months to see tangible results at the Bumi Daya Bersih waste bank in West Jakarta. In addition to collecting and sorting waste, the waste bank community is also contributing to waste prevention. A number of regular waste bank customers have started bringing empty plastic packaging that’s not intended to be recycled (yet) but instead refilled with high-quality home and body care products.

That future wars will be fought over water, rather than oil, has become something of a truism, particularly with regard to the Middle East. It’s also one that most water experts have refuted time and time and time again. But while this preference for cooperation over conflict may (and emphasis on may) remain true of interstate disputes, this blanket aversion to the ‘water wars’ narrative fails to account for the rash of other water-related hostilities that are erupting across many of the world’s drylands. As neither full-on warfare nor issues that necessarily resonate beyond specific, sometimes isolated areas, these ‘grey zone’ clashes don’t seem to be fully registering in the broader discussion of water conflicts. In failing to adequately account for the volume of localized violence, the world is probably chronically underestimating the extent to which water insecurity is already contributing to conflict.

The last decade was the warmest on record, with 2020 tied with 2016 for the all-time high average annual global temperature. This 10-year period also saw armed conflicts at severity levels not seen since the Cold War era. Could there be a causal link between these trends?

To the frustration of policymakers and laymen alike, empirical research has been unable to provide a simple and coherent answer to this question. Instead, studies of climate-conflict connections have for a long time continued to produce diverging findings and – occasionally – inspired heated debates. So, where do we stand?

In a review article introducing a new special issue of the Journal of Peace Research (JPR) on the security implications of climate change, we assess the nature and extent of scientific progress in climate-conflict research over the past decade. As yardsticks for measuring progress, we identify seven key research priorities frequently advocated in earlier reviews of the quantitative literature. 

Africa was predicted to be hardest hit by the COVID-19 pandemic, given its poor health systems. However, this outcome has not been the case. Despite the U.S. being the highest spender on health care globally, COVID-19 has shown that its primary care infrastructure is in much need of strengthening. But we should not mistake COVID-19 as the biggest pandemic of our time. If anything, it is only a dry run, with other epidemics brewing on the horizon. Therefore, if the global community is serious about epidemic preparedness, global health security, and protecting the most vulnerable, we need to redesign health systems for resilience. Africa’s lessons from the COVID-19 pandemic, as well as from concurrent outbreaks of cholera, Ebola virus disease, yellow fever, and chikungunya, could provide a roadmap.

When the dust settles after wars and armed conflicts, people are eager to rebuild their lives and livelihoods in the wake of the devastation wrought upon their country. Often one issue is largely absent in post-conflict reconstruction and development planning: addressing conflict-linked destruction of the environment. 

Plastic pollution has infiltrated every ecosystem in every ocean on the planet, but perhaps the most iconic organisms impacted are the whales. The problem is monumental. For example, consider the blue whale. Our most optimistic estimates put the global blue whale population size at about 25,000 individuals (down 89 percent since before commercial whaling began in 1911). Based on recent estimates, an amount of plastic waste equivalent to about 3.5 times the weight of the entire blue whale population is put into the ocean every year. That staggering figure alone is enough to make one feel, well, blue, but the devastating impact is underscored by the now-familiar images of deceased whales—their guts bursting with plastic bags or completely entangled in derelict or discarded plastic fishing gear.

Eleven months have passed since COVID-19 was declared a global pandemic by the World Health Organization (WHO). As we rang in the new year, the world surpassed two million deaths due to COVID-19. While it is encouraging that 77 countries have distributed 168 million COVID-19 vaccine doses, only a small fraction of these are in low-income countries. Vaccinations may not be widely distributed in most of sub-Saharan Africa until 2022-2023. Furthermore, the new COVID-19 variant recently discovered in South Africa is estimated to be 50 percent more contagious, underscoring the need for a collaborative international response.