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.

Early predictions about COVID-19’s impacts on Africa suggested that the continent would be a disaster zone marked by weak medical systems collapsing under strain and undemocratic states failing to provide social services to destitute populations. These predictions did not come to pass. Instead, many countries across the continent stepped up early on to join the world in curtailing the spread of COVID-19. The second order effects of the virus have been significant, however. Despite the low numbers of infections and deaths, lockdowns and the decline of a large percentage of informal trade and commerce in Sub-Saharan Africa have sent the region’s economy into recession, with increased inflation rates, widespread unemployment, and increased food insecurity. It’s within this context that collaboration (internationally and within the continent, between governments, the private sector, and local communities) to protect the environment—and by extension enhance livelihoods, promote sustainable development, and achieve enduring peace—has taken new forms.

The ongoing farmers’ movement in India has taken the world’s largest democracy by storm. Hundreds of thousands from all over the country have laid siege to New Delhi for more than two months. As both the protestors and the government dig their heels in, the chances of confrontation and violence are increasing by the day.

When the United States purchased Alaska from Russia, Americans considered the “frozen wasteland” to be a reckless, wasteful acquisition. What could ice possibly offer? 

In fact, polar ice is a critical resource for the Earth. The summer and fall of 2020 marked the lowest sea ice extent ever recorded in the Arctic Ocean, and the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) says contemporary September sea ice extents are so low that they are unprecedented in at least 1,000 years. Moreover, collapses in the ice shelves of West Antarctica, Canada, and Greenland raised concerns in 2020. The immediate effects of climate change in the polar regions are merely the tip of the iceberg—ultimately, they have profound effects on climate and communities around the world.

Are climate change and declining fisheries productivity likely to lead to a future of fish wars, or can existing fisheries management institutions evolve to help prevent large-scale fisheries conflict? From militarized fishing practices in the South China Sea, to the ongoing wrangling between the European Union and Great Britain over fishing rights, to violent clashes between indigenous and non-indigenous fishers in Canada, fisheries are at the center of many international, or at least inter-governmental, disputes.

As the climate crisis continues to worsen, climate finance remains a fraction of what is needed. The Climate Policy Initiative estimates that $579 billion was spent on average on climate finance in 2017/18. This includes domestic and international investment from both the public and private sectors towards climate mitigation and adaptation actions. Of this amount, only $30 billion—five percent—was allocated for climate adaptation. This amount stands in stark contrast to $180 billion, which the Global Commission on Adaptation estimates is needed every year to build resilience to current and future climate impacts. This catastrophic funding gap is intensifying climate security threats and elevating the vulnerability of people across the world, particularly in coastal urban centers.

China’s 2018 National Sword Policy ended the country’s role as the recycling bin for the world’s post-consumer plastic scrap and threw global recycling markets into disarray. Reeling on the other side of the globe, American cities were forced to store, incinerate, or throw collected recyclables into landfills. Faced with a rapidly diminishing landfill capacity, China is consolidating and formalizing its domestic recycling industry, an expensive and daunting task.

At the initial epicenter of the COVID-19 pandemic in Wuhan, China, the daily output of medical waste soared five times its average volume — from about 40 tons to as much as 250 tons at the end of February. This overwhelmed Wuhan’s single specialized medical waste treatment plant, far exceeding its 50 tons-per-day processing capacity. As the pandemic progressed throughout China, it revealed the shortfalls in medical waste management capacity in many cities. At a news conference in Beijing in March, Zhao Qunying, director of the emergency management office of the Ministry of Ecology and Environment, reported that 22 cities were operating over-capacity and 28 cities were working at full or near full load.