The Power of Storytelling in a Warming World

Youth voices in the climate space are too often underrepresented. This photo, taken at the High Seas Alliance workshop in Trinidad and Tobago, captures a moment of hope: a diverse cross-section of groups coming together to call on governments to ratify the treaty. It was a powerful reminder that when civil society is welcomed into these spaces, the discourse is richer, more honest, and ultimately more impactful. 

Opening discussions on climate change has become increasingly difficult. In remote regions, the concept of environmental resources—and our inextricable bond with nature—has been eroded by the glitter and glamour of modern conveniences and imported values. Once-rich tropical regions, the lungs and beating heart of our planet, are being stripped away and replaced with industry, infrastructure, and human-made “solutions” to problems we created ourselves. The fundamental way of living in harmony with nature has been lost. And as with any disruption, nature always seeks equilibrium—often through reactions we cannot predict or control. 

Our role as custodians of this planet has been sidelined over generations. Education systems focus heavily on human constructs, while too little attention is paid to the intrinsic value of creation and life itself. I was fortunate to grow up near the sea, guided more by the shifting horizon than by the endless scroll of the internet. That natural education allowed me to see the changes happening before my eyes—erosion, disappearing shells, trees blooming out of season—and led me to study environmental science. I believe everyone, no matter their chosen career, should have at least a basic awareness of how natural systems work. 

Climate change is not simply natural weather variation. It is human-driven disruption, the result of our daily actions and the emissions of powerful industries. Physics and chemistry do not lie: we are altering the trajectory of Earth’s systems in ways we cannot yet fully comprehend. For Small Island Developing States (SIDS), the consequences are especially stark: sea-level rise, hotter oceans, stronger storms. I have seen homes lost to the sea and livelihoods washed away. Nature reacts to our actions, even when we cannot foresee the consequences. 

To survive, we must adapt. This will not be easy. We have lost much of the knowledge our ancestors held about resilience and living with the rhythms of the land and sea. Facing the challenges ahead will require education, innovation, and determination. Adaptation is rooted in resilience—a gift island communities have carried for generations. Reawakening this gift requires rekindling our care for nature and igniting a sense of urgency to protect it. 

I believe that spark begins with storytelling. Science and data are essential, but they often fail to resonate with people struggling to meet daily needs. Stories—of people, of place, of struggle and hope—bridge that gap. Storytelling is a form of informal education that creates emotional connection, the foundation of action. 

The loss we face because of climate change is immense and deeply personal. To truly understand it, we must feel it. By weaving together imagination, culture, and passion with science, sustainability, and nature-led innovation, we can chart a path toward adaptation. 

The sobering truth is that the very people who need to hear this message may never read it. That is why collective voices and shared stories matter. By telling our truths—about loss, resilience, and our common humanity—we can connect across borders and generations. And perhaps, through these stories, inspire the urgency and care needed to protect this beautiful world we all call home. 

The ideas presented in this article aim to inspire adaptation action – they are the views of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of the Global Center on Adaptation.

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