From the Sudd to the Amazon: South Sudan’s Call for Climate Justice at COP30

As the world prepares to converge in Belém, Brazil, for the 30th United Nations Climate Change Conference (COP30) in November 2025, the air carries both anticipation and anxiety. This conference, hosted in the heart of the Amazon rainforest, arrives at a time when the earth’s climate has already tipped into the age of extremes. Wildfires burn where they never did, floods swallow cities that once felt secure, and heat records are broken month after month. Scientists have warned for decades that the threshold of 1.5°C global warming marks a line between manageable disruption and irreversible catastrophe — and that line is now frighteningly close.

For the people of South Sudan, the youngest nation on earth, these warnings are not abstract projections. They are lived experience. Climate change here is an everyday reality that shapes the fate of millions. It is visible in the submerged homes of Unity State, the dried-out fields of Eastern Equatoria, the displaced families huddled in makeshift camps, and the women walking miles in search of water that no longer flows. In a land where survival already depends on resilience, the changing climate has become an unrelenting adversary — one that destroys harvests, fuels hunger, drives migration, and deepens conflict over shrinking resources.

Image taken in Jonglei State by Bullen Images — young children navigate through floodwaters as entire villages lie submerged. A powerful reminder of how climate change is reshaping lives in South Sudan, where rising floods continue to swallow homes, livelihoods, and childhoods alike.

The Eden Foundation South Sudan (EDF) views COP30 not as another diplomatic event, but as a moral reckoning — a moment for the world to decide whether climate justice will remain a slogan or become a system. The summit in Brazil must move beyond declarations. For countries like South Sudan, it must deliver action, funding, and inclusion that can be felt in flooded villages and parched farmlands.

The story of South Sudan’s climate crisis is a paradox of opposites: a country that is both drowning and drying at once. In the northern states — Jonglei, Unity, and Upper Nile — entire communities have been engulfed by rising waters from the White Nile and its tributaries. Flooding that once lasted weeks now endures for months, cutting off access to food, health care, and education. The Sudd Wetland, one of the largest in the world and a vital ecological treasure, has expanded unpredictably, submerging new lands each year. Roads disappear beneath the water, bridges collapse, livestock drown, and families move repeatedly in search of safety.

In contrast, the southern and eastern regions — especially parts of Eastern Equatoria — are scorched by drought and heat. Rivers that sustained generations now trickle or vanish entirely. Crops fail under erratic rainfall patterns. Pastoralists travel farther and fight harder for grazing land. Hunger stalks communities that once thrived on fertile soil.

This is the cruel new rhythm of life: flood and famine, deluge and drought. According to humanitarian data, more than one million people have been displaced by floods since 2020, while over eight million face food insecurity each year. Livelihoods are collapsing in a country where 95 percent of rural households depend on agriculture, livestock, or fishing — all sectors directly vulnerable to climatic shifts.

The environmental crisis feeds into the social and political one. When herders lose pasture and farmers lose land, tensions erupt. When water sources dry up, communities move — sometimes into territory already occupied. Climate stress deepens poverty, undermines governance, and strains peacebuilding efforts. The line between environmental disaster and human conflict has all but disappeared.

Yet even in fragility, South Sudan stands as a case study in endurance. Local communities, faith institutions, women’s groups, and youth collectives continue to innovate quietly — adapting planting cycles, building raised homes, sharing early warning information through radio, and restoring degraded land. The country has made important policy strides, drafting its National Adaptation Plan, establishing environmental directorates, and engaging with global climate frameworks like the Paris Agreement. But without robust financing and technical support, these efforts remain painfully under-resourced.

This is why COP30 matters so profoundly. For South Sudan, it is not a platform for pity — it is a demand for partnership. The world’s largest emitters built their economies through industrialization that polluted the planet; today’s least developed countries are paying the price.

The principle of “common but differentiated responsibilities” — enshrined in the Paris Agreement — must move from paper to practice.

Climate finance is the first test of that principle. Rich nations have repeatedly pledged to mobilize USD 100 billion annually for developing countries, yet this promise remains largely unfulfilled. Even when funds are approved, they arrive as loans, not grants, deepening debt burdens instead of offering relief. South Sudan and other fragile states need climate finance that is fast, fair, and direct — money that reaches communities rather than consultants, that builds resilience rather than bureaucracy.

The Loss and Damage Fund, long championed by vulnerable countries and finally established in recent COP negotiations, must now be made real. Communities that have lost homes, schools, and livelihoods need compensation and rebuilding support. This is not charity; it is climate accountability — an obligation rooted in justice.

Beyond finance, technology and knowledge sharing remain decisive. South Sudan’s adaptation depends on access to renewable energy, drought-resistant seeds, early-warning systems, and flood-protection engineering. Yet global technology transfers often bypass the poorest nations. COP30 must remove these barriers, treating technology as a global common good. It is unconscionable that patents and politics prevent the spread of tools that can save lives.

Inclusion is another moral frontier. The voices of developing nations, particularly from Africa, are still underrepresented in global climate governance. When decisions are made about energy, forests, or finance, the people most affected are rarely in the room. South Sudan’s delegation to COP30 must reflect its diversity — including youth, women, local communities, and civil society leaders who live the climate reality daily. No global decision can be legitimate if it excludes those on the frontlines.

Among those voices, youth stand out as the heartbeat of change. Across South Sudan, young people are stepping up not because they can afford to, but because they must. They have inherited a country where floods can erase a lifetime’s progress overnight — and yet they choose innovation over despair. They are farmers experimenting with climate-smart irrigation, coders developing mobile apps to monitor rainfall, artists turning waste into beauty, and volunteers planting trees across degraded landscapes.

Through the YouthEco Lab Initiative, the Eden Foundation has trained and mentored hundreds of young people to design climate solutions rooted in their communities. Some have launched solar-powered farms to combat food insecurity. Others are leading reforestation drives, waste-recycling projects, and environmental education programs in schools. These young innovators embody what EDF calls “generation resilience” — a generation determined not to inherit a crisis, but to redefine it.

Youth are also becoming watchdogs of transparency. They track whether promises made at global summits translate into real action at home. They monitor funding, document failures, and push for accountability through social media and advocacy campaigns. In a country where corruption and mismanagement can easily derail progress, youth oversight has become an essential force for integrity.

Equally important is climate literacy. EDF’s outreach programs emphasize environmental education in schools, churches, and local councils, ensuring that climate knowledge reaches the grassroots. Awareness transforms behavior, and behavior builds resilience. When children learn why trees matter, they grow up to defend them.

Still, the challenge is vast. COP30 will not automatically deliver justice. The world is grappling with competing crises — conflict, inflation, pandemics — and climate commitments risk being sidelined. The logistics of Belém itself pose difficulties: rising hotel prices and limited infrastructure threaten to exclude smaller delegations, particularly from least developed countries. There is a danger that COP30 becomes a gathering of the wealthy discussing the plight of the poor without them in the room.

That must not happen. If this conference is to mean anything, it must guarantee accessibility, equality, and solidarity. Every voice counts — especially those speaking from flooded lands and failed harvests.

South Sudan, for its part, must arrive in Belém prepared and united. Government ministries, civil society, and youth organizations must coordinate positions and proposals before the summit, ensuring that the country speaks with one voice. The delegation should present costed adaptation projects, clear demands for finance, and a vision for integrating climate resilience into national development. It must also advocate for a global framework that recognizes the special challenges of fragile and conflict-affected states, where governance capacity is limited but vulnerability is extreme.

If COP30 delivers what it promises, the outcomes could transform South Sudan’s future. With adequate funding and technology, communities could build raised schools and clinics that withstand floods; farmers could plant drought-resistant crops; cities could expand renewable energy; wetlands could be restored to regulate floods naturally; and young people could find dignified work in a new green economy.

But if the world once again leaves vulnerable countries behind, the human cost will be immeasurable. Climate displacement will accelerate, poverty will deepen, and peace will remain fragile. The credibility of the global climate regime will erode — perhaps beyond repair.

This is why Eden Foundation’s call is urgent and unflinching. The planet does not have time for delay, and neither do its most vulnerable citizens. The youth of South Sudan are not waiting for the world to save them; they are saving themselves and, in doing so, offering a model of courage and ingenuity that the world should emulate. But they cannot do it alone.

The international community must finally act as though every life carries equal worth. That means financing adaptation with the same urgency it devotes to mitigation. It means operationalizing loss-and-damage compensation immediately. It means sharing technology freely, not sparingly. It means giving the youth of South Sudan — and of all climate-vulnerable nations — the tools and trust to shape their destiny.

As the world gathers under the canopy of the Amazon, it must also remember the wetlands of the Sudd. Both are lungs of the planet; both sustain life far beyond their borders. The connection between them is more than symbolic — it is moral. One protects carbon; the other protects hope.

South Sudan’s message to COP30 is simple but profound: climate justice is not optional — it is owed. The people of this nation are not asking for sympathy; they are asking for solidarity, for fairness, and for a future where survival is not a privilege.

If global leaders listen, COP30 could become the moment when the world’s conscience catches up with its science. If they do not, the floodwaters that rise in South Sudan will one day rise everywhere.

The story of this country — its pain, resilience, and determination — is the story of the world’s shared future. From the Sudd to the Amazon, the message is clear: we stand or we sink together.

And when the waters rise again, as they surely will, may the world finally choose to build bridges — not barriers.