Migration, Adaptation And Indigenous Mobilities And Spaces In The Pacific
Total Page：16
File Type：pdf, Size：1020Kb
Migration, adaptation and indigenous mobilities and spaces in the Pacific
Carol Farbotko Australian Centre for Cultural Environmental Research University of Wollongong [email protected]
Abstract. This paper explores migration as a means of adapting to climate change in the Pacific. I argue that conventional academic and policy engagements with migration can only partially illuminate the ways in which inhabitants of low-lying islands are responding to the challenges of possible future displacement associated with sea-level rise. Islander discourses of mobility and space need to be incorporated into understandings of how island citizenries, who are often highly engaged with the global politics of climate change, approach adaptation planning. Consideration of migration as a means of adaptation in the Pacific can be usefully informed by understanding how islanders centralise the ocean as they make sense of themselves and their worlds. I make a case for regional, rather than one-size-fits-all approaches to migration as adaptation that open up room between ‘sea level rise’ and ‘climate refugees’ to indigenous perspectives on space.
Introduction
Critical approaches to the notion of ‘crisis’ in climate change discourse are needed. Social scientists concerned with issues of equity are calling for better understanding of the ways in which climate change narratives are shaped by scientific, technocentric, masculine, institutionalised and Western perspectives. This task also involves examining how alternative discourses, such as those of indigenous people, can become marginalised in climate change debates (Bravo 2009; Terry 2009). Recognising that the climate change crisis is a construct, becoming embedded as common sense, has significant consequences for both understanding and advancing adaptation: the circulation of ‘crisis’ narratives can entrench those named as likely ‘victims’ of that crisis in inequitable power relations. Through the channels of international development agencies, research institutions and consultancies, the
1 climate change crisis discourse involves climate change experts and advocates claiming rights to stewardship over places they do not own (Bravo 2009). These processes risk the silencing and misrepresenting of voices, perspectives, values and knowledges of people who live in climate change affected places (Bravo 2009). In the context of Pacific island communities facing sea-level rise, the notion of crisis manifests in highly visible representations of displaced islanders as future ‘climate refugees’. In this paper, I wish to critically consider the idea of the climate refugee in studies of, and strategies for, climate change adaptation. I argue that the climate refugee has become a powerful signifier, playing an important role in normalising expectations of a very particular type of environmental displacement. The climate refugee embodies a notion of climate change crisis that circulates alongside, but rarely interacts with, adaptation planning. It is a vision that has gained significant traction in the media and among environmentalist organisations, largely in richer parts of the world, and often serving purposes unrelated to the lives of the people it names (such as selling news). Alternative visions, moreover, tend to be marginalised, such as those imagining a planned migration away from islands before people are reduced to the state of desperation and despair that is typical of imaginings of refugees.
Adaptation discourses have not engaged deeply with questions of migration, and tend to limit adaptation imaginaries to adaptation-in-place. Indigenous people are often represented as inevitably ‘rooted’ in the territory they inhabit, as a kind of force of nature (while wealthy Westerners uncritically embrace their freedom to be highly mobile global citizens) (Malkki 1992). Insights from post-colonial and eco-critical scholarship take issue with these imaginings and urge thinking about how people have particular historical, spiritual, economic and cultural ties to, ways of being in, and perspectives on, place. Equitable strategies for adaptation require an openness to this type of difference. In this paper, I argue that the ‘climate refugee’ is a representation that marginalises oceanic perspectives and ways of being among inhabitants of small islands in the Pacific, particularly sidelining different forms of migration as adaptation options. As a remedy, indigenous discourses particularly those relevant to what Westerners might call ‘migration’, need to be incorporated into adaptation planning.
My methodological approach is to employ a mixture of discourse analysis and ethnography. I analyse shared representations and understandings of the world that are
2 actively and continually negotiated as part of its production. Texts from which representations are drawn include adaptation policy, news texts, and islander activist narratives, drawn from interviews, internet searches and participant observation. This type of analysis is important for adaptation researchers because it is in the realm of representations that responses to climate change and sea level rise are normalised and expectations of future social change are moulded.
Indigenous knowledges
There is fairly widespread recognition that indigenous knowledge of climate vulnerable communities is crucial for understanding climate change and developing adaptation toolkits. However, attention has been largely focussed on those components of indigenous knowledge that translate relatively easily into the dominant scientific discourse of climate change. For example, indigenous people of the Arctic are collaborating closely with scientists to document climate-related trends in weather predictability, snow quality, sea ice and precipitation (Martello 2008). This type of knowledge is undeniably important, but it forms only a part of indigenous knowledge systems. As Murphy, Laurier and Chretien (2010) have pointed out, “the very idea of ‘Indigenous Knowledge’ is a western construct designed to help western scholars come to terms with … knowledge system(s) they did not understand.” They point out that, although this construct has been helpful in highlighting the importance of ‘other’ knowledges, the processes of framing indigenous knowledges in western terms, freezing it in written texts, and using it to meet western data needs (among other problems) further enforces the hegemonic position of Western knowledges in climate change debates.
The voices, perspectives, values and knowledges of indigenous peoples need to be considered more holistically. Human-environment relations such as fishing and hunting are always situated practices that enact concepts such as time, space and movement in particular ways. These abstractions are not universally shared, and their specificities for particular groups of people are important for adaptation knowledges, interacting with more specific observations such as changing weather patterns and also with globalized discourses such as climate change science. Martello (2008) for example, points out that the environmental globalization discourse has been
3 productive of new meanings, identities and social relationships for Arctic people who have gained authority, visibility and credibility in climate change debate from their ‘at-risk expert status’ and through collaborations with scientists to redefine the terms by which the global environment is managed. These types of discourses can be productive of for adaptation planning in the sense they can be complexly shaped by notions of crisis and Western science as well as indigenous perspectives, knowledges and values. My concern in this paper is with bringing into greater visibility islander perspectives on migration that do not normalise climate refugees, but which offer alternatives for equitable and effective unfoldings of adaptation in the Pacific.
Beyond climate refugees
The term ‘climate refugee’ has been mobilised to describe the large numbers of people predicted to be permanently or temporarily displaced by rising sea levels, severe drought, cyclones and other effects of climate change (Edwards 1999; Mimura et al. 2007). Low-lying islands in the Pacific are frequently considered to be at the ‘frontline’ of this displacement. The terms ‘climate refugee’ and ‘environmental refugee’ are often invoked to highlight the fact that populations at risk of displacement associated with climate change effects fall outside the ambit of protection provided to those legally designated as refugees by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. Indeed, McNamara (2006) has documented a distinct lack of attention to formulating policy on environmental refugees at the United Nations. Notwithstanding, extensive debate about the numbers of such people, how they might be protected under international law, and how such protection might be advanced, continues (Farbotko forthcoming b).
Climate refugee narratives attract significant and sustained popular interest, if the international news media can be considered a gauge. Low-lying Pacific islands, such as Funafuti in Tuvalu and the Carteret Islands in Papua New Guinea, have become highly visible in the news media since the late 1980s. Both are consistently displayed as ‘disappearing islands’ and their inhabitants are imagined as climate refugees. Stories are regularly published claiming to identify the world’s ‘first’ climate refugees. Disappearing islands and climate refugees are also drawn on frequently in
4 climate change campaigns of a range of environmental groups, such as WWF, Greenpeace and Friends of the Earth.
Representations of climate refugees, like any representations, are neither static nor innocent. Their meanings are negotiated, relational and change over time. They are characterised by fluid, ongoing claims of inclusion and exclusion, and they depend on the interests of those engaged in them. It is thus important to explore the ways in which climate refugee narratives have become dominant popular interpretations of projected sea-level rise, and to question the power relations embedded in imaginings of islanders and inundated island landscapes. When islanders are imagined to have an inevitable destiny as climate refugees, causal and singular links between sea level rise and climate refugees are constructed. A vision of the future is created that depends on assumptions that inundation and storm surges have a direct, material and inevitable impact on islander bodies. This position is, arguably, one that tends toward environmental determinism and allows little room for consideration of the politics, policy and power that also shape the ways in which displaced populations come into being.
Despite the high probability that low-lying islands in the Pacific will become uninhabitable within the next century, a flow of climate refugees from these places is far less certain. Critical scholarship of environmental refugees has highlighted that environmental change (and sea level rise is no exception) is only one of a range of inter-related forces that may contribute to population displacement. Black (1998) has demonstrated that a combination of social conditions such as political instability, violent conflict, extreme poverty, and corruption tend to go hand-in-hand with environmental degradation to create conditions for displacement and/or inadequate disaster recovery. None of these conditions are particularly prevalent among the small populations who live on atolls in the Pacific, particularly in Tuvalu whose people are popularly imagined as the world’s first climate change refugees. Communities in Tuvalu tend to have strong kinship and community networks (extending internationally, particularly to diasporas in NZ), relatively stable political systems, good human rights records, and a high degree of engagement with climate change debates. Sea-level rise will interact with an already engaged population. Financial and institutional resources (particularly for disaster prevention and recovery) may be
5 minimal, but climate change and sea-level rise have been topics of public and government concern on many of these islands for around twenty years. Families and island communities are debating and planning for what they might collectively do if one day the islands become uninhabitable. Although the creation of climate refugees from these relatively strong cultural and political (if not economic) bases is certainly possible, it seems far from inevitable. What is more likely, especially if migration is actively incorporated into adaptation planning, is an orderly, planned migration away from islands before people are reduced to the state of desperation and despair that is typical of imaginings of refugees.
Yet narratives of orderly migrations are circulated far less frequently than narratives of climate refugees. Conventional – often Western – understandings of migration facilitate climate refugee narratives, placing emphasis on uprootedness and rupture, and shiftings from periphery to core (Farbotko forthcoming b). The climate refugee discourse is underpinned by a set of spatial assumptions that position people displaced by climate change in terms of very particular migration vectors: the flow of displaced people is deemed to inevitably originate in the developing world, and have as destination the industrialised (usually Western) world. This type of migration discourse tends to bypass certain types of questions, such as, who is insisting that islanders will migrate to the developed world following displacement associated with sea-level rise? What policy mechanisms may enable islanders to migrate in ways that do not result in desperation and the necessity for refugee status? It is important to note that the issue of opening or closing national borders to climate refugees is frequently the scandal that constitutes the newsworthiness of climate refugee stories in the media, rather than the plight of displaced people in and of itself (Farbotko forthcoming c).
Narratives are performative. Every performance of an idea such as the ‘climate refugee’ carries twin possibilities of reaffirming or challenging inequities. The ‘climate refugee’ is a code with which the idea of the ‘disappearing island’ has become almost inextricably associated over time, and it thus becomes a repertoire which shapes the imaginings of those who draw on it (Gregory 2003). Climate refugee narratives have evoked a particular subject position for inhabitants of these islands. This subject position is the helpless victim, in a dependent relation with
6 powerful groups in the developed world, a means for political constituencies in larger nation-states such as Australia and New Zealand to relationally construct their own image as ‘protectors’ in the reflection of their small island neighbours (Fry 1997). Even when the ‘core’ is imagined as a space of salvation for those from ‘the periphery’ in a climate change crisis, islanders are reduced to being necessary recipients of the compassion and protection of the industrialised world, as fearful climate refugees. Thus, the image of the climate refugee is sustained as a sort of victim-commodity, providing news value, political point-scoring, and a human embodiment of climate change for Western environmental activists concerned with saving the planet (Farbotko forthcoming a).
Climate refugee narratives have inherited from political refugee narratives an implication in a politics of fear. Those named as (future) climate refugees are often wary of this politics, particularly alert to the ways in which it gets played out in detention centres and off-shore asylum seeker processing centres of nation-states such as Australia. In the context of the politics of fear, the climate refugee identity is resisted in various ways by some of those it seeks to name. For instance, for Jane, a citizen of Tuvalu who I interviewed, the prospect of migration coupled with a designation as environmental refugee denies her the right to her own identity as an equal citizen of the global community:
Jane: It is sad for me to think of that future. And we wouldn’t like to eventually get forced out of our place and be classed as environmental refugees. That has a negative attachment to it. It’s like considering ourselves like second class citizens in the future. It devalues your feelings as a human being. It makes you feel small and negative about yourself. And it doesn’t make you fully human. And the question is, who has the right to deny myself the joy of feeling human, of feeling fully human? Because we are born equal and we should be treated equally (Jane [a pseudonym], Funafuti, 2005).
Islander activists also reject the victimage they perceive to be attached to the term climate refugee. For example:
What we want to demonstrate is that:-we are not happy to be labelled victims and where is the glory in being titled “first Environmental refugees”? We know our rights. We want support in gaining better education and medical facilities for our people. Stop using us as points in
7 global indicators of Corporate misgoverning. Give us real solutions that will empower us to make sustainable choices as we adapt to our changing environment. (Emeretta Cross, 22 Sep 2009, email sent to Tuvalu Yahoo Groups mailing list).
Migration and adaptation
Studies of adaptation tend to posit migration as a process separate to, or distinct from, adaptation. Craig Johnson (2009, 1069) has observed:
Throughout its conceptual history, adaptation has had an ambiguous relationship with migration, reflecting concerns about the economic and human costs of engaging in distress migration and a strong tendency on the part of government programs and policies to target populations whose rights and entitlements are defined in relation to fixed territorial settings (e.g. slums, villages, etc.).
An important issue here is problematising the ways in which adaptation discourses tend to assume people’s lives need to unfold in ‘fixed territorial settings’. Insights from postcolonial scholars of the Pacific, who have demonstrated that ocean, island, vessel and migration knowledges are always situated knowledges, are very useful in this task (Hau’ofa 1993; Lilomaiava-Doktor 2009). Hau’ofa (1993) points out that the lives of Pacific people, long characterised by movement and migration, are informed by notions of the largeness of Oceania as a connected ‘sea of islands’ rather than by the smallness of discrete land masses. His essay is a prompt to analysis and recovery of marginalised island meanings and experiences. This analysis and recovery, I argue, is useful for ensuring that adaptation planning takes into account indigenous perspectives on mobility and space and questions refugee discourses that rely on naturalisations of rootedness in place (Malkki 1992). On the small islands of the Pacific, seafaring, oceanic and mobile cosmologies are profoundly important. Land, although significant, does not delimit Pacific economic, social, and cultural values. The ocean is a powerful marker of identity and practice. For Pacific people, ‘the ocean is our most powerful metaphor, the ocean is in us’ (Hau’ofa 1998). It is in sea and land, ‘routes’ and ‘roots’ - a double dialectic through which Pacific people draw on their history as great navigators, travellers, seafarers, fisherfolk and survivors to identify as ‘Sea Peoples of the Sea of Islands (Dening 2008, 146; Clifford 2001;
8 Hau’ofa 1993; Hau’ofa 1998; Wood 2003). Yet Western voices are persisting with climate refugee narratives to map their own concerns with territorial roots and clear boundaries onto islander worlds, in the process making invisible the cultural strengths in the semi-rooted, semi-moving ways of being on small islands.
Michael Bravo (2009) calls for a better understanding of how dominant climate change narratives work alongside local and regional discourses. He argues that without engagement with these multiple understandings, adaptation policies are likely to have only a superficial impact, and risk exacerbating existing inequalities. Adaptation strategies that do not take into account complex histories, identities and cultural values bound up in oceanic navigation, seafaring, drifting and settlement on distant islands risk neglecting the ways in which inhabitants of small islands represent themselves as they face the prospect of sea level rise-related displacement. The notion of migration needs to be approached critically, as it offers only a partial account of how Pacific people understand their own movements through space. For example, on Samoan migration, Lilomaiava-Doktor (2009) has argued:
Local contexts merit serious consideration to better understand Pacific Islander movements. A more balanced approach must include people’s indigenous knowledge and understanding of their movements, as well as the structural, economic, and political environments in which they are enmeshed. In the conventional academic view, “migration” might imply severance of ties, uprootedness, and rupture, but in the eyes of those involved, Samoan population movement is quite different. The Samoan concept malaga, usually translated as “travel” or “movement,” implies going back and forth … [indeed] Samoans understand “migration” as a culturally informed, historically grounded response to modernity and globalization …. [as well as a way to] demonstrate kin relationships. [This is] crucial to maintaining vä, the social connections and relationships of kin members. …. It is therefore social connections rather than geographic boundaries that are central to Samoan conceptions of movement.
Holistic views, such as this one, of Pacific people’s worlds of land, ocean and movement need to be taken into account in adaptation strategies. Some activists from low-lying islands are responding to the challenges of possible future displacement associated with sea-level rise in this way. They notably challenge, rather than subscribe to, the visioning of themselves as future climate refugees. Instead, their own discourses of oceanic navigation and journeying are enrolled, reminding participants
9 in climate change debate that, when the Pacific islands were being navigated and settled for the first time, powerful oceanic journeying narratives became, and remain, embedded in the social identities of various groups of islanders (Richards 2008). Carteret Islander environmental activist, Ursula Rakova (2009), writes about the people of her island’s response to the climate refugee discourse and the challenge of rising sea levels in terms of ‘sailing the waves on our own’:
For some time now, Carteret Islanders have made eye-catching headlines: “Going, going… Papua New Guinea atoll sinking fast”. Academics have dubbed us amongst the world’s first “environmental refugees” and journalists put us on the “frontline of climate change” ….: “We do not need labels but action.”… Tired of empty promises, the Carterets Council of Elders formed a non-profit association in late 2006 to organise the voluntary relocation of most of the Carterets’ population of 3,300. The association was named Tulele Peisa, which means “sailing the waves on our own”. This name choice reflects the elders’ desire to see Carteret Islanders remain strong and self-reliant, not becoming dependent on food handouts for their survival.
Rakova’s narrative is critical of the ‘climate refugee crisis’, offering powerful alternatives ways of being in, and journeying through, time and space as sea level rise becomes a force of change for island people (Farbotko forthcoming b).
Migration and adaptation in Tuvalu
This paper finishes with a short case study of Tuvalu exploring how local and regional perspectives on mobility and space interact with adaptation discourses. My purpose is not to offer islander perspectives as a ‘solution’ to questions of adaptation and migration, but to indicate, rather, how such questions might be framed differently. Tuvalu’s National Adaptation Plan of Action (NAPA) welds the discourse of the climate change crisis with land-based adaptation strategies. It ‘has been prepared with the primary objective of identifying and promoting activities that address urgent and immediate needs of Tuvaluan stakeholders for adapting to the adverse impacts of climate change among communities on vulnerable islands of the country’ (Ministry of Natural Resources, Environment, Agriculture and Lands 2007, 5). The plan opens with a series of photographs of overtopping waves, a collapsed seawall, effects of saltwater on coastal ecosystems, and finally, a photograph of children up to their
10 necks in a lagoon. Although they are smiling, the caption is ‘adapt or swim’. The plan has been developed under the auspices of standard international environmental governance discourse, referencing sustainable development, and Millennium Development Goals. Migration is not officially considered part of adaptation in Tuvalu, as neither climate refugees nor alternative migration plans are mentioned. Interestingly, a draft report of consultations conducted during the NAPA process did raise the possibility of relocation to Kioa, which is an island in Fiji (Noa et al. nd). This was an option put forward by the community of Vaitupu during consultations, but it does not feature in the final plan.
A possible explanation for this omission relies on a contextual understanding of relations between people and place in Tuvalu at different scales, which depend on particular conceptions of mobility and space. Tuvaluans assert a gentle yet proud sense of cultural identity at the national level. But Tuvalu also has eight island communities, each with a distinct identity, culture and one case, language. These are Funafuti, Nanumea, Nanumaga, Niutao, Nui, Nukufetau, Nukulaelae and Vaitupu. An island and the community of that island are known in Tuvaluan language as fenua. A significant and active segment of each of the island communities lives on Funafuti, the capital, attracted by jobs and services. Cultural practices of competition and compromise between and among island communities are central to political, economic and social affairs in Tuvalu. Seats in the national parliament are distributed among the eight islands, remittances are sent not only to benefit one’s household and kaaiga (clan or family) but also, occasionally, for benefit of the larger island community. Handicrafts are produced, displayed and sold by each community, who also have their own falekaupule, the name for both a system of island elders and a large community meeting house in the centre of the island’s village. Each community also has its own annual day of feasting and faatele, a celebratory collective activity involving a combination of costume, song, dance and percussion performed as a competition between two sides.
Tuvaluans tend to maintain strong links to their island community wherever they happen to be in the world: travelling as workers on commercial ships, living on Funafuti or in New Zealand (where a Tuvaluan population numbers several thousands), and in Fiji, Australia, North America and elsewhere. Fenua communities
11 are formed in these locations, and they maintain links with community members in different locations. Connections to kaaiga and fenua involve taking care of significant relationships across vast geographic distances. A cultural network of this sort extends between one of Tuvalu’s islands, Vaitupu, Funafuti (the capital) and the island of Kioa in Fiji. In 1946, the Vaitupu community (then a part of the British Gilbert and Ellice Islands Colony, along with the other Tuvalu islands) collectively agreed to purchase Kioa and did so at an auction in Fiji. A portion of the population of Vaitupu people moved there and their descendants remain there today. Although Kioa is within Fiji’s national territory and has no formal support from the Tuvaluan national government, its inhabitants maintain important political, economic and kinship links with the Vaitupu community on Funafuti and Vaitupu itself. Kioa, being volcanic and having substantially higher elevation than all the islands in the Tuvalu archipelago, was suggested by members of the Vaitupu community as a possible relocation site for Tuvaluans in the event of significant sea-level rise during the NAPA consultations. Yet, as a member of the Tuvaluan community in Melbourne pointed out to me, the role of Kioa in the cultural dynamics of inter-fenua competition means that other island communities may not support the plan. Since Kioa is controlled by the Vaitupu fenua, their capacity to influence inter- fenua dynamics of power would be forever changed. All the other communities would remain in symbolic debt to Vaitupuans because they opened up their island to them.
It is this dynamic that may have been at work when any mention of Kioa as a possible migration destination was omitted from the NAPA. Yet the cultural geographies of Kioa, Vaitupu and the other islands suggest that the cultural ‘fit’ of adaptation strategies depends on complex relations at different scales and particular conceptions of mobility and space. Adaptation strategies that neglect the important decision- making and power concentrated in the fenua are not likely to gain strong support, nor is any approach that does not result in equitable outcomes for all island communities. On the other hand, strong fenua and kaaiga connections are likely to be of assistance to migrants. Taking such dynamics into account occurs on a daily basis in all types of decision-making in Tuvalu. What is more difficult is making room for these types of issues in international and regional policy-making where adaptation planning is generally pitched at the national level, focuses on territorial strategies, and which marginalises migration debates not dominated by climate refugee narratives positing a
12 flow from islands into the developed world. Yet adaptation and migration need not be logically opposed in policy-making. Adaptation on islands makes sense for the immediate future, and migration as adaptation makes sense in the long term.
Conclusion
Climate change related migration is likely to be a reality, but it need not be a ‘refugee’ crisis. There is a wide conceptual gap in debate, between territorially-based adaptation strategies on the one hand, and climate refugee discourse on the other. Johnson has pointed out that there is a delicate balancing process for citizens and policy-makers faced with the prospect of ensuring people do not get displaced, but do not suffer unnecessarily should displacement occur:
All things being equal, the desired policy outcome would surely be one in which very poor people are not forced (or even strongly encouraged) to abandon their homes, livelihoods and communities. However, the perceived ethics and politics of relocating large numbers of people must also be weighed in relation to the risk that inaction will lead to unacceptable suffering, displacement and disaster (Johnson 2009).
Territorially-based adaptation strategies are important, but so too is an injection into adaptation debates of different possibilities for migration. Pacific climate activists and some politicians are starting to advocate for alternative migration strategies, recognising that in a world where movement across international borders is tightly regulated and the politics of fear deploys considerable power, the term ‘climate refugee’ is also politically charged. Thus the image of the climate refugee is being contested by those ‘victims’ it seeks to name, and alternative visions of future migration are being tabled. I have argued that regional, rather than one-size-fits-all approaches to migration as adaptation can help to open up room between ‘sea level rise’ and ‘climate refugees’ to islander discourses on mobility and space as a way of informing migration debates. Discourses of migration and journeying in terms of cultural connections between and beyond Pacific islands are important among populations on small islands, and are particularly significant in a globalized world. Thus, ideas of migration, as seen and experienced by those whose communities may
13 one day be displaced by sea level rise, need to become part of multi-faceted approaches to adaptation.
14 References
Black, R. (1998) Refugees, Environment and Development Harlow: Addison Wesley Longman
Bravo, M. (2009) Voices from the sea ice: the reception of climate impact narratives Journal of Historical Geography 35: 256-278
Clifford, J. (2001) Indigenous articulations The Contemporary Pacific 13 (2):468-490
Dening, G. (2008) Respectfulness as a performance art: way-finding. Postcolonial Studies 11 (2):145-155
Edwards, M. J. (1999) Security Implications of a Worst-case Scenario of Climate Change in the South-west Pacific Australian Geographer 30 (3):311-330
Farbotko, C. (forthcoming a) ‘The global warming clock is ticking so see these places while you can’: voyeuristic tourism and model environmental citizens on Tuvalu’s disappearing islands Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography
Farbotko, C. (forthcoming b) Skilful seafarers, oceanic drifters or climate refugees? Pacific people, news value and the climate refugee crisis in Migration and the Media
Farbotko, C. (forthcoming c) Wishful sinking: Disappearing islands, climate refugees and cosmopolitan experimentation Asia-Pacific Viewpoint
Gregory, D. (2003) Defiled cities Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography 24(3): 307-326
15 Hau’ofa, E. (1993) ‘Our sea of islands’ in A New Oceania: Rediscovering our Sea of Islands E. Waddell, V. Naidu and E. Hau'ofa (eds) 2-18. Suva: School of Social and Economic Development, University of the South Pacific and Beake House
Hau’ofa, E. (1998) The ocean in us The Contemporary Pacific 10 (2):391-410
Johnson, C. A. (2009) Book Review: The Earthscan Reader on Adaptation to Climate Change Environmental Science and Policy 12: 1068 - 1074
Lilomaiava-Doktor, S. (2009) Beyond “Migration”: Samoan Population Movement (Malaga) and the Geography of Social Space (Va) Contemporary Pacific 21 (1):1-32
Malkki, L. (1992) National Geographic: The Rooting of Peoples and the Territorialization of National Identity among Scholars and Refugees. Cultural Anthropology 7 (1):24-44
Martello, M.L. (2008) Arctic Indigenous Peoples as Representations and Representatives of Climate Change Social Studies of Science 38(3): 351-376
McNamara, K. E. (2006) The Politics of ‘Environmental Refugee’ Protection at the United Nations, unpublished PhD thesis, University of New South Wales
Mimura, N., L. Nurse, R.F. McLean, J. Agard, L. Briguglio, P. Lefale, R. Payet and G. Sem (2007) ‘Small Islands’ in Climate Change 2007: Impacts, Adaptation and Vulnerability. Contribution of Working Group II to the Fourth Assessment Report of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. M.L. Parry, O.F. Canziani, J.P. Palutikof, P.J. van der Linden and C.E. Hanson (eds) Cambridge University Press, Cambridge
Ministry of Natural Resources, Environment, Agriculture and Lands (2007) Tuvalu’s National Adaptation Programme of Action, Department of Environment, Funafuti
16 Murphy, B.L., W. Laurier & A. Chretien (2010) Climate change, maple syrup and indigenous knowledge, paper presented at 90th American Meteorological Society Annual meeting
Noa, P., N. Meisake, P.E. Latasi, S. Silu and P. Faavae (nd) National Adaptation Programme of Action (NAPA) Multi-Disciplinary Team Consultation to ALL islands of Tuvalu - except Niulakita, Funafuti
Rakova, U (2009) How-to guide for environmental refugees Online (accessed 28th January 2010): http://ourworld.unu.edu/en/how-to-guide-for-environmental-refugees/
Richards, C. (2008) The substance of Polynesian voyaging World Archaeology 40 (2):206-223
Terry, G (2009) No climate justice without gender justice: an overview of the issues Gender and Development 17(1): 5-18
Wood, H. (2003) Cultural Studies for Oceania The Contemporary Pacific 15 (2):340- 374
17