28 Feburary 2024 – by David Cremins
Abstract
Argentina, Brazil, and Colombia are the three most populous countries in South America and each the site of much human movement, both within and across their borders. They are also situated within a region that is home to some of the most dynamic responses to the impacts of climate change and natural disasters, including forced displacement. This piece presents three innovative policy approaches—from Argentina, a 2022 visa designed for climate-displaced people from Mexico, Central America, and the Caribbean; from Brazil, a humanitarian entry program offered to tens of thousands of Haitians following the 2010 earthquake; and from Colombia, a proposed piece of legislation to recognize and grant social services to internally-displaced, climate-impacted populations—and examines their common and divergent features, in an effort to draw out lessons for the rest of the world.
Migration and Climate Change in South America vis-à-vis the World
There is increasing skepticism that the existing international legal order can comprehensively or universally respond to the challenges of migration and asylum in the 21st century.[1] This situation is made worse by the ever-increasing impacts of climate change, which renders already exploited populations in the formerly colonized world all the more vulnerable to economic and physical harms, due to their disproportionate concentration in global sacrifice zones—“regions rendered dangerous and even uninhabitable owing to environmental degradation.”[2] As a result, many scholars and advocates place their hopes in domestic and regional responses to climate-induced and -related migration.[3] Such approaches have the advantage of allowing closer consultation with the people most likely to be forced to move by climate impacts—residents of countries which have contributed very little to the global carbon emissions driving their displacement.[4]
One recent example of a locally attuned approach is an agreement between Australia and Tuvalu—a low-lying island state—to allow hundreds of Tuvaluans to settle legally and permanently in Australia annually via a special visa.[5] Before the creation of this visa program, Australia and New Zealand mainly responded to rising sea levels in Oceania via labor migration programs which, at best, help residents of island nations generate funds to adapt in situ, but do little to advance climate justice.[6] The impacts of this new visa program remain to be seen,[7] but its existence provides at least an example for countries to adapt to their local and regional contexts.
Researchers have begun tracking thousands of such instruments around the world which might be used to mitigate the harms of climate-related displacement.[8] Many of these are labor visa programs, e.g., agreements between unequal partners which prioritize extracting economic utility from relatively impoverished populaces, a practice naturally subject to robust critique.[9] But more local focuses may also encompass the domestic incorporation of regional refugee treaties, such as the Cartagena Declaration,[10] or multilateral free movement agreements, such as those in place amongst hurricane-vulnerable states in the Caribbean.[11] Indeed, Latin America is home to many of the most creative responses to climate-related migration—by one count, the Americas are home to over 300 such laws and policies, most of which come from Latin America and the Caribbean.[12]
With hopes of detailing what this general trend looks like in a few concrete cases, this paper focuses on three countries—Argentina, Brazil, and Colombia—which have confronted the problem of climate-induced displacement in divergent ways. These countries were selected based on their status as the three most populous in South America and the author’s modest familiarity with their political and legal structures. While not fully representative of the region, these examples should provide useful guideposts to those seeking to understand both the promises and pitfalls of South American policy responses in this arena.
What characterizes the “South American approach” to migration in the context of climate change? According to a group of researchers associated with RESAMA—a “network of experts, researchers and practitioners working for the visibility, recognition and protection of people displaced in the context of disasters and climate change” in South America[13]—the continent is particularly vulnerable to both sudden-onset climate disasters and slower-onset flooding and drought seasons associated with the La Niña and El Niño phenomena, respectively.[14] After the 2010 earthquake in Haiti (discussed below), MERCOSUR[15] and other regional convenings began frequently debating intraregional disaster response mechanisms, conversations which have filtered down to the national level.[16] However, Yamamoto et al. still conclude that “few South American countries include human mobility as a strategic topic in their climate policies.”[17]
That said, South American immigration law is also often imbued with a flexibility that may seem foreign to readers in the United States or Europe. For instance, many countries in the region—including those studied here—grant authority to their immigration agencies to recognize “exceptional” migrant categories, and allow many people entry, on humanitarian grounds, who would not otherwise qualify for legal admission.[18] As a result, “a liberal discourse of universally welcoming all immigrants” is common in South America, even in relatively affluent countries.[19] Such discourse, however, does not always reflect reality: Acosta Arcarazo and Feline Freier, for instance, find “substantial gaps between liberal discourses and their translation into laws and policies,” such that the dream of visa-free travel and resettlement within South America remains elusive for many migrants, especially those from outside the continent.[20]
It is within this convoluted context that the three case studies below must be understood. No matter how promising they may initially appear, climate- and disaster-related entry and resettlement mechanisms cannot be divorced from the violence and racism inherent to all border regimes,[21] nor from the dismal political, social, and economic realities which often face migrants who “successfully” resettle. This paper, therefore, will attempt to maintain both optimism about burgeoning attempts in South America to tackle the problem of climate-related displacement alongside skepticism about the ability of any single intervention to deliver deep and sustainable justice for climate migrants. We begin with a novel visa program in Argentina which has yet to be utilized, then look back at a humanitarian entry program in Brazil, before examining proposed legislation in Colombia, and then put these stories in conversation with one another.
Learning the ABCs: Policy Experiments in Climate-Related Displacement
Argentina
On November 19, 2023, Argentina elected Javier Milei as president. Milei is an extreme economic libertarian—a self-described “anarcho-capitalist”—and denier of climate change who has promised radical reforms, including “dollarization” of the Argentine economy and shuttering of the central bank, to bring the country out of a devastating inflationary spiral.[22] Though there are widespread concerns about what may follow this Trump-like victory on South America’s southern tip,[23] less attention has been paid to what Milei’s hyper-nationalist vision for Argentina might mean for people seeking to move to the country. Buenos Aires is often called the “Paris of Latin America” by tourists not privy to the villas (slums) surrounding the capital,[24] home to many recent arrivals from poorer and browner neighboring countries, like Paraguay and Bolivia.[25] These migrants are often met with intense xenophobia and racism by predominantly European-descended porteños, a reality which pairs uneasily with Argentina’s (in)famous reputation as a bastion of refuge.[26]
At least on paper, though, Argentina’s liberal immigration policy has survived radical changes in government before, from the dictatorship of the 1980s, to the neoliberal turn of the 1990s, and through both right-wing and neo-Peronist rule in recent years.[27] It was during the recent, center-left administration of Alberto Fernández and Christina Kirchner that Argentina’s National Immigration Directorate (DNM)[28]—which has broad authority to issue visas and immigration regulations—took an active role in preparing the country for increased climate-related migration, consistent with Argentina’s leadership at a regional level in convenings related to this issue.[29]
Disposición No. 891/2022 was launched by DNM in May 2022, with the aim of providing humanitarian protection to residents of 23 countries in Central America, Mexico, and the Caribbean displaced by sudden-onset disasters.[30] This policy pairs with Disposición No. 2641/22, from October 2022, which provides the bureaucratic framework to recognize such disasters and facilitate the entry of people affected by them.[31] This program will allow beneficiaries to access housing, food, and health care for three years without paying migratory fees, if they find sponsorship from a civil society organization.[32] After three years, they will be eligible for permanent residence in Argentina.[33] Although some legal and policy experts are optimistic that this initiative could help many people,[34] there are reasons to doubt its ultimate usefulness.
To start, Argentina has not yet recognized a qualifying disaster, so no one has been admitted to the country under this scheme.[35] Though a recent policy, it is possible that this post-hoc approach to disaster response will prove insufficient. Further, the targeted countries are thousands of miles from Argentina, so would-be beneficiaries may have difficulty, in the wake of disaster, waiting to apply for uncertain benefits in a far-off nation. And—given that this policy was implemented without going through a democratic legislative process, based on humanitarian visa powers granted to DNM in 2004[36]—it remains to be seen to what degree civil society supports it in practice.
One of the architects of the policy maintains, nonetheless, that it will provide permanent resettlement opportunities for those displaced by “socio-natural” disasters, a framing which recognizes that environmental events alone do not create the conditions of instability which force people to flee.[37] He also notes that citizens of countries within MERCOSUR (roughly, South America) already have relatively easy access to residency within Argentina, hence the policy’s applicability further north, while conceding that the project struggled to find adequate financing, and involved consultation with a limited number of agencies and civic society organizations.[38]
Despite these uncertainties, Argentina’s visa program is a concrete example of what many view as the ultimate goal of climate displacement advocacy—the creation of specific pathways for climate-impacted peoples to reside legally and permanently in a new country, with sufficient social support as they integrate into society. Therefore, the extent to which Argentina’s approach lives up to this “gold standard” should prove valuable to learn from in coming years.
Brazil
On January 12, 2010, one of the worst earthquakes in human history struck Haiti, killing at least 200,000 people, with some estimates ranging north of 300,000.[39] This already devastating situation was made worse by a cholera outbreak, a mismanaged international aid response, and the destruction of critical infrastructure, which left millions displaced and hundreds of thousands seeking refuge across borders.[40]
Following the earthquake, many Haitians fled economic and political aftershocks for accessible countries like Brazil, which had built up a reputation as a safe haven for refugees from countries including Iraq, the former Yugoslavia, and Syria.[41] However, the arrival of many Haitians presented a challenge for Brazilian immigration and refugee law, not previously equipped to deal with such an influx.[42] This issue was “solved” in 2012 by the promulgation of Normative Resolution 97 by Brazil’s National Council of Immigration, which granted visas to Haitians for a period of five years on humanitarian grounds.[43]
These visas could eventually be obtained at any Brazilian consulate, including the Brazilian Embassy in Port-au-Prince, so long as the applicant had a valid passport, Haitian residency, and proof of a clean criminal record.[44] Having jumped through these hoops, the recipients were granted temporary documentation and work permits.[45] Why not just grant refugee status? At the time, the relevant authorities did not believe that being the victim of a natural disaster qualified.[46] Had the Haitians passed through the pre-established refugee system, they may have been provided with better social and integrative services. Instead, many of those who came, as part of Brazil’s largest immigration wave since World War II, found few jobs prospects, lived in overcrowded shelters, and faced racial discrimination and linguistic barriers.[47]
Since that initial influx of Haitians in the early 2010s, migration—both regular and irregular—from the island nation to the South American mainland has increased substantially.[48] (This partly explains the increased numbers of Haitians traveling through Central America and Mexico to arrive at the United States, a dangerous journey which often ends in brutal and racialized exclusion.[49]) It is estimated that over 50,000 Haitians have entered Brazil since the earthquake,[50] with some estimates ranging much higher.[51] Still, to this day there is no specific definition of environmental or climate migration in Brazilian legislation,[52] so the measure adopted on behalf of Haitians remains exceptional.[53]
There is, however, a law from 2017, based on the Haitian experience, allowing the Brazilian government to grant temporary visas to people facing “internal conflicts, crisis, calamities or serious and generalised human rights violations recognised as such by the Brazilian government.”[54] The decrees necessary to put this legislation into effect have not yet been drafted, however, so its future is murky,[55] even with more pro-migrant forces currently in power in Brazil.[56]
Compared with the Argentine visa, then, Brazil’s experiment with Haitian migrants has the advantage of providing an actual track record to evaluate. That record may prove to be a one-off, though, so questions remain about the replicability of Brazil’s approach from early last decade. Thankfully, there have not been any disasters on the scale of the 2010 earthquake since then, but, without a pre-defined instrument capable of responding to such events, it is far from certain that the Brazilian government would respond in a similar manner; or, indeed, if it should.
Colombia
With the Caribbean to the north, Amazon rainforest throughout its southeast, and Andean mountains in between, Colombia’s varied geography invites a wide array of climate impacts. While rapid deforestation and fire threaten the country’s rich biodiversity and rural communities further inland,[57] those along the coasts are increasingly threatened by climate-exacerbated storms and flooding, such as from Hurricane Iota, which displaced 64,000 people in 2020.[58] These climate-displaced communities are not well supported. As Vélez-Echeverri and Bustos recently wrote, following Iota’s damage to the island of Providencia, insufficient disaster response from “the Colombian government has aggravated already existing social vulnerability conditions [amongst the Indigenous Raizal people], such as the lack of public utilities provision, basic needs unmet, and systematic land dispossession by the tourist and military industries.”[59]
Colombia is no stranger to dealing with the difficulties of internal displacement: According to the Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre, “Colombia has faced one of the world’s most acute internal displacement situations associated with conflict and violence,” and nearly 5 million people were still internally displaced at the end of 2022.[60] Since the 2016 peace treaty between the national government and the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia,[61] however, most new internal displacement has been due to disasters, and the Norwegian Refugee Council estimates that “nearly 800,000 Colombians are in need of humanitarian assistance as a consequence of disasters and climate change,” many of whom were previously displaced by violence.[62]
Although Colombia recently elected a left-wing presidential ticket in Gustavo Petro and Francia Márquez,[63] their coalition appears to be fracturing,[64] and it is not clear whether there is political will to fulsomely respond to this escalating crisis of internal climate-related displacement. Yet a proposed bill in Colombia’s legislature would give Colombians displaced by climate effects access to housing, health services, and education, and enter them into a national register of climate-displaced people.[65] This development has generated much interest around the world from those who track climate displacement and planned relocation.[66]
Promulgated by the Alianza Verde (Green Alliance) party, the bill—which has passed the first of four required votes before becoming law[67]—aims to support the millions of Colombians who annually are forced to flee their homes for some period of time due to climate impacts like landslides, floods, and drought.[68] Capturing all of those people in a single legal definition is no enviable task; here is the bill’s attempt to do so:
Forced internal displacement due to causes associated with climate change and environmental degradation is understood as forced human mobility of a person, families or social groups who are forced to move from their territory, abandoning their place of habitual residence, family and social nucleus, their economic activity and/or means of subsistence as a result of or to avoid the effects of natural disasters or climate change.[69]
If this bill were to become law, it would still face various challenges, including acceptance by the Colombian public of climate displacement as a recognizable category for protection. Several laws and Constitutional Court decisions detail the needs and rights of people displaced by armed conflict in Colombia; there is no such social or legal precedent for climate-related displacement.[70] This approach is also unique, of course, in being the first comprehensive proposal from a national government to address domestic, rather than international, displacement. Therefore, lessons from its success or failure may prove even more potent than those from Argentina and Brazil, as the vast majority of climate-related displacement happens within national borders.[71]
Analysis
The three policy interventions laid out above represent distinct strands of response to climate-related displacement that we might expect to see—and in some cases already do see—replicated in other countries. Argentina has a policy on the books which has generated headlines, but which may prove wanting in its eventual execution. Brazil responded in dramatic fashion following a discrete disaster, but it has not as of yet committed itself to similar undertakings in the future. And Colombia has taken an important step in responding to internal displacement, yet that political story is far from told. The following subsections provide a roadmap for understanding critical overlaps and divergences in the justifications for and features of these three policies.
Justifications
Both Argentina’s and Brazil’s visa interventions were explicitly justified on humanitarian grounds. They both drew on a history of liberal immigration discourse and policy in South America, which has resulted in various domestic immigration authorities possessing broad authority to recognize “exceptional” migratory situations.[72] Under such a system, political bureaucrats are empowered to grant visas to populations that would not ordinarily qualify for easy entry—in both cases here, nationals of countries outside the South American continent—and bypass the legislature, or any public input, in doing so.
On the one hand, when it comes to facilitating policy innovations, it is preferable to have fewer bureaucratic hoops to jump through. On the other hand, there is value in democratic deliberation, and relying on the whims of a handful of officials does not provide stable footing for any policy. Further, there are reasons to doubt purely humanitarian responses to climate-related displacement. Carmen Gonzalez criticizes humanitarianism in this space for depicting “displaced persons as passive and helpless victims of natural disasters who need to be rescued by the international community as a form of charity rather than as a matter arising from common but differentiated responsibilities for climate change.”[73] This critique would presumably apply to the Australia-Tuvalu agreement described in Section I, as one example of “an ‘eco-colonial’ narrative that casts the global North as the saviour of the world’s disenfranchised.”[74] Although it is debatable to what extent Argentina and Brazil belong to the global North, they are both certainly regional hegemons, so similar skepticism vis-à-vis their humanitarian interventions may be warranted.
What other justifications might these countries have availed themselves of? The regulation creating Argentina’s visa, at least, references various of the country’s international commitments: Ratification of human rights treaties; participation in regional and global convenings including the Cartagena Process and the Sendai Framework for Disaster Risk Reduction; and adherence to the 2018 Global Compact for Safe, Orderly, and Secure Migration, to name a few.[75] Neither the Argentine nor the Brazilian approaches, however, appear to have justified their policies with respect to any binding international commitments. Both countries are signatories to the Cartagena Declaration and have incorporated it in domestic law.[76] Yet neither opted to classify their target populations as environmental refugees suffering from serious disturbances to public order, as some have suggested should be possible under Cartagena.[77] Brazil’s authorities even explicitly rejected this reasoning and felt compelled to seek the authority to regularize Haitian migrants elsewhere.[78] It appears in these cases, then, that international law plays a subsidiary role, perhaps providing a gloss of additional justification on top of policies which are primarily grounded in domestic law.
Colombia’s proposed law, meanwhile, seems to be justified primarily with reference to a simple fact: Climate-induced displacement is on the rise in the country, and there is no national framework for confronting this challenge.[79] Because this approach would presumably apply equally to all Colombians whenever they are displaced, there are fewer complex questions raised about why one country seeks to aid foreign nationals, or who qualifies for that assistance. Colombia is an unequal society, though, so the benefits of even this universal policy may not be felt equally. It will be interesting to see, then, whether further debates on this bill highlight the differentiated needs of groups such as the Indigenous Raizal, who are increasingly exposed to hurricanes, even as they already suffer from various human rights violations.[80]
Finally, it is worth noting which potential justifications are absent, or at least not surfaced. None of these approaches claim to be advancing “climate justice” per se, which would be an interesting rhetorical move. Yet neither do any of them stoke fear of foreigners, i.e., “the spectre of climate-displaced persons crossing en masse from South to North” which unfortunately underlies much of the discourse on climate displacement in Europe and the United States.[81] This is not to say that xenophobia is not a serious problem in Argentina and Brazil, nor that urban Colombians do not discriminate against rural, Indigenous, and afro-descendant Colombians on the move. But it is possible that histories of more welcoming immigration policies[82]—and understanding the needs of internally displaced persons (IDPs)[83]—makes it such that these narratives are less salient as political justifications. Similarly, none of these policies are framed as means of extracting labor from their beneficiaries, though the Argentine and Brazilian programs both include work permits.[84]
In sum, there is remarkable consonance amongst these three case studies regarding their stated justifications. They have each been framed by their proponents as common sense, humanitarian interventions, in line with their country’s self-image. From there, though, as we turn to the content of each policy, more crucial differences emerge.
Features
This subsection compares the three approaches studied here across five dimensions: The temporal identification of qualifying disasters; responsiveness to different types of climate events; definition of their target population; provision of adequate social services; and exportability.
- Pre- vs. post-hoc identification of triggering events
The Argentine visa structure depends on declarations that a sudden-onset “socio-natural” disaster which “gravely disrupt the functioning of a community or society” qualifies those impacted by it for humanitarian resettlement.[85] The Haitian regularization program was, naturally, post-hoc as well, but perhaps it would be better to classify it as “ad-hoc,” given that its approached has not yet been formalized. It may seem, then, that humanitarian visa programs require ongoing trust in host countries to judiciously identify qualifying disasters. The Australia-Tuvalu program presents a contrasting approach, however, by pre-identifying an ongoing climate harm—sea level rise—and designing a responsive program. This is closer to Colombia’s approach, insofar as that proposed law does not depend on evaluating whether discrete disasters qualify their victims for protection. However, Colombia’s must still be considered a post-hoc approach because it does not pre-define its target population based on existing location or vulnerabilities. This is a pragmatic feature of all three policies, but in each case it raises the possibility of arbitrary or discriminatory adjudication down the line.
- Responsiveness to slow- vs. sudden-onset climate events
Both the Argentine and Brazilian approaches are wedded to what are traditionally recognized as natural disasters: earthquakes, hurricanes, wildfires, and the like. The Colombian law, meanwhile, would cover displacement caused by “the effects of natural disasters or climate change,” which presumably includes more gradual climate impacts such as sea level rise, ground salination, drought, and persistent flooding.[86] This broader categorization provides a more realistic assessment of how climate change impacts human mobility, yet it invites its own complications.
First, there is the issue of social legibility: Even within one country, it is easier to explain the need to respond to destructive hurricanes than, say, cyclical crop depletion. Slower-onset impacts are also more likely to raise questions around causality, e.g., whether the displacement of farming communities has more to do with political failures and a lack of economic opportunity than direct threats to the habitability of their homes. Can cross-border policies address more gradual climate effects in a robust way (outside of dramatic circumstances, such as a nation being swallowed by the ocean)? Part of the answer may lie in the success with which Colombia is able to support populations displaced by slow-onset events.
- Definition of target populations
Closely related to the two features above is the question of who qualifies for these programs. Brazil’s one-off approach is the easiest to understand, as it pre-qualified most Haitians impacted by the 2010 earthquake (subject to some restrictions, which may have still been too onerous, given the circumstances).[87] The Argentine regulations go further in describing the events they contemplate responding to: sudden-onset disasters which lead to “losses of and impacts on people, structures, the economy, and/or the environment.”[88] Yet they stop short of specifying exactly which people within those disaster zones will qualify for entry, vesting a huge amount of discretion in the hands of future immigration authorities and border agents.
By contrast, the Colombian law would focus not on the nature of the climate impact, but on its effects on people “forced to move from their territory, abandoning their place of habitual residence, family and social nucleus, their economic activity and/or means of subsistence.”[89] This is a relatively inclusive definition, but figuring out who has met these criteria may still prove difficult in practice—another reason why subjecting the policy to democratic deliberation and refinement beforehand should prove useful. Policymakers in other countries will also surely be watching for how well this definition of “climate IDP” may translate to their locales.
- Provision of social services
Each of the policies studied here have offered or would offer some level of social support and integrative services to their beneficiaries, though to vastly differing degrees. The Haitians who came to Brazil often ended up in squalid conditions and, even with work permits, had little opportunity to advance.[90] One would hope that, if this approach becomes the basis for new law, its implementers will seek to remedy those past mistakes. Meanwhile, the purpose of the proposed Colombian law is to register and provide climate IDPs with housing, health services, and education.[91] Due to fiscal constraints, the Argentine program would not be as generous, but it would still allow entrants temporary access to housing, food, and health care, with assistance from outside organizations.[92] Though time will tell, Brazil’s missteps should put Argentina and other countries on alert for the risks of issuing large numbers of humanitarian visas without first establishing comprehensive social services, capable of meeting the needs of new arrivals.
- Exportability to other national contexts
Argentina’s approach is peculiar in its focus on 23 countries far away from its border. Even if that visa program is utilized successfully, then, it is unclear how translatable it will be to more typical situations involving contiguous land borders. Brazil’s approach also benefited people hundreds of miles away, but it was beset by a more fundamental challenge to its replicability: It relied on a legal lacuna in which was filled, not by legislation, but by bureaucrats improvising their way through a crisis. It is unlikely many countries will view this as an inspiring model, even where there is political will to offer humanitarian entry following major disasters. Finally, Colombia’s approach cannot be said to be exportable until it has actually been implemented domestically. But its efforts to carefully define its target population, provide them with social services, and remain flexible with respect to which climate impacts qualify for assistance show the most promise of the three, and so Colombia’s approach may readily be exported to many contexts in which climate migrants—whether IDPs, refugees, or visa recipients—need greater protections.
Conclusion
The policy mechanisms studied here are but three out of hundreds that might be employed to respond to climate displacement. No policy is perfect, however, and, as the case studies here demonstrate, there are always gaps in realization, some of which evidence greater underlying injustices in the global order. Yet by studying the “ABCs” of South American approaches to climate displacement, decisionmakers may be better equipped to understand the (dis)advantages of experimenting with various innovative responses to the phenomenon, on the continent and around the world.
References
[1] See, e.g., E. Tendayi Achiume, The Fatal Flaw in International Law for Migration, 56 Colum. J. Transnat’l L. 257 (2018).
[2] E. Tendayi Achiume, Report of the Special Rapporteur on contemporary forms of racism, racial discrimination, xenophobia and related intolerance: Ecological crisis, climate justice and racial justice, U.N. General Assembly (Oct. 25, 2022) at 3.
[3] See, e.g., Samuel Huckstep & Michael Clemens, An Omnibus Overview on Climate Change and Migration, Center for Global Development (May 9, 2023), available at https://www.cgdev.org/blog/omnibus-overview-climate-change-and-migration (“Omnibus Overview”). This paper uses the terms “climate-induced” and “climate-related” displacement interchangeably but recognizes that displacement is often multicausal.
[4] See Michael Gerrard, America is the worst polluter in the history of the world. We should let climate change refugees resettle here, Washington Post (June 25, 2015), https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/america-is-the-worst-polluter-in-the-history-of-the-world-we-should-let-climate-change-refugees-resettle-here/2015/06/25/28a55238-1a9c-11e5-ab92-c75ae6ab94b5_story.html.
[5] See Jane McAdam, Australia’s offer of climate migration to Tuvalu residents is groundbreaking – and could be a lifeline across the Pacific, The Conversation (Nov. 10, 2023), https://theconversation.com/australias-offer-of-climate-migration-to-tuvalu-residents-is-groundbreaking-and-could-be-a-lifeline-across-the-pacific-217514.
[6] See Carol Farbotko, Taukiei Kitara, Olivia Dun, & Christopher Evans, A climate justice perspective on international labour migration and climate change adaptation among Tuvaluan workers, 2 Oxford Open Climate Change (2022). Admittedly, achieving “justice” when homelands are rapidly disappearing is perhaps impossible.
[7] See generally Yumna Kamel, What Does the World’s First Bilateral Climate Mobility Treaty Mean for Tuvalu?, Earth Refuge (Nov. 15, 2023), https://earthrefuge.org/what-does-the-worlds-first-bilateral-climate-mobility-treaty-mean-for-tuvalu/.
[8] See, e.g., CLIMB Database, U.N. Network on Migration, https://migrationnetwork.un.org/climb-policy-database. One consistent shortcoming of these sorts of projects – and indeed of this paper – is that they do not grapple sufficiently with a concomitant phenomenon: The needs of those who stay following environmental devastation, either by choice or necessity. For an overview of this crucial topic, see Caroline Zickgraf, Theorizing (im)mobility in the face of environmental change, 21 Regional Environmental Change 126 (2021); Helen Adams, Why populations persist: mobility, place attachment and climate change, 37 Population and Environment 429 (2016).
[9] Carmen G. Gonzalez, Racial capitalism, climate justice, and climate displacement, 11 Oñati Socio-Legal Series 108, 125-27 (2020) (critiquing “migrant worker programs in the global North” as insufficient “means of fostering economic development and climate resilience in the global South”).
[10] Fifteen Latin American countries – including Argentina, Brazil, and Colombia – have adopted the Cartagena Declaration in their national legislation. David James Cantor, Environment, Mobility, and International Law: A New Approach in the Americas, 21 Chicago J. of Int’l L. 263, 291 n. 131 (2021). The Cartagena Declaration defines refugees as “persons who have fled their country because their lives, safety or freedom have been threatened by generalized violence, foreign aggression, internal conflicts, massive violation of human rights or other circumstances which have seriously disturbed public order.” Cartagena Declaration on Refugees § 3(3), Nov. 1984. It is thought that this inclusion of “circumstances which have seriously disturbed the public order” can or should encompass climate disasters. See Valentina Canepa & Daniela Gutierrez Escobedo, Can Regional Refugee Definitions Help Protect People Displaced by Climate Change in Latin America?, Refugees Int’l (Feb. 16, 2021), https://www.refugeesinternational.org/can-regional-refugee-definitions-help-protect-people-displaced-by-climate-change-in-latin-america/.
[11] See Ama Francis, Free Movement Agreements & Climate-Induced Migration: A Caribbean Case Study, Sabin Center for Climate Change Law (Sep. 2019), https://ssrn.com/abstract=3464594.
[12] Daria Mokhnacheva, Implementing the Commitments Related to Human Mobility in the Context of Disasters, Climate Change, and Environmental Degradation, Platform on Disaster Displacement (Apr. 2022) at 23. Per this count, Africa and the Arab States have similarly high numbers (301 instruments), followed by Asia and the Pacific (259 instruments), with North America and Europe trailing far behind (88 instruments).
[13] RESAMA – South American Network for Environmental Migrations, https://www.linkedin.com/company/resama/.
[14] See Lilian Yamamoto, Diego Andreola Serraglio, & Fernanda de Salles Cavedon-Capdeville, Human mobility in the context of climate change and disasters: a South American approach, 9 Int’l J. of Climate Change Strategies & Management 65, 66 (2017).
[15] MERCOSUR, or the Southern Common Market, is both an organization and a process – led by Argentina, Brazil, and others – that promotes “business and investment opportunities through the competitive integration of national economies into the international market.” MERCOSUR in brief, https://www.mercosur.int/en/about-mercosur/mercosur-in-brief/.
[16] See Yamamoto et al., supra, n. 13 at 67-68.
[17] Ibid. at 78.
[18] David James Cantor, Environment, Mobility, and International Law: A New Approach in the Americas, 21 Chicago J. of Int’l L. 263, 302-04 (2021).
[19] Diego Acosta Arcarazo & Luisa Feline Freier, Turning the immigration policy paradox upside down? Populist liberalism and discursive gaps in South America, 49 Int’l Migration Rev. 659, 659 (2015).
[20] Ibid. at 660-61.
[21] See E. Tendayi Achiume, Racial Borders, 110 The Georgetown L. J. (2022) (exploring the imperial inequities and racialized patterns of inclusion and exclusion which characterize all border systems in the neocolonial era).
[22] Jack Nicas, Natalie Alcoba, & Lucía Cholakian Herrera, Argentina Braces Itself for Its New ‘Anarcho-Capitalist’ President, N.Y. Times (Nov. 20, 2023), https://www.nytimes.com/2023/11/20/world/americas/javier-milei-argentina-trump.html.
[23] See ibid.
[24] See Luisa Rollenhagen, Should a notorious Buenos Aires slum become an official neighbourhood, The Guardian (Aug. 7, 2019), https://www.theguardian.com/cities/2019/aug/07/should-a-notorious-buenos-aires-slum-become-an-official-neighbourhood.
[25] See Leading countries of origin of immigrants in Argentina in 2020, statista, https://www.statista.com/statistics/1272907/leading-countries-origin-migrants-argentina/ (showing over one million immigrants from Paraguay and Bolivia in Argentina at the turn of the decade, dwarfing all other nationalities).
[26] See, e.g., Natalie Alcoba, ‘An everyday thing’: a fatal beating reveals Argentina’s racist bias, The Guardian (Feb. 21, 2023), https://www.theguardian.com/world/2023/feb/21/argentina-racism-fernando-baez-sosa-death; Uki Goñi, Time to challenge Argentina’s white European self-image, black history experts say, The Guardian (May 31, 2021), https://www.theguardian.com/world/2021/may/31/argentina-white-european-racism-history.
[27] See Jacob Sugarman, Argentina’s Chainsaw Massacre Election, The Nation (Nov. 21, 2023), https://www.thenation.com/article/world/argentina-president-election-javier-milei/.
[28] Acerca de la DNM, Ministerio del Interior / Migraciones, https://www.argentina.gob.ar/interior/migraciones/acerca-de-la-dnm.
[29] Policy Brief: Argentina: Leading Initiatives to Address Displacement in the Context of Disasters and Climate Change, Platform on Disaster Displacement (2022).
[30] Ibid.
[31] Ibid.
[32] See Nina Raj, Policy Experts Discuss Argentina’s Humanitarian Visa for Displaced Migrants, The Hoya (Nov. 10, 2022), https://thehoya.com/policy-experts-discuss-argentinas-humanitarian-visa-for-displaced-migrants/.
[33] See Omnibus Overview, supra, n. 3 at 279-80.
[34] See, e.g., Raj, supra, n. 31 (quoting Alte Solberg, head of the Platform on Disaster Displacement).
[35] Andrés Pérez Esquivel, Programa Especial de Visado Humanitario Ambiental, Global Compact on Refugees, https://globalcompactrefugees.org/good-practices/programa-especial-de-visado-humanitario-ambiental.
[36] Omnibus Overview, supra, n. 3 at 280.
[37] Pérez Esquivel, supra, n. 34.
[38] See ibid.
[39] Lindsey N. Kingston, Haitians Seeking Refuge in Brazil, 28 Peace R. 482, 483 (2016).
[40] Ibid.
[41] Ibid. at 484. Syrians were beneficiaries, in much smaller numbers, of a Brazilian program in 2013 modeled off of the Haitian experiment. See Liliana Lyra Jubilut, Camila Sombra Muiños de Andrade, & André de Lima Madureira, Humanitarian visas: building on Brazil’s experience, 53 Forced Migration Rev. 76, 76 (2016).
[42] Isabela Piacentini de Andrade, Brazil’s draft migration law, 49 Forced Migration Rev. 36, 36 (2015).
[43] Ibid. Recall, as with Argentina’s DNM, that Brazil’s immigration bureaucrats have the power to recognize “extraordinary” migrant categories to grant humanitarian visas. Cantor, supra, n. 17.
[44] Liliana Lyra Jubilut, Camila Sombra Muiños de Andrade, & André de Lima Madureira, Humanitarian visas: building on Brazil’s experience, 53 Forced Migration Rev. 76, 76 (2016).
[45] Ibid. at 77.
[46] Ibid. at 78. Note, however, that this was not a universal conclusion. Cantor, supra, n. 17 at 292 n. 134 (“Mexico, Panama, Ecuador, and Peru recognized some Haitians as refugees under the definitions provided by one or other of these international instruments for refugee protection, based on the rise of insecurity in Haiti resulting from the 2010 earthquake.”). And all of this creates a strong contrast with the United States which, rather than welcoming Haitians devastated by the earthquake, patrolled the Caribbean to prevent their entry. See Todd Miller, Wait-What Are US Border Patrol Agents Doing in the Dominican Republic?, The Nation (Nov. 19, 2013), https://www.thenation.com/article/wait-what-are-us-border-patrol-agents-doing-dominican-republic.
[47] Kingston, supra n. 38 at 484-85.
[48] Heloisa Harumi Miura, The Haitian Migration Flow to Brazil: Aftermath of the 2010 Earthquake, The State of Environmental Migration 149, 149-50 (2014).
[49] See Julia Craven, The Ugly History Behind Those Border Agents Chasing Haitian Migrants on Horseback, Slate (Sep. 25, 2021), https://slate.com/news-and-politics/2021/09/border-patrol-horseback-haitian-migrants-del-rio.html, accord Achiume, Racial Borders, supra, n 20; see also Angélica Cházaro, The End of Deportation, 68 UCLA L. REV. 1040, 108891 (2021) (detailing disproportionate deportations faced by Black migrants in the United States).
[50] Erika Pires Ramos, Liliana Lyra Jubilut, Fernanda de Salles Cavedon-Capdeville, & Carolina de Abreu Batista Claro, Environmental migration in Brazil: Current context and systemic challenges, 5 Migration, Environment and Climate Change: Policy Brief Series (2016) at 2.
[51] See, e.g., Jubilut et al., supra, n. 43 at 77.
[52] An earthquake is not strictly a climate-related disaster. But, as noted above, the Haitian earthquake raised concerns in the region about lack of preparation for other natural disasters, and the case remains relevant in such discussions today. Yamamoto et al., supra, n. 15.
[53] Ramos et al., supra, n. 49 at 4. However, Brazil’s National Policy on Climate Change does recognize the nexus between exposure to adverse climate events such as natural disasters and social vulnerabilities such as displacement. Ibid.
[54] Piacentini de Andrade, supra, n. 41 at 37. This law was drafted as part of an effort to bring Brazil’s immigration law forward from the dictatorship era when it was drafted. Miura, supra, n. 47 at 160-61.
[55] See Omnibus Overview, supra, n. 3 at 279.
[56] See Cedê Silva, Lula brings Brazil to global migration pact, The Brazilian Report (Jan. 8, 2023), https://brazilian.report/liveblog/2023/01/08/lula-back-migration-pact/
[57] See Naomi Larsson, The Unintended Tragedy of Colombia’s Peace Deal, HuffPost (July 30, 2018), https://www.huffpost.com/entry/colombia-rainforest-deforestation-lawsuit_n_5b58a5c3e4b0de86f492ab66 (reporting on increased deforestation since the 2016 peace treaty between the government and guerilla groups).
[58] Juliana Vélez-Echeverri & Camila Bustos, A Human Rights Approach to Climate-Induced Displacement: A Central American and Colombian Case Study, 31 Michigan State Int’l L. Rev. 404, 430 (2023).
[59] Ibid. at 431.
[60] Country Profile: Colombia, Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre (last accessed Nov. 23, 2023) https://www.internal-displacement.org/countries/colombia.
[61] Nearly Five Years into Colombia’s Historic Peace Agreement, Unprecedented Strides in Justice Marked Alongside Lingering Violence, Experts Tell Security Council, U.N. Meetings Coverage and Press Releases (July 13, 2021), https://www.un.org/press/en/2021/sc14579.doc.htm.
[62] Anastasia Moloney, Colombia’s climate migration draft law hailed as ‘life saver’, Context (May 17, 2023), https://www.context.news/climate-risks/colombias-climate-migration-draft-law-hailed-as-life-saver.
[63] See Jesús A. Rodríguez, What Colombia’s First Black VP Really Wants from the United States, Politico Mag. (Jan. 20, 2023), https://www.politico.com/news/magazine/2023/01/20/colombia-vp-marquez-00078617.
[64] See Manuel Rueda, Colombia veers to the right as President Petro’s allies lose by wide margins in regional elections, AP News (Oct. 30, 2023), https://apnews.com/article/colombia-regional-elections-leftist-president-6a236eb5b8aa604807c7f06ad85d237d.
[65] Rahul Balasundaram & Amali Tower, Colombia Moves Closer To Legally Recognizing Internal Climate Displacement, Climate Refugees (May 30, 2023), https://www.climate-refugees.org/spotlight/2023/5/30-colombia.
[66] See ibid.
[67] María Mónica Monsalves, Colombia considers first law on climate refugees in Latin America, El País (Apr. 7, 2023), https://english-elpais-com.cdn.ampproject.org/c/s/english.elpais.com/international/2023-04-07/colombia-considers-first-law-on-climate-refugees-in-latin-america.html.
[68] Habrá ley para atender a desplazados por la crisis climática, Alianza Verde (Nov. 25, 2022), https://www.alianzaverde.org.co/liderando-congreso/habra-ley-para-atender-a-desplazados-por-la-crisis-climatica.
[69] Monsalves, supra, n. 66.
[70] Vélez-Echeverri & Bustos, supra, n. 57 at 433.
[71] Caitlin Sturridge & Kerrie Holloway, Climate change, conflict and displacement: Five key misconceptions, Humanitarian Policy Group (Sep. 2022), https://cdn.odi.org/media/documents/USAID_climate_briefing_LdMTgFy.pdf at 10 (noting that “overwhelmingly, people displaced by conflict and climate change undertake predominantly short-distance movements, often from rural to urban settings within national borders”).
[72] Cantor, supra, n. 17.
[73] Gonzalez, supra, n. 8 at 124.
[74] Ibid.
[75] Text of Disposición 891/2022, Dirección Nacional De Migraciones (May 19, 2022), https://www.argentina.gob.ar/normativa/nacional/disposici%C3%B3n-891-2022-364999/texto.
[76] See supra, n. 9.
[77] See ibid.
[78] See supra, n. 45.
[79] See Alianza Verde, supra, n. 67.
[80] See Vélez-Echeverri & Bustos, supra, n. 57 at 430-33.
[81] Gonzalez, supra, n. 8 at 122.
[82] See Arcarazo & Luisa Feline Freier, supra, n. 18 at 659.
[83] See Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre, supra, n. 59.
[84] Query whether any such program can exist without economic integration (if not exploitation) as an unspoken goal.
[85] Text of Disposición 2641/2022, Dirección Nacional De Migraciones (Oct. 25, 2022), https://www.argentina.gob.ar/normativa/nacional/disposici%C3%B3n-2641-2022-373774/texto.
[86] Monsalves, supra, n. 66.
[87] See Jubilut et al., supra, n. 46.
[88] Dirección Nacional De Migraciones, supra, n. 83.
[89] Monsalves, supra, n. 66.
[90] Kingston, supra, n. 38 at 484-85.
[91] Balasundaram & Tower, supra, n. 64.
[92] Raj, supra, n. 31.
