silver linings — issue #61

A couple of weeks ago, I moved to Dunedin, New Zealand, or Aotearoa, as it is beloved in Māori, to pursue a Master’s degree in Geographic Information Systems. I had to transfer at the Auckland International Airport, where I went through a few rounds of biosecurity checks.

Before you enter Aotearoa, you have to declare any food, medicines, plants, animal or wooden products, soil or water, or outdoor equipment you have—yes, even your running shoes, if you have a habit of running near vegetated areas or in parks. This is a preventive measure to keep out any potential pests, diseases, and invasive species that could devastate Aotearoa’s natural environment.

(If you have nothing to declare, you can walk through the Express Lane, where an adorable trained beagle is prompted by an officer to trot over and sniff your luggages, just in case.)

It reminds me of Indigenous people all around the world who fiercely protect their own land. Aotearoa has even granted personhood to landmarks that are sacred to the Maori. Palestinians, who grew up with their own piece of nature, were devastated at the loss of their olive trees when Israeli settlers burned them all to the ground.

These are communities who clutch onto the surviving natural environments they have left, and treat them with care, respect, and reciprocity.

These days, this sense of responsibility seems quite rare, but not impossible to find. We have a glimpse of it here in our small island-state, in the groups who take charge to promote an environmentally-healthy lifestyle, and organise nature walks and beach cleanups to better appreciate the little pockets of nature we have remaining.

As the weather and climate gets wackier, it can be disheartening to see how little the needle has moved on a global scale—COP29 was an unashamed showcase of self-interest, and we hit a new high on emissions in 2023.

So it’s nice to witness and experience the communities around us who still cling onto the connection we have with nature, and refuse to detach.

Have a similar story to share? Let us know at pitch@kontinentalist.com.

Beach clean-ups are one way for corporates to do good, but are they really getting their hands dirty?

Carbon credits can be hard to understand. We break it down here.

Climate news can trigger emotions that drive people to act more sustainably, or the opposite, depress and demoralise us. But collective action requires both: awareness of our drastically changing climate, and hope that pushing for behavioural and policy change can make a difference. In this Kawan article, writer Zafirah Zein shares inspiring environmental stories from 2024.

The Yakhchal, meaning “ice pit” in Persian, is a conical ice house from Iran. These ancient structures are constructed out of a water- and heat-resistant mortar called “sarooj”, which is composed of sand, clay, egg whites, lime, goat hair, and ash. This engineering feat was mastered before 400 BCE, when people leveraged the low humidity of their arid desert climate to increase efficiency in evaporative cooling.

Three common types of Yakhchals exist in Iran depending on specific regions: the vaulted Yakhchals in north-eastern and central Iran, the underground Yakhchals in north-central and north-western Iran, and the roofless Yakhchals common in the city of Isfahan. These ice houses safekeep provisions such as food and water from the harsh climate. It also stores faloodeh, a traditional sweet and tart chilled dessert typically enjoyed in summertime.