When the Color of Oppression is Green
By Raudah Yunus
Jul/Aug 25
In recent years, the term “climate justice” has moved from the fringes of activism into mainstream discussions about the environment. But what exactly does it mean? Is it the same as environmental justice?
While the two are related, they are not identical. Environmental justice is a broader term, typically referring to the fair distribution of environmental benefits like access to clean air, water, and protection from pollution. It addresses the fact that marginalized communities often bear the brunt of environmental degradation. Climate justice, on the other hand, is more specific; it focuses on how the climate crisis impacts different communities in unequal ways. Climate justice recognizes that climate change is not just a scientific or environmental issue, but a political one tied to power and privilege.
Understanding climate justice is critical because the communities least responsible for climate change – often in the Global South – are also the ones most vulnerable to its consequences. Rising sea levels, extreme weather, droughts, and displacement disproportionately affect countries and people who contribute the least to global emissions. This is not coincidental; it reflects a deep-seated pattern of global inequality, much of which is rooted in colonial history. The same systems that enabled colonial exploitation, racial inequality, and economic marginalization now shape who suffers most in a warming world. Whether we are talking about extractive industries on Indigenous land or the disproportionate carbon footprints of wealthy nations, the climate crisis reveals and reinforces long-standing global inequities.
Green Colonialism Defined
One of the lesser-known but increasingly relevant notions within climate justice discourse is “green colonialism,” a term that may sound contradictory. After all, “green” often suggests something clean or sustainable. But green colonialism describes a troubling reality: the exploitation of Indigenous and colonized peoples using environmental and climate policies. It occurs when the pursuit of climate solutions replicates colonial power dynamics in resource extraction and land occupation in the name of sustainability.
Green colonialism can take many forms. Sometimes it appears as large-scale renewable energy projects built on Indigenous lands without consent. Other times, conservation laws are used to evict local communities under the guise of protecting nature. At its core, green colonialism continues the logic of traditional colonialism: taking land, imposing control, and prioritizing the needs of states or corporations at the expense of marginalized communities.
Historically, colonial powers justified their conquests by claiming they were bringing “civilization” or “development”. Today, green colonialism enacts a similar logic; only this time, the justification is ecological. For example, carbon offset projects may involve planting forests on land taken from Indigenous communities, supposedly to reduce emissions elsewhere. Or rich countries might invest in “clean” energy in the Global South, not for the benefit of local populations, but to meet their own climate goals. These endeavors often appear well-meaning, but they ignore local knowledge systems, land rights, and the actual needs of affected communities. In doing so, they replicate the same extractive dynamics that caused environmental destruction in the first place.
Green Colonialism in Palestine
Nowhere is the intersection of climate justice, colonialism, and politics more evident than in Palestine. For decades, Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza have endured systemic land dispossession, environmental degradation, and extractivism under the broader context of Israeli occupation. But what is less often discussed is how Israel uses trees, forests, and nature as tools to advance its apartheid agenda.
In the West Bank, one of the clearest examples is Israel’s use of environmental narratives to justify land grabs. Selected areas are designated as “nature reserves” or “green zones,” which might sound like an environmentally conscious designation. But the unstated goal is to make these areas inaccessible to Palestinians, preventing them from (re)building homes or cultivating their own land. Over time, the lands are used for expansion of illegal settlements, many of which consume disproportionately high levels of water and other resources.
The recent wildfire in Israel, which has been described as the largest in Israel’s history, is but a manifestation of green colonialism. Experts have linked this environmental disaster to decades of ecologically misguided afforestation. Since the early 20th century, Israel has engaged in mass tree-planting campaigns across historic Palestine, to “green the desert.” The newly planted trees are non-native species such as European pines and eucalyptus. These are invasive and highly flammable species that are poorly suited to the Mediterranean ecosystem. Their dense planting on land previously home to Palestinian villages – hundreds of which were demolished or Judaized – was not only environmentally questionable but politically motivated. According to Visualizing Palestine, over 800,000 Palestinian olive trees have been uprooted since 1967 and replaced by non-native trees that pose threat to the local wildlife and biodiversity.
In 2024, when a series of intense heat waves swept through the region, these flammable forests became tinderboxes. The resulting wildfires burned thousands of acres and forced mass evacuations. This highlights how the artificial imposition of “green” policies rooted in colonial logic can generate new forms of environmental vulnerability. What was marketed as reforestation (or afforestation, in some cases) turned out to be ecologically destructive providing a stark example of how green colonialism is both unjust and unsustainable.
Green Colonialism Around the World
Green colonialism affects communities outside of Palestine as well. In Australia, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples have long maintained a deep, spiritual relationship with their land. Yet government conservation policies have historically excluded them from managing these lands. In some cases, traditional practices like controlled burning or hunting were banned in national parks under the assumption that Indigenous methods were harmful to the environment. In recent years, some large-scale renewable energy projects in Australia sparked controversy for being built without the informed consent of Indigenous communities. Framed as progress toward a green economy, these projects often result in displacement and loss of access to ancestral lands.
In South Africa, the legacy of apartheid still shapes land ownership and environmental policy. Green colonialism has manifested through ecotourism and conservation in areas that exclude Black South Africans from land that was once theirs.
The promotion of a “pristine wilderness” often erases the fact that these areas were once inhabited, farmed, and maintained by local communities. Moreover, mining for so-called “green minerals” like lithium or cobalt often happens in poor, Black communities under exploitative conditions and with little benefit to them.
Similar patterns can be found in Kenya and Tanzania. There, Maasai communities have been evicted from their land in the name of conservation and safari tourism. In India, forest-dwelling Adivasi tribes have been displaced by carbon offset and tree-planting schemes. In Latin America, Indigenous resistance to hydroelectric dams and wind farms – projects backed by international climate funds – has been met with harsh repression.
A common thread ties these cases together: environmental goals are being pursued without respect for the rights, voices, and/or agency of local communities. In many cases, the climate crisis becomes an excuse to ignore historical injustices or even perpetuate new ones.
Why Climate Justice Concerns Us All
It is easy to think of green colonialism as something distant, something that happens in other countries or to other people. But the truth is climate justice directly or indirectly affects all of us. If climate solutions are built on inequality, they will never be sustainable. A just transition means not only switching to renewable energy or reducing carbon emissions; it also means dismantling the systems of oppression that caused the crisis to begin with.
So what can we do? First, we need to listen. The voices of Indigenous peoples, communities of color, and those most affected by climate change must be at the center of decision-making. Climate solutions imposed from above – whether by governments, corporations, or international institutions – often fail because they ignore extensive local knowledge and/or political realities.
Second, we need to question the narratives around “green” development. Not everything labeled sustainable is just. For instance, if an electric vehicle relies on cobalt mined by child labor in Congo, is it ethical or just environmentally friendly? Cobalt mining has significant negative impacts on environmental health and individual well-being. Near mines, toxic dumping contaminates water while high concentrations of cobalt in the soil harms nutrients that crops need for soil fertility.
If a solar farm displaces a rural community, is it really green? If millions of trees are planted to erase the history and culture of a population, is that truly conservation? If wind farms negatively impact animal life through collisions with turbines, habitat disruption, and/or noise pollution, is it environmentally friendly?
Third, we must support movements and policies that link climate action with social justice. That means pushing for land restoration initiatives, resisting exploitative development projects, and investing in community-led solutions. It means holding corporations and governments accountable not just for their emissions but for how their policies affect people on the ground, particularly communities with the least voice in policy debates.
People must recognize their own role. Whether we are students, professionals, activists, or simply concerned citizens, we all have a part to play in shaping a more just future. Fighting climate change is not just about carbon footprints or recycling; it’s about fighting for dignity, equity, and a livable world for everyone.
This topic is especially relevant for the global ummah. As a community deeply affected by war, displacement, pollution, and occupation – from Palestine to Sudan, from Kashmir to Yemen – Muslims should not view climate justice as a Western or external issue. The climate justice framework offers a powerful language to speak about liberation, sovereignty, and dignity, values deeply rooted in the Islamic tradition. This tradition gives us the tools to speak the global language of justice while advancing the causes that bind us together.
Rather than being passive recipients of “green aid” or targets of environmental criticism, Muslim communities must reclaim agency. It is time for Muslim scholars, thinkers, and youth to develop our own frameworks rooted in Islamic ethics, environmental stewardship (khilafah), and social justice that challenge both climate inaction and climate imperialism. We are not outsiders to this conversation. In many ways, we are at its heart.
Raudah M. Yunus is a researcher, writer and activist from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. She is currently pursuing a postdoctoral fellowship in the United States.
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