The environmental movement runs on an annual calendar, a circuit of climate weeks and thematic forums each building toward the main event: the United Nations (UN) climate negotiations, or COPs, hosted each November in a regional rotation. At my first COP in 2023, I was overwhelmed by the scale. Dubai’s COP28 drew over 86,000 attendees, the largest in the negotiations’ history. But year after year, the crowd shrank into a familiar cast of faces, sitting on familiar panels and in familiar roundtable discussions. For the handful of us under the age of thirty granted access to these convenings, commonly referred to under the umbrella of “youth climate activists,” the numbers are even smaller. We see one another time and again when we are called in as voices of a future at stake — symbols for urgency in a multilateral process plagued by growing inertia.
Tori Tsui is a defining voice in this cohort. A Hong Kong-born, United Kingdom-based climate justice organizer, she is a senior advisor to the Fossil Fuel Treaty Initiative and a lead campaigner on the Stop Rosebank coalition. Her debut book, It’s Not Just You, reframes eco-anxiety not as a personal condition but a political one. Mohammed Usrof entered the climate circuit as a Palestinian youth negotiator two years ago. In 2025, he founded the Palestinian Institute for Climate Strategy in close collaboration with leading climate justice voices including Andreas Malm and Greta Thunberg. Together, Tsui and Usrof reflect the priorities of a new generation of so-called climate activists primed through justice-driven movements like Fridays for Future and the Sunrise Movement. Unlike the old guard, they advocate not just for climate action, but for resolute climate justice, refusing to separate planetary politics from the personal.
The United Nations climate negotiations began at the 1992 Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro, when world leaders pledged to ensure “a secure and hospitable home for present and future generations.” At COP30 last November, hosted in the Brazilian Amazon, that promise remained entirely unmet, the world still accelerating toward collapse despite three decades of annual negotiations. Recognizing its own insufficiency, the climate institution has begun turning to its new generation of leaders; over half of countries’ 2035 climate plans include commitments to direct partnership with youth, the result of the campaign for an NDC Youth Clause I co-organized last year. But after years of inaction and recurring silence on the Gazan genocide, which Tsui considers “a litmus test for climate justice,” many young leaders have already turned away.
In this conversation, Tsui and Usrof reckon with what remains. For young organizers failed by the institutional climate movement, is there anything worth saving? It seems the center of the negotiations may no longer be the COP but the flotilla — mobile, networked, and ever-multiplying, even as the institution recedes.
— Russell Reed for Guernica
Russell Reed: Mohammed, we first met as speakers at a fancy dinner for business leaders back at the 2024 United Nations climate negotiations in Baku, Azerbaijan. A year later at COP30 in Belém, Brazil, I noticed a shift in your navigation of the climate negotiations.
Mohammed Usrof: Over time, it became very clear to me where to draw the line. There are spaces that present themselves as a chance to bring different sides together, putting corporate representatives, banks, and fossil fuel executives in the same room as Indigenous people and climate activists. But I learned that we’re just there to be completely tokenized, that it was just a chance for corporate leaders to wash some of the blood off their hands.
This year, I declined those invitations. It was a complete rejection of any form of complicity. But I’m also someone who’s very strategic, and what’s the really strategic thing to do to create some form of change? For me, it is creating counter-institutions and building power that actually contradicts and resists the status quo.
Russell Reed: Tori, what is your history with the UN climate negotiations?
Tori Tsui: The first time I tried to attend the negotiations for COP25, I sailed across the Atlantic with an organization called Sail to the COP because we were lobbying against the aviation industry. At the last minute, it was relocated from Santiago to Madrid, so I missed it. The following year, I went to Glasgow for COP26 as part of an organization I helped found called United for Climate Action. Our aim was to help activists from Latin America and the Caribbean attend and navigate the negotiations, since much of civil society from that region is historically and currently excluded from these spaces.
Over the years, I became disillusioned. It almost feels like a circus sometimes. I decided not to attend COP27 in Sharm El-Sheikh just a month before; I couldn’t justify my role there. Every time I left a COP, I felt exasperated, depressed, and listless — disconcerted with how little I could actually get done in those spaces. So each year, it became a choice of divestment. In the end, I didn’t go to Sharm, I didn’t go to Dubai, I didn’t go to Baku, and I didn’t go to Belém. In many ways, I feel like the UN has lost its credibility.
Russell Reed: This is a common feeling among young organizers — the negotiations began before we were born, and yet they still haven’t stopped our descent toward climate collapse. Mohammed, given that the UN has also failed to meaningfully safeguard Palestinians from ongoing genocide, why did you choose to show up to COP30 at all?
Mohammed Usrof: The negotiations present a valuable power-building opportunity for the counter-institutions I mentioned before. Over two years into the genocide, Brazil remains complicit in trading oil with Israel. Through our exclusive research on energy mapping, we traced that complicity. So at COP30, we had the chance to work directly with the Brazilian trade unions, holding press conferences with trade union leaders and the International Trade Union Confederation. We worked in alignment with the Italian dock workers, who were protesting Italy’s parallel complicity at that same time. But it was essential to ensure that it wasn’t just a moment at COP, but part of a larger mobilization across the world, using this moment as a chance to build momentum for other moments.
Russell Reed: Tori, you have called the genocide in Gaza “a litmus test for climate justice.” More than two years after the genocide began, what does it tell us about the institutional climate movement?
Tori Tsui: We have to go beyond these two years. Long before October 7th, I started the Bad Activists Collective — part think tank, part coalition with the aim of strengthening the principles of climate justice. One of our pillars was a free Palestine. When we started posting about Angela Davis and her solidarity with Palestine, when we started posting about Sheikh Jarrah and the Israeli apartheid regime in general, claims of anti-Semitism were pretty much every comment, even from within the so-called Left and the so-called climate space. Even five years ago, all the same rhetoric was being spouted out, people telling us that Palestine “wasn’t a climate issue.”
After October 7th, a very clear subset of the climate movement mobilized and declared solidarity with Palestine. But others were extremely hostile toward it. I think it speaks volumes that some factions of the environmental movement see certain justice issues as negotiable. They don’t see it as a necessity to advocate for certain things until they absolutely must — which for me is quite cowardly. It goes against the basic principles of climate justice, and suggests that the idea of climate justice is very performative for a lot of people. It has gotten to the point where I almost hesitate to affiliate myself with the climate movement, because there are so many people in it whose views just don’t represent mine.
Generally speaking, I have found more solidarity in people who can see a humanitarian issue and don’t feel as though they have to justify that it’s also a climate issue. A humanitarian issue is also something that should be spoken about. So I have found myself organizing with fewer people in the climate space and more with people in the anti-war space, people who are fighting authoritarianism and fascism. Because I find that their politics tends to align more with mine.
Russell Reed: It is often implied that the climate crisis is a large enough challenge on its own — that engaging deeply in questions of human justice risks distracting us from the work. What do you make of this perceived separation between social justice and climate action?
Mohammed Usrof: It’s a divide-and-rule tactic — and it’s not the first of its kind. All social justice issues and all environmental issues are interconnected and inseparable. They come from the same root causes. But even within the climate movement, people seem to find it easier to imagine an end of the world than to imagine an end to capitalism. And it’s really catastrophic that we are unable to actually imagine a better world for us as people, as Tori and as Russell have said. COP is very much a defeatist space. You might say that people who go to COP are fighting the climate fight or whatever — but please, you’re fighting for commas within climate policy documents that really don’t matter.
Tori Tsui: I have met white liberal environmentalists in the UK who have seen Ukraine as an environmental issue but haven’t seen Palestine as an environmental issue. That boils down to systemic racism. There’s a lot of conscious and unconscious bias. And I also think that Israeli propaganda is working on them — that it’s “too complicated,” that there are always two sides — these sorts of narratives keep coming up. And it’s especially ironic because a lot of these people would have said they’ve become attuned to such intersectionality since the reckonings of Black Lives Matter. People think that humanity and justice are given. They’re not. You have to fight for them, no matter what generation you live in. Justice and peace do not prevail unless they’re constantly worked at, and unless people are held accountable.
Russell Reed: At COP29, Israel hosted one of the most prominent pavilions in the Blue Zone, with brightly lit displays touting a number of technological innovations. Above the exhibition was a big sign that read: “FROM DESERT TO OASIS.” It mirrored the precise narratives that underwrite the genocide, fictions of Palestine as an uninhabited desert ripe for Israeli development. The display exposed the uncomfortable truth that COPs are not a unifying front for climate action, but a forum for two competing visions for the future: one that necessitates sacrifice, and one that refuses it. The genocide has shown that these camps are irreconcilable, and the institution seems to be tearing at the seams as they diverge further. In this context, do you still consider yourself an activist?
Tori Tsui: I’ve always believed that activism is low-hanging fruit. Activism just means enacting social change, whatever that means to you. It doesn’t necessarily mean that you advocate for justice, or that you get to the radical roots of the issue. The word “radical” comes from the Latin radix, meaning root, so it’s a bit ironic when activists talk about being radical or disruptive. What are you actually tackling at the root?
The term “activist” has been co-opted in many ways. There was a trend of becoming an activist before the pandemic, and it was capitalized on. And then there’s the other side of it, which is: well if you’re not an activist, then what are you? I think “organizer” is a term that comes up quite a lot — actively organizing around a specific cause. Organizing feels more proactive than activism itself, which can sometimes feel a little bit backseat. I think a lot of people are climate activists, I just don’t think there are a lot of people who truly stand for and organize for climate justice.
Mohammed Usrof: I would personally go so far as to say that I don’t want to be labeled a climate activist. What the fuck is a climate activist? A lot of so-called climate activists ignore the root causes of the catastrophe. Climate change is a byproduct of larger systemic issues. If you are an activist, if you’re an organizer, if you want to resist, you resist the core issues. Just be a useful activist. As you said, the issue is that a lot of these activists are not intersectional. We see the kind of rise and fall of the climate movement with Greta [Thunberg] — the minute she stopped serving big philanthropy’s interests by standing for Palestine, she lost her platform.
I am not a climate activist. I’m a Palestinian activist who stands against genocide, against imperialism, against capitalism, and things have never been this clear to me. I can never go back to ignoring these tragedies or the connections between them. Climate activism, unfortunately, is seen as radical when done appropriately or when done right. And that whole equation needs to be flipped — we need to get our shit together, drop the labels, and just get the principles and values right.
Russell Reed: And that brings us to your organization, the Palestinian Institute for Climate Strategy. Tell us about this counter-institution, and why you founded it.
Mohammed Usrof: The Palestinian Institute for Climate Strategy is a Palestinian-led research, advocacy, and strategy institute dedicated to advancing ecological justice and climate accountability by centering Palestine within global climate politics and intersecting struggles against colonialism, militarism, imperialism, and extractive power structures. We believe that climate justice cannot be separated from decolonization and anti-militarism.
As Palestinians, we must contribute to building counter-institutions — to build durable bodies of knowledge that can actually make the struggle for climate justice and decolonization more effective, strategic, and simpler to pursue. In practice, that means developing research that reveals energy infrastructures as sites of political power. The recent gas deals between Israel and Egypt, the continued arrangements between Israel and Jordan — they reflect the entrenchment of capital, fossil capital specifically, and the co-dependency built through current energy systems. The same logic runs from the colonial Anglo-Iranian Company to BP, Chevron, and Shell today. We know clearly how that has manifested into the climate movement and the COP process itself, which was shaped by Saudi Arabia back in 1994.
We also focus on building capacity for youth engagement and empowerment in Palestine — PICS grew from the Palestinian Youth Climate Negotiation Program. We want to continue building Palestinian capacities as a way to build political leadership — because it is very, very rare to see a Palestinian leader who is not targeted constantly, who doesn’t receive death threats.
Russell Reed: While PICS has its roots in Palestine, it contributes to a range of efforts around the world. How does it embed within broader solidarity networks?
Mohammed Usrof: What is happening in Palestine is not just happening in Palestine. It has happened in Colombia, in South Africa, in Venezuela, in Nicaragua, in Fiji. Racial capitalism and colonialism are seen and felt by so many people — people who continue to suffer right now, at this very moment. So when you present the Palestinian experience in ways that relate to people across the world, it becomes undeniable. It is not only a form of solidarity to connect struggles, but it’s also a way of building power and a way of paving a path forward. We’re serving Palestinians, we’re serving the global movements, and we’re doing this work together.
Russell Reed: Tori, looking at your work opposing the fossil economy with initiatives like the Stop Rosebank campaign and the Fossil Fuel Nonproliferation Treaty, where does Palestine come in? How do these solidarity networks appear in your work?
Tori Tsui: The messaging around the Stop Rosebank campaign has changed drastically since the genocide. There is a lot of focus on Palestine now, and it provides a way to shed light on this issue — to show people that the climate movement is fighting for a free Palestine. And in the other direction, for the people who follow us from the climate movement, we show that you should advocate for Palestine as well because it’s all connected. I think it comes from a genuine place, but I do think that the fact that we have to spell it out in such a way is indicative of this division within the climate movement — of people who don’t quite understand how everything comes together. I have noticed the messaging change, and I think that’s for the better.
I’ll give you an example. I gave a talk at a WaterAid event, and I showed up wearing a free Palestine badge on my jacket. They asked me to take it off. I said I would, but of course I didn’t. And for me it’s like — okay, we’re WaterAid, we support people’s access to water all around the world, except Palestinians whose water is being siphoned off for Israeli homes. Make it make sense.
Russell Reed: By the old model, they seem to think it does. Philanthropists write specific checks to specific NGOs expecting very specific outcomes, which leaves little room for intersectionality.
Mohammed Usrof: The issue is this whole concept of NGO survival — the borders organizations place on themselves, the red lines they need to stay within. A lot of organizations don’t really follow their purpose. If they did, the world would be a much better place.
Tori Tsui: So much of the existence of NGOs is a symptom of a failed society. The state is not providing for its people and governments are not standing in solidarity with people who have been pillaged and exploited at the hands of colonialism. I feel like a lot of these organizations are redundant and just take up space and resources that should otherwise be directed to people on the ground. I think they’re money holes. And I think they provide a social license for some of the biggest polluters and some of the worst actors in the world to justify their existence — because if they give to charity, there’s a reason for them to exist.
Russell Reed: At the UN General Assembly, I spoke with an Arab philanthropic leader who noted that despite the major Western philanthropies’ total abdication of support for Palestinian relief, money has still made its way there. Not through the old channels, but through small donations in solidarity networks enabled by mutual aid and crowdfunding platforms. She suggested that this is not just a moral failure for philanthropy and NGOs — it’s a crisis of relevance. What are young people building in their place?
Mohammed Usrof: We are building strategic counter-institutions to ensure that the connection between Palestine and the broader climate struggle persists. We work directly with many of these organizations — we set the narrative on unjust transitions with Oxfam, we’ve consulted with groups like Amnesty International and the Climate Action Network. What we’re showing them is that we can be an NGO that works with states and donors, that promotes humanitarian work in Gaza, while also holding a very strict moral and political position that cannot be undermined by threats of financial withdrawal.
Russell Reed: Tori, you have been involved in many of the defining organizations of the youth climate movement. Through all the changes of these past few years, what lies on the horizon?
Tori Tsui: I’m seeing an energy of transformation. My own activism has kind of transformed. I feel like the climate space once held me, and though it held me for that time, sometimes you must let go. That’s not to say I don’t still do climate activism — it’s just my work has transformed. I believe that if you’re a campaigner or someone who is fighting for justice and liberation in any sense, you have to be adaptable and you have to go where your moral compass takes you. And right now that’s taking me to spaces that are trying to counter the rise of fascism, to talk about fossil capitalism, to talk about the impacts of the military industrial complex.
You might not brand it as climate as such, but it’s still part of it. And I’m seeing a lot of similar sentiments with my comrades — people who are transforming their activism and going into other spaces. Then there’s also the slightly sad side, which is people who are stepping away from politics altogether because it’s either too dangerous to talk about politics, or because they realize it’s not profitable — it was trendy and profitable then, and it isn’t now.
Russell Reed: It seems that as the traditional climate movement faces inertia, you are each working in new, justice-driven lanes that are growing quickly in numbers and influence. As the movement shifts toward new horizons, what will come of the old institutions — the NGOs, the negotiations? Is there anything worth saving?
Mohammed Usrof: If any old institution wants to assimilate into a culture of unity — into a collective, hopeful vision for the future that includes survival as the bare minimum — I don’t mind working with them. If there’s a way we can work together, we can. And if they work against us, or against the survival of the world, it is simply a call to resist against them once more. If they wish to pursue profit, pursue relevance, and ignore a genocide until three years later when it becomes trendy enough, those are red flags we won’t normalize. There’s no space for racism. There’s no space for Zionism.
Tori Tsui: These organizations are going to become irrelevant unless they transform. The world is rapidly changing. There’s a lot of red tape at the moment, there’s a lot of fear about politicization. But that’s how fascism wins, and the more we kowtow to it, the more difficult it will be to actually raise our voices.
It feels like this current form of the climate movement has come to an end. So we must adapt and create something new, or transform in its place. But in the face of more adversaries, you need to stand your ground. You do not water down your message. You do not placate. There are many times that I’ve adapted my messaging and my strategy to be better received in the current climate. And then I realized, wait, that’s exactly what they want you to do. They want you to water down what you’re asking for. They want you to lower your needs. They want you to suppress who you are in order to establish more of a power foothold over the current situation.
We are at a threshold — the old is going to be left behind. Something new has to take its place, and we are already building it.