| Analyst | Simi Garewal |

In a world teetering on the edge of climate catastrophe, the discourse surrounding environmental action is dominated by voices with access—access to platforms, access to education, and most crucially, access to resources. The poor, despite being on the frontlines of climate impact, are too often treated as mere bystanders in these global discussions.

Recent articles have painted a troubling picture, suggesting that the poor are largely unconcerned about the adverse effects of climate change. Yet such assertions, while perhaps grounded in selective data, offer a dangerously reductive understanding of both the capacity and concern of economically marginalized communities.

To suggest that poor people do not care about climate change because they lack understanding is to misread the reality of their lives. While it may be true that formal education is less accessible to the poor, equating this with an absence of environmental awareness is not only condescending but factually inaccurate.

Studies such as the one conducted by the University of Bristol clearly show that in many poorer countries, concern about air and water quality—direct indicators of environmental degradation—is significantly higher than in wealthier nations. These are not abstract anxieties about carbon footprints or distant polar ice caps; they are immediate, lived experiences of environmental decline.

The issue, then, is not one of concern but of participation. Structural barriers—economic, social, and institutional—impede the ability of the poor to engage in climate discourse. It’s not that the poor are unaware; it’s that they are unheard. The popular symbol of environmental virtue, like the reusable metal straw, is a luxury that assumes a level of disposable income and lifestyle stability that the poor simply do not have. For someone struggling to afford a meal, sustainability is not a shopping choice—it is a daily reality born of necessity, not ideology.

This misrepresentation is not just academically lazy—it is politically dangerous. It excludes those most affected by environmental collapse from the solutions being crafted to address it. Poor communities have rich insights into the ways climate change is altering landscapes, livelihoods, and lives. Their participation could provide vital ground-level data, stories, and strategies for resilience that no satellite image or climate model could capture. Ignoring these voices means ignoring the most intimate knowledge of the human cost of climate change.

Moreover, the assumption that academic qualifications are a prerequisite for effective participation in environmental activism is a fallacy that entrenches inequality. Lived experience, especially in the face of ecological disaster, is a form of knowledge in its own right. By sidelining the poor in climate discussions, society denies itself the strength of collective action. We lose not only perspectives but also potential allies in the fight against climate collapse.

It is time we reframe the climate narrative—not as a mission led by the privileged on behalf of the vulnerable, but as a shared struggle in which every voice, regardless of income or education, carries weight. Climate change is not just a scientific problem or a policy challenge; it is a deeply human crisis. And in this crisis, more is truly better. More voices, more hands, more hearts working together. To build a future that is sustainable, we must first ensure it is inclusive.