In February, Woodwell Climate Research Center’s new Climate Justice committee gathered for the very first time. Even through the screen, you could feel it—a buzz of anticipation, the spark of hope, as folks from across the organization came together to dream about the vision and goals ahead.
This was no ordinary meeting—it was the first step in what many hope will be a transformative journey for Woodwell Climate, guiding us toward a more just and equitable climate future. Like a handful of seeds taking root, this meeting was full of potential. Participants shared ideas and intentions that, with care and nurture, could grow into something powerful that reshapes the landscape of Woodwell Climate’s global impact.
Climate justice is indispensable to Woodwell’s work
Climate change is being felt around the world, but as its effects become more frequent and intense, the unequal impacts on different communities become more obvious. Some communities are disproportionately affected, while others benefit more from societal responses to climate change.
A salient example of this can be found in the aftermath of climate-related disasters like hurricanes or wildfires. Affluence of a community or country plays a role in shielding citizens from the worst effects of the disaster, and efforts to rebuild are often much swifter. Meanwhile, low income communities must often face forced displacement, material destruction, and cultural degradation.
This growing disparity underscores the need for research and solutions that acknowledge and work to rectify these inequities. Because climate change creates and exacerbates inequitable situations, addressing disparity must be a central consideration in both current climate research and long-term climate adaptation strategies.
Climate justice is an approach to addressing climate change that not only considers, but centers, disproportionate impacts. It integrates principles of social justice, human rights, and equity, emphasizing the interconnectedness of environmental issues with systems of oppression. By centering those most affected by climate injustice—who are also the least responsible for causing it—climate justice reframes the issue as not only scientific, technical, or financial but as a moral and justice concern. It requires us to consider not just where and how climate change is happening but also who is excluded or marginalized by the physical and social mechanisms of climate change and by any adaptation or mitigation efforts we pursue.
As an institution dedicated to using science to inform climate change policy, integrating climate justice enriches our work in five significant ways.
- First, by identifying who is disproportionately affected, our research and policy recommendations can be more targeted and effective in addressing vulnerabilities that might otherwise be overlooked.
- Second, demonstrating a commitment to equity in our work increases our credibility and broadens our support among diverse stakeholders, including members of historically marginalized communities.
- Third, understanding the social, cultural, and economic contexts in which climate impacts occur allows us to develop strategies that are not only scientifically sound but also socially relevant and adaptable.
- Fourth, policies shaped with an awareness of who is excluded or marginalized are more likely to succeed because they are grounded in the realities of those most affected.
- Lastly, by considering who is excluded or marginalized, we can address not only the symptoms but also the root causes of climate injustice, leading to more comprehensive and lasting solutions.
Nurturing a growing climate justice ecosystem
It’s essential to remember that this kind of transformative work is often slow, challenging, and asks for a commitment that stretches beyond the urgency of the moment. There’s no magic wand, no quick-fix—something we know deeply, sometimes frustratingly, from our scientific work. Real climate justice isn’t something you can cook up in isolation or rush through with a checklist. It’s born from the steady, patient work of weaving relationships, dismantling entrenched inequalities, and watering the seeds of small, consistent actions—nurtured across many hands and hearts over time, even when the growth feels almost imperceptible.
Think of it like the slow growth of trees that eventually give rise to forests—subtle, persistent, inevitable. The key is to stay rooted in purpose, grounded in the values that guide us, trusting that even the smallest efforts will accumulate into something deep, something strong, something lasting—like a mature old-growth forest, resilient through the cycles of time.
The work we’re doing as a committee is very much in its early, tender stages. It is dynamic and evolving, like the ‘pioneer stage’ of a forest’s life. Here, the groundwork is being lovingly (and with considerable effort) laid for what’s to come, like the lichens and mosses breaking down rock, slowly transforming barren ground into rich, life-giving soil. In these first steps, we are creating the conditions for future growth, for future flourishing.
As we move forward, the process becomes more complex—a kind of intermediate stage. Dandelions, grasses, the boldest and most audacious plants take root first, thanks to the quiet, persistent work of the mosses and lichens. The rest need a little more nurturing, a bit more care. Diversity begins to blossom—shrubs, small trees, and layers of life start to interweave, creating habitats for fungi, microbes, and animals. The community is expanding, deepening, finding its rhythm. Together as a committee we will expand our capacity to interweave more complex ideas and projects, allowing our work to deepen and evolve like a thriving ecosystem.
And then, like the forest maturing into its climax stage, we envision a time when the ecosystem is stable, resilient, and thriving—a rich blend of old, wise trees and vibrant new growth. A place where deep-rooted interconnectedness allows life to sustain itself, weathering disturbances with grace. As a Climate Justice Committee, we aim to create a space where renewal is constant, change is embraced, and growth is continuous—ever adaptive, ever committed to justice, and ever alive to the needs of all, as Woodwell Climate continues to work towards an equitable, healthy and sustainable world.
Pioneering climate justice work at Woodwell
Our first offering as a committee of mosses and lichens is to craft a set of actionable recommendations to help guide Woodwell Climate toward a future where our work is deeply rooted in the principles of climate justice, rich in diverse perspectives, and resilient in the face of challenges. This is our way of fostering the right environment for the seeds of future work to grow into a thriving, enduring ecosystem of ideas and actions. Our pioneer stage isn’t growing from a completely “barren substrate” however. We’re rich in resources – our science, staff, and you, our supporters reading this!
While developing these recommendations will be inherently challenging, it’s critical that we get it right together. How we reach our goals is just as important as the goals themselves, and our collaborative process should reflect principles of justice, equity and mutual support. In other words, the process itself should be a model of the world we are trying to create.
Drawing inspiration from Team Science—a collaborative approach to scientific challenges—Adrienne Maree Brown’s Emergent Strategy, which highlights the importance of cultivating relationships, trust, and community-building in collaborative work, and Dean Spade’s Mutual Aid, which emphasizes equitable distribution of roles, responsibilities, and credit in a supportive environment, we have created a team charter, establishing the principles guiding how we will work together.
The team charter aligns members on the goals we are working toward and how members will approach the work together, providing clarity and focus. It creates a shared understanding of the team’s purpose and mission and fosters a sense of ownership and commitment that makes it easier to stay focused on long-term goals. By clearly defining roles and responsibilities, the charter reduces confusion and prevents overlap, ensuring that everyone’s contributions are recognized and understood. The guidelines for equitable participation, decision-making, and conflict resolution, set forth in the charter, help build a culture where all voices are heard and respected. Principles of flexibility and continued improvement are embedded into the charter as well, allowing the team to adapt as needed.
Our hope is that this foundational work, like the pioneer stages of a forest, sets the stage for a process of ongoing growth, adaptation, and transformation that will carry Woodwell’s climate justice work into the future. As our work progresses (starting now with developing those recommendations), we’ll move through the intermediate stages of ecological succession—where new members are integrated and experimentation thrives. We’ll learn from both successes and setbacks, like our scientists testing their ideas in the field. Ultimately, we’ll cultivate a mature, stable ecosystem, where deep-rooted relationships hold the committee together.
Yet even in this stage, just as in a primary forest, dynamic change continues. A gap in the canopy lets in light, sparking fresh growth and kickstarting another round of succession. We find ourselves asking: How might we spark deep and lasting change for a just climate future? The forest teaches us that the answers lie in cycles of renewal, in allowing space for the new while honoring the stability of what’s been built.
Ecological research seeks to describe the interactions between an environment and the species living there. But there’s one important species most ecological work overlooks—us.
Human society, our histories, our economies, our politics, has played just as much hand in shaping the ecology as the migration of animals or the shifting of continents has. The darker sides of human history—war, colonialism, racism—have had especially long-lasting effects. Yet ecological research seldom attempts to grapple with these forces. Ignoring the human element within the history of a landscape has led to research and conservation efforts that are at best, clumsy, and at worse, extractive and exploitative.
A recent paper, spearheaded by Yale Ph.D. student Gabriel Gadsden and Woodwell Climate postdoctoral researcher Dr. Nigel Golden, under the advisement of Yale University Professor, Dr. Nyeema Harris, has laid out a more interdisciplinary approach to conservation ecology, one that reckons with the negative histories affecting research sites and uses that knowledge to reduce bias within the scientific process. Failing to do so, the paper argues, perpetuates a societal “landscape of fear” — one that restricts the potential benefits of science for both wildlife and human communities.
Fear moves like a predator
In ecology, the term “landscape of fear” is used to describe animal behaviors as a product of perceived risk or fear, specifically of predation. For example, if you are an elephant, Dr. Golden suggests, one of the largest animals moving through the physical landscape, you have few predators; your risk of being hunted is low. The amount of time you can spend searching for food isn’t limited by fear. But if you are one of the Arctic ground squirrels that Dr. Golden conducted his graduate research on, everything from grizzly bears to golden eagles to foxes and weasels, is hunting you. The elephant’s behavior is constrained by access to food and water and other resources, but the ground squirrel’s behaviors are likely more motivated by fear. Animals perceive threats within a landscape and react accordingly.
But, as Gadsden points out, “Fear is an emotion that humans deal with, too.”
Fear moves like a predator on human landscapes, creating perceptions of places and people that may be incomplete or flat out inaccurate. When science is constrained by these perceptions, everything from the methods used, to the research questions being asked, is tainted with bias.
“If you fear a landscape, then you probably aren’t going to go there to do your research,” Gadsden explains. “If you have this dominant idea about people that maybe isn’t true, you’re not going to seek collaborations with them. Or maybe you will do research in that area, but it won’t be community-led and community-oriented. All of the unspoken restrictions that fear induces has implications on research outside of the significance of a result.”
Like a predator, these fears often target the most vulnerable groups. In urban environments, unequal distribution of greenspace has resulted in less wealthy, often minority, neighborhoods suffering much higher risks of extreme heat and consequent health impacts. This disparity has its origins in racist housing and development policies like redlining—which limited financial services available to people deemed “hazardous to investment,” and reduced financial growth in their neighborhoods.
At a larger scale, these biases can be seen in the types of environments that are prioritized for conservation. There is a false notion that “pristine” wilderness holds more value than areas deemed degraded or developed, an idea that ignores the fact that many “pristine” wilderness spaces were shaped for centuries by Indigenous communities.
Do your research before you do your research
Acknowledging history, Gadsden and Dr. Golden say, is a critical first step in conducting science and conservation that doesn’t play into these unequal and unjust perceptions— causing more harm, even when the intention is to help.
In the case of the first U.S. National Parks, intended to protect the country’s natural landscapes from development, the removal of Indigenous peoples has left an indelible mark on the history and ecology of the region. Not understanding that Native communities had been maintaining healthy and productive forests using controlled fire, U.S. Forest Service policies harshly suppressed fires for over a century which altered the ecological composition of the forest and allowed dry fuel to build up. This, coupled with a climate growing hotter and drier, created the conditions for the intense and out-of-control wildfires seen today.
Examples like this are common in the field of conservation when researchers enter a new landscape without knowledge of the site’s histories.
“We know that our science is not just informed by the landscape or the species,” says Dr. Golden. “It’s also informed by the social and political context around it.”
So Gadsden and Dr. Golden recommend scientists begin their research by asking the right questions. “Okay, so this is your study site?” says Gadsden. “How did your study site come to be?”
Recognition of these histories could be as simple as a paragraph embedded in an article, or a land acknowledgement published alongside the research, but the paper outlines additional steps for researchers to take. Including local communities at the outset of a project, especially when developing conservation plans that will impact them, can further strip back biases and help scientists better understand local perspectives on the natural environment.
“One generally would not venture into the jungle without first building a relationship with a local guide,” the authors write in the paper, pointing out that it should be equally unadvisable to venture into a community without building connections with people who can guide you through it.
Building better science together
Their final recommendation involves collaboration across disciplines. The paper suggests that scientific research could benefit from “co-creating knowledge” with groups focused on sociological or environmental justice research to grapple with the ways societal and political forces have shaped ecology.
Dr. Golden has been applying these concepts to Woodwell Climate’s Polaris Project, which he coordinates. The project gives young scientists hands-on experience working in an Arctic environment.
“But it’s unethical for us to bring folks into Arctic science without having a clear understanding of the history of the Arctic and Arctic peoples, and how we’ve gotten to the problems that we are trying to solve today,” Dr. Golden explains. So the program is working on better understanding the history of their field site in Alaska. Polaris has partnered with the grassroots community leadership group Native Movement to conduct anti-colonial training for their participants.
“Knowing the history and context of the communities living in Alaska is one of the guidelines that we can use for co-creating knowledge with those communities,” says Dr. Golden.
These recommendations, Dr. Golden hopes, will provide a path forward for scientists looking to reduce bias in their research, and bring forward the voices of groups historically marginalized by biased science.
“If we focus on the most marginalized, we’re more likely to produce outcomes that are equitable for everyone,” Dr. Golden says.