All language subtitles for The Welcome Table

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Well, I want to see this beautiful city

Yes, I want to see that beautiful city

Well, I, I want to see that beautiful city

I'd like to see that beautiful city

One of these days, one of these days

And I, I want to sit at the welcome table

Yeah, I want to sit at the welcome table

Well, I want to sit at the welcome table

I want to sit at the welcome table

See that beautiful city one of these days

Oh, one of these days and I

I like to sing and never get tired

Well, I want to sing and never get tired

Yes, I want to sing and never get tired

I'd like to sing and never get tired

Sit at the welcome table

See that beautiful city one of these days

One of these days

People have always migrated.

Always looking for that
elusive home on the horizon.

What tells us we're welcome?

What tells us we're home?

We invite you to our table on the levee.

There's no tablecloth.

But each thread of our stories
weaves a tapestry.

The people at this table
crossed many rivers to get here.

People from every continent

who have been displaced
by climate change...

meeting here for the first time

to ask, where is home now?

Sit with us and hear our stories.

We begin with a family

whose paradise burned all around them.

Hello, I'm Allie.

My life was beautiful and blessed.
Our home was such a special place.

During the fire when we got gridlocked,

we were all stuck.

The firefighters were stuck up there, too.

And there's this song,
I think a Bee Gees song, on the radio.

There's propane tanks blowing up.

It's like...

Staying alive, staying alive

Ah, ah, ah

And then firefighters told us
to abandon our vehicles

and run to the nearest parking lot,

because the fire was coming.

Stayin' alive, stayin' alive

This is...

This was it.

Yeah, this used to be my JBL
PRX Dual 15 professional loudspeaker.

I do sound reinforcement DJ and stuff.

We hadn't had any official warning.

- There was no warning?
- No.

There was no public warning or anything.

You just heard explosions.

Just constant explosions.

Could hear the propane tanks
starting to blow up,

and that's when I knew that this fire
is within a mile of us.

We're at-- All gone.

Right over there
is where you could see the fire.

It was orange.

What did they say was the number?

Like, 800 football fields in a minute?

Eighty football fields a minute.

It's big. It's fast.

This right here
would have been our bedroom.

She was born right there.

The home was her first thing she knew.

And I just looked around
and I'm like, what do I grab?

Hmm.

And I had the baby, you know,
who's crying 'cause she's hungry.

And then I'm also trying to pack
for all of us at the same time.

The road we were trapped on is basically
just right through the trees here.

We got on the road and just instantly
got caught in gridlock.

I don't think we made it
two miles from our house.

I was sitting in the car,

and I was just thinking, like,
"This is not how I go.

"This is not how I go.
Just brought a baby into this world.

"This is not how we go.
I got all these kids with me.

This is not how we go."

Allie, Jason, and their family
were the lucky ones.

Eighty-five people died,

and everything in Paradise burned away.

In our new climate-changed planet,
it's hotter and drier than ever before.

A common wildfire
is now a climate inferno.

A glimpse of the apocalypse.

Burned-up and then liquefied baby bottles.

- Tires.
- Dashboards.

Formica counters, microwaves.

Liquid crystal display televisions.

- Satellite dishes.
- Sneakers.

Plastic containers
for organic baby arugula.

Cameras, clothes.

The only place that didn't burn

were parking lots.

You can return the shopping cart
to its little shopping cart pen.

But the supermarket isn't there anymore.

Eventually, a police officer
was getting everyone out of their vehicles

and said that we were now on foot.

So, everyone on the road
just took off running.

They had told us to go
to this parking lot.

This whole parking lot here
was full of evacuees, yeah.

At first, it was really, really scary.

With fire all around us,
there was nowhere to go.

It was just raining embers.

Later, they said, okay,
we have a path cleared.

If you have a car still, get in it.

Keep going. Don't veer off.
You'll risk everyone else. Just go.

Did you have a lot of smoke inhalation?

Oh, yeah, they didn't have masks.

My boys had this piece of cloth
that they each used

that later when I washed 'em,
they were so dirty, just black.

You'd see RVs everywhere,
or in people's yards everywhere.

They just...

You can tell they're set up for living.

The number I've been hearing
about displaced people

is something like 22,000.

These are modern-day refugees.

Climate refugees,
living just 30 miles down the road

in a van in Chico.

Is this the future?

The American dream
collapsing all around us.

From sea to shining sea,
there is no security.

Where will we be safe?

There is no geographical answer.

From coast to coast, fires, floods,
extreme weather of all kinds.

The fabric of
American stability has frayed,

the threads unraveling.

American cities being destroyed
faster than they can be rebuilt.

A heart that's

Filled up like a landfill

A job that slowly kills you

Bruises that won't heal

You look so tired, unhappy...

None of us would have ever suspected
that a fire like that

would come through
a neighborhood like this.

Picture perfect.

Kids playing in the yard.
It could happen to anybody.

It's a matter of when,
not if, at this point.

I'll take a quiet life

A handshake of carbon monoxide

And no alarms and no surprises

No alarms and no surprises

No alarms and no surprises

Silent

Silent

Yeah, so this was actually
the main part of the house.

Right.

Bathroom for the master bedroom.

This was our son's room.

Living, dining, eating area,
and then kitchen.

Most of it was Irma,
and then Maria took the rest.

We had glass doors here
and glass doors there.

So, once the roof went,
that really couldn't stay up.

Where did the roof go?

I'm not sure.

I even say today that it was months

before I realized I was homeless.

At the time, I remember thinking
that we were forgotten.

We're not a very wealthy community,
and people are living simply,

but then you get thrust into a situation
where it becomes poverty.

Oh, my God!

I don't know where I'm going next,
but we are climate refugees now.

Such a pretty house

And such a pretty garden

No alarms and no surprises

No alarms and no...

Nobody expected,
nobody had ever seen fires

like that in the suburbs.

It's not like there's a thousand available
houses in the neighborhood

for people to just go move into.

They have kids in schools, they have jobs.

It's not like anybody's got a plan.

Oh, I guess if my entire
neighborhood burns down,

where do we go next?

Silent

Silent

Let it go just like
the ones that came before

Stones rolling back into the ocean

Shake it off it was only just a cost

Money, money, money

Can't buy the ocean

Léo Farah, a famous firefighter in Brazil,

founded HUMUS,
a first response organization

that goes from one disaster to the next.

There are so many,
he can't respond fast enough.

Oh, man. Holy shit.

Oh, my God. So, these were houses here?

And Léo says,
this is one of the smaller ones.

In Rio de Janeiro, these landslides

have taken out thousands.

Rain bombs coming out of the sky.

The Earth's atmosphere
is five percent wetter

than the dawn of industrial times.

That's because warm air holds
more water vapor than cold.

The warm air from the warmed climate
can gather all of that vapor up,

and what goes up must come down.

There's no justice in any of this.

No way to say everything
happens for a reason.

But there is a strange
and mysterious thread

that connects us all.

In times of disaster,
you can see the frayed ends of it.

And if you respond to that disaster,
you can tug at that thread,

and you can pull at it
and see where it weaves us all.

Into every life, a little rain must fall.

You know the expression.

But our world was only built
for a certain amount of rain.

More than that, and everything
starts coming down.

The land slides.

I went to go pick up
Karina Lapenta, my translator.

Good morning.

We could barely make it
through to her neighborhood.

No one in this region was unaffected.

Karina is a high-strung, tatted punk
with a heart of gold.

We're gonna be friends for life.

So, you had water all the way inside here?

This apartment complex,
barely even finished,

was being waited for by other poor people

who these displaced people displaced.

It's stark, Orwellian, naked, isolating,

oppressive, like a prison.

A temporary shelter,
it has nothing of the vibrancy

of the favelas.

And into this bleak landscape

marches the blue-haired angel,

Gabriel.

A victim of the landslides himself,
he lost his apartment,

but he decided to pick himself up
and volunteer with the relief effort,

where he was immediately
recognized as a leader.

People need to tell you their yarn.
Spin their part of the thread.

Listening is helping,

including you listening now.

Gabriel was one of those expert listeners

who exuded compassion
and patience and love.

Because listening was helping him, too.

Often, in disaster,

there's a local organization
that just steps up.

In this case, Verdescola,
an after-school program for local kids.

Every town should have a Verdescola,

a place to teach and care
for the next generation.

Maria Antonia runs it.

She's kind of like your
favorite kindergarten teacher

of all time.

When the landslides occurred,
classes were stopped

and the place was turned
into an impromptu shelter

slash hospital slash aid station.

But Maria Antonia
is not just a thought leader

and a moral bastion of this town.

She was also a victim of the landslide.

I go with her to her house
for the very first time

after the landslide.

Oh, my God!

Sure!

Oh, man, this is insane.

It's really strong...

Go ahead.

Oh, wow.

She wanted the simplest
and smallest thing.

The little mosquito net for her cup of tea
that she drank every morning

- in her kitchen.
- Yes!

It had somehow survived.

The little things,

the little things that remind you
that you're a human being.

The little things that tell you
this is where you live,

this is who you are.

Looks like a crime scene.

So, this is normally where the children

would be sleeping and hanging out.

The next day, Karina and I went
and toured a favela to see the damage.

And then that thread began to pull.

That weird moment where you know
something is about to occur

that there's no way you could
have possibly planned for

or anticipated.

A family passes right behind.

Two people and a child.

They lean over and say, "Hey,

"you know, if you're doing videotaping
of the landslides,

the view is much better
from up at the top."

It was a welcome.

Hello.

And so we followed it.

The steps are probably ten stories.

They told me they felt the house tremble

and got out just before
it slid down the hill.

Our host introduces themselves as Jessica.

...because of the kids.

Jessica tells us of the bias
they suffered as a child.

Somehow, Jessica's family
had been left behind

with no help, but Karina knew
how to show up and listen.

We have a choice at the moment of disaster

to connect or not.

We immediately run down to Léo
to find help for Jessica.

And to our shock and dismay,

Léo turned to us and screamed.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?

"Don't you know that if you walk up
into that territory,

"the drug cartels that run
that entire village

"could mistake you for police
and kill you instantly?

"You can't walk into one of
those neighborhoods with a camera.

You're lucky to be alive!"

But then Léo took a breath, calmed down,
and he said, "Look, I can help you."

"I know the interim councilwoman
in that neighborhood.

"Her name is Pauleteh,

"and you have to get
Pauleteh's cooperation

"to get back into that neighborhood.

You need her protection."

Now, I've met a lot of
city council people in my day.

So I was expecting a politician,
middle-aged bureaucrat.

Boy, was I wrong.

Hey, amigo!

As she walks down the street,
everybody waves.

Everybody loves her.

She's like a local celebrity.

Hey, amigo.

And then it happened.

Our queer dream team
of disaster mutual aid workers

showed up to the rescue.

You know the sun is in

Your eyes

And hurricanes and rains

And black and cloudy skies

You're running up and down that hill

You turn it on and off at will

There's nothing here to thrill

Or bring you down

And if you've got no other choice

You know you can follow my voice

Through the dark turns and noise

Of this wicked little town

Now that trust has been established,

Jeff can say he's a he,
and Jeff can tell us all of his concerns.

This is a community.

A community that has

not just needs for food,
water, and shelter,

but a need for people to understand.

These are some of
the toughest people on Earth.

Suffering the triple catastrophe
of climate change,

bigotry, and poverty.

These are the folks that know
how to be strong in a crisis.

Woo! Whoppa!

- Ow!
- Woo!

Take note, humanity.

The Queer Mutual Aid Task Force
has something to teach you.

And that weird, mysterious thread

is weaving something beautiful.

Mm.

Throughout South America
and Central America,

climate change has destabilized
every aspect of life.

The extremes of this new planet

exacerbating every social crisis.

Food insecurity, economic insecurity,

rural populations are
being forced into cities,

worsening gender-based violence

and making life difficult and dangerous

so much that people migrate,

not only internally
in their own countries,

but north,

towards the United States,

towards the wall.

Demagogues have always divided us

into who was welcomed and who was not.

And to do that,

they divide us into who is human
and who is not.

Animals. These are animals.

They're coming into our country.
They're not people.

These are animals. They're animals.

Take a look at the death and destruction

that's been caused by people
coming into this country.

The death and the destruction caused
by people that shouldn't be here.

USA! USA! USA!

Walls work.

We're going to have strong,
incredible borders.

Just so you know,
we're building the wall anyway.

Whether they like it or not.

And we'll get it done.

- Eh la ba!
- Eh la ba!

- Eh la ba!
- Eh la ba!

- Eh la ba, chèri!
- Eh la ba, chèri!

- Komon sa va?
- Komon sa va?

Eh la ba...

In 2019, the Trump
administration announced

a new policy for migrants

who were legally seeking asylum.

Families with young children
would be separated,

thrown into detention camps.

The policy was a clear
violation of international law

and considered to be child abuse.

Progressive members of Congress
went down to Texas

to check out the facility.

Media was not allowed inside.

What we saw today was unconscionable.

No child should ever be separated
from their parent.

These people are coming in
saying, fuck your rules,

we'll do what we want to,
and you are going to pay for it.

So, you don't think that children

are being abused
in these detention centers?

Absolutely not.

- Not at all?
- Not at all.

Imagine you've lost your home,

been forced to move,
travel across continents,

and then at the border,
your two sisters, aged four and 12,

are basically kidnapped.

Do you know where they are?

She's an 18-year-old
migrant from Colombia,

where climate change
has intensified violence.

Extreme floods pushing
migrants into cities

where gangs prey on them.

Climate and security are related,
compounding crises.

She came to the US border
to legally declare asylum.

And what happened?

Her two sisters were immediately
separated from her.

And she was dropped off
in Juárez, Mexico by CBP

to await her court date.

A city where thousands of women
have gone missing

or have been murdered.

When I ask her if CPB or ICE or INS or DHS

or any of the alphabet soup
of border agencies

have given her any way to find
where her sisters are,

she just says, no.

I mean, the postal service will give you
a tracking number for a package,

but for two young, vulnerable girls,

no information, no nothing.

They could be in El Paso,
or they could be New York,

or they could be in one of the hundreds
of other detainee facilities in America.

Nobody knows.

Declaring asylum is a human right.

No one is illegal.

And our rights are at the basis
of all of our dreams.

You might not know this,
but you have the right to move.

You have the human right
to go anywhere in this world,

anywhere within your own country
or anywhere abroad.

And you have the right
to return to your country,

to your home.

And if things are so bad in your country
that living there threatens your life,

you have the right to declare asylum.

Those are human rights laid down to us.

All of us.

In 1948, the Universal Declaration
of Human Rights

was adopted by the United Nations,

and a brand new kind
of human being was born.

A human being with rights.

This Universal Declaration of Human Rights

may well become
the international Magna Carta

of all men everywhere.

World War II, which had just ended,

was based on all the worst things

that make up humanity,

racism, militarization,
nationalism, empire.

A conflict so insane
that when it was all over,

when the smoke cleared
and the blood had soaked

into the soil,

the new world builders set out
to redefine what it meant to be human.

Rights needed to be set down and codified
so that violating them

was actually a crime against humanity.

All sorts of rights were set down.

The right not to be persecuted
for your race or religion,

the right not to be murdered
for your gender or ethnicity,

the right to self-determination,

the right to democracy,
the right to personhood,

to nationhood, and the right to move.

And just after, in 1951,

came a new definition of refugee.

There'd been so many people
who'd been forced to migrate

that the convention relating to the status
of refugees was held,

and it defined refugee as any person
who fears being persecuted

for reasons of race, religion,

nationality, social status, or politics.

And refugees can apply for asylum

anywhere in the world
simply by crossing a border.

But even though you have
the right to move,

you don't have the legal status
to declare asylum

because of the climate.

The definition of refugee
set down all those decades ago

doesn't include climate change.
It simply didn't exist then.

And so our legal framework
is breaking down

in the face of the climate
that's breaking down.

If the climate throws you across a border,

if it destroys your home,
in spite of your right to move,

you have no legal status,
and you cannot declare asylum.

And the walls all over the world
just keep going up.

I come today to share a truth with you

There resides a light inside of you

I see the eye between your brows, mm-hm...

Huh.

Imagine getting on
what's essentially a raft

with dozens of other people

and heading straight out
towards the middle of the sea.

The sea, so terrifying at night.

That blue, blue Mediterranean sea.

The EU is using
the Mediterranean like a wall.

And like the wall,
it's failed as a deterrent.

Nobody knows exactly
how many migrants have drowned

in the Mediterranean trying
to reach Europe from Africa.

It could be 40,000 people
in the last decade,

four or 5,000 a year.

But there's no records of ships.
There's no way to know.

Now imagine that you're floating

out there, vulnerable.

Thousands of miles from home.
No one knows where you are.

You see a boat,
and it starts shooting at you.

The Italian government gave
warships to Libya,

and they're calling it
the Libyan Coast Guard.

And they've been seen shooting
at rafts full of migrants from Africa,

deliberately trying to swamp their boats
and drown the people.

In spite of the heroic efforts

of non-profit organizations
like SOS MEDITERRANEE,

the governments of Europe are allowing
or encouraging the Mediterranean...

to become a mass grave for migrants.

Looking out at this vast Mediterranean Sea

with these Italian bodies,
sun-tanned, floating,

swimming through
the beautiful blue currents,

and up and down the beach,
young men from Pakistan

and Bangladesh,
climate-challenged countries

with huge amounts of migrants,
selling Italians blankets and trinkets,

sunscreen and sunglasses
and inflatable unicorn flotation devices.

Guys with, like,
a whole Walmart on their back

walking up and down the beach,
up and down the sand.

And just down the port,

SOS MEDITERRANEE ships coming in,

having rescued people
from the Mediterranean.

Francesco Creazzo,
spokesman for SOS MEDITERRANEE,

an organization that plucks
migrants out of the ocean.

One ship with rescued migrants
who narrowly escaped drowning

and just down the beach,
other ships full of vacationing tourists,

unworried and untroubled,
taking their disembarkation for granted.

The inequality, the racism,
the inhumanity, the injustice is so stark.

Different threads woven in prejudice.

Whose dream is this Europe?

All of these guys have stories to tell.

Chris Obehi left his home in Nigeria
to seek safer shores,

and he ended up on a small boat
across the Mediterranean.

Chris survived, ended up in Sicily,
and became a famous musician.

Mr. Oga

Yo, Mr. Oga

Chris fled Nigeria,

a country in the throes of unprecedented
climate-induced flooding.

Which has worsened the grip of Boko Haram,

an Islamist terrorist group

committing horrifying violence
across the country.

Hayya! Hayya! Hayya! Hayya!

Chris' music is shaking up
sleepy towns like Palermo.

And in the south of Italy,
there's not much

but sleepy towns.

I know, because I'm from one of them.

In case we haven't met, this is Josh Fox.

And for this part of the story,
I walk the streets

of the tiny Calabrian town
my family left so many years ago.

Now, it's like a ghost town.

The ivory tower that the Italians
and the Europeans are defending,

the reason they're drowning people
in the Mediterranean,

is to defend empty towns.

Towns that Italians left in droves
a hundred years ago.

My grandmother was born here in Calabria.

When she was two years old,
her family left for New York.

There was just no work for anybody.

Most Italians that you
might find in New York

or in America are from the south of Italy.

The place was so economically destitute

that its chief export
was actually its people.

And in the early 1900s,

there was a lot of backlash
against Italian migrants.

In fact, there were cartoons
in New York magazines and newspapers

depicting Italians as rats
with exaggerated mustaches,

brown faces, knives in their teeth,

hats that said, "socialism,
communism, anarchy."

Same racism, different century,
different race.

There were even cartoons
portraying the wall.

And now, in Southern Italy,
there's so many places that are empty.

So many places, that don't have people.

Empty houses, empty buildings,
buildings that are boarded up.

Places that could be used
by people are empty,

dilapidated, falling apart.

And yet, the migrants of today
are shut out in the same way

that Italians were a hundred years ago.

But there's one town in Southern Italy

run by a mayor with a different vision.

Mimmo. Mimmo Lucano.

A mayor of a tiny little town
in Calabria called Riace

that turned Italian
migration policy on its head.

The government was going to cancel funding

to this town's schools
because there weren't enough children.

Meanwhile, boats and migrants
arriving from Africa daily,

only to be arrested and thrown in jail.

Mimmo Lucano said,
"No, these people are a resource.

These people are our future."

So he brought people into his town
from across the world.

Refugees were welcome.

Buongiorno.

And he created an immigrant economy.

He found a way to integrate
people into life

in Southern Italy,
and he's shot into worldwide popularity.

"One of the top leaders in the world,"

said Forbes Magazine,

Mimmo Lucano took the fear of migrants
and turned it into love.

And what did the Italian government do

to celebrate this man's
genius rejuvenation of Riace?

They prosecuted Mimmo Lucano
on trumped-up charges.

They charged him with criminal conspiracy
to facilitate illegal immigration

and misappropriation of public property.

This world thought and policy leader

was facing 14 years in jail
when we first arrived.

I guess giving empty houses and jobs
to migrants was a step too far.

But everybody knew that Mimmo Lucano

was being prosecuted because
he was a symbol of a new Europe.

Somebody shot the door.

Mafia.

At age 65, a 14-year sentence
is basically life in prison.

Also, the Italian government
can criminalize

welcoming people
while normalizing letting children

drown off the coast.

But the gates are still open
and migrants are still given houses.

One of those migrants is Delphine
and her son, Prince.

Prince.

Delphine has no visa, no legal status.

She's in limbo.

While she waits for a work permit,

she's learning traditional
Calabrian weaving.

I think about
the Fates of Greek mythology.

They wove threads, they wove stories,
they wove tales.

Where were they all from?

The sea holds
a lot of our pain and trauma,

but the sea is also our joy.

And the boats arriving have kings
and queens and princes.

I think for those who survived,

there's a special triumph

in realizing the pure joy
of the Mediterranean.

A joy that should be felt by all.

And I've never seen
a mother and child laugh

as much as Delphine and Prince.

Dilegua, o notte

Tramontate, stelle

Tramontate, stelle

All'alba vincerò

Vincerò

Vincerò

So, how did we get here?

Is there any way out?
And how much worse will it get?

In 2015, in Paris, the world came together

and pledged to try to limit
global warming to 1.5 degrees.

"1.5 to stay alive" was the slogan.

That meant radically transforming
our energy systems from fossil fuels

to wind and sun, which I might add
is totally doable technically.

At that point in 2015,

the Earth had only warmed
by one degree Celsius,

and it was already wreaking havoc.

1.5 was decided to be
the absolute limit of a sane

and safe Earth.

Why?

Because scientists can see the future.

And the IPCC, the Intergovernmental Panel

on Climate Change,
which is made up of hundreds

of the best scientists in the world,

those scientists saw that every fraction
of a degree was dangerous.

Between 1 degree and 1.5,

every tiny excess fraction
of heat was closer

and closer to us all burning up.

They told us of their nightmares.

They told they saw destruction.

They told that they saw tipping points,

and they raced to tell the world.

Every fraction of a degree represents
a tipping point somewhere on Earth.

The point where ice tips to become water,

tips to become a flood.

A tree tips into fire,
a wind tips into torrent.

A rumble becomes a cataclysm,
a storm becomes a bomb.

A town is reduced to ash.

A landslide buries a whole neighborhood.

The tipping point, pinpointed
to a fraction of a degree,

1.1 degrees bad, 1.2 degrees worse,
1.3 degrees worst.

The tipping is where the roof flies off
as opposed to it staying put.

And every fraction of a degree

represents a tipping point
somewhere on this Earth.

A crop that fails, a building that falls,
a child that gets a disease,

a mind that snaps, a species gone extinct,

a suicide, a desperate murder in hunger,

a family that decides to move,
abandon their home,

a land grab, a war, a genocide.

Every fraction of a degree, they said,

that we can stop
or slow is worth trying for.

As the window towards
resilient adaptation closes,

every drop of oil or puff
of gas or lump of coal

that we don't have to burn
represents a life saved.

A town still standing,

a roof holding back the rain
somewhere on Earth.

And the IPCC said we had just 15 years
to cut emissions in half,

50% reduction by 2030 to stay at 1.5.

And what they saw
was 127 different impacts.

127 categories of despair,
127 different types of catastrophe,

127 categories of cataclysm.

Here's a small sample:

Rise in climate extremes,

irreversible impacts as natural
and human systems

are pushed beyond our ability...

Increase in the intensity of the climate

and weather extremes.
Heavy precipitation...

Hot extremes on land. Drought and...

Coral bleaching and mortality...

Irreversible losses in...

...especially bad for children.

Malnutrition. Mental health.

Economic and social...

Health services disrupted.
Intensifying in cities.

Trauma from weather
and extreme climate events.

Increased exposure to wildfire...

...economically and socially marginalized.

Adverse effects on gender
and social equality.

Interstate violent conflicts.

War. Economic stress
brought on by droughts

and floods and extreme weather crises...

Criminality. The collapse of governments.

Failed states.

Climate change makes armed conflict worse.

Weaponization of water.

Gender-based violence,

violence against women increases with...

Civilization's vulnerabilities get worse.

Food insecurity. More violence.

Disruption of services...

...authoritarianism.

Complex risks

from multiple climate hazards
occurring concurrently.

Multiple risks interacting,

compounding overall risk
and resulting in risks transmitted

through interconnected systems
and across regions.

And in all, approximately 3.3
to 3.6 billion people

currently living in contexts

that are highly vulnerable
to harm from climate change.

Somewhere between 1 degree
and 1.5 they said.

And if we go over 1.5,
all hell breaks loose.

Even though 200 nations pledged,
the pledges were not observed.

Emissions went through the roof.

We never burned this much this fast.

"1.5 to stay alive," the bad news is,
had been woefully conservative

in terms of its time-frame projection.

The nightmares were true,

but the time to sleep much shorter.

Scientists believed and projected then

that we would only breach
1.5 degrees by 2050.

But they were 25 years off.

Because in 2024, we breached
and smashed the 1.5-degree threshold

and brought the world
to 1.6 degrees Celsius.

And every year, emissions
are growing, not declining.

And even if we stopped
and started declining right now,

the projections indicate
we would still warm the Earth

by two degrees Celsius,

but we're most likely
on our way to three degrees.

But even a two-degree-warmed world
is an apocalyptic hell.

That's where we're headed.

We are the North Side

Oh, Skull and Bone Gang

We come to remind you

Before you die

You better get your

Your life together

Next time you see us it's too late to cry

There's a place we all come from,

the original home of all of humanity,

but now its rivers have run dry.

It doesn't support human life

because of a six-year
climate change-induced drought.

The Turkana of East Africa
are the original human beings.

150,000 years ago,

they spread out all over the globe.

Every one of us has our origin here.

The Turkana have lived the same way

as pastoralists for thousands of years.

This is humanity's past,

but it's also our collective future

because what's happening here
will happen to us all.

Twenty million people in this region

are suffering from food insecurity,

and this is perhaps the gravest
injustice of climate change,

is that the people who have done the least
to cause the problem

are suffering its worst impacts.

The economies of the Global South,

Africa, South America,
and the so-called developing world,

don't burn a lot of coal, oil, or gas
compared to the Global North,

which has been polluting the atmosphere

since the Industrial Revolution.

And the carbon dioxide emitted
since then is still up there.

It stays in the atmosphere for centuries.

The Global North has benefited enormously

from the development created
by burning fossil fuels.

And conversely, the Global South

is the least equipped to deal
with the total upheaval

that's coming from climate change.

So, should the Global North,

that caused the problem
in the first place,

be made to pay
for this planetary destruction?

I mean, you break it,
you pay for it, right?

That's the idea behind
the Loss and Damage Fund,

born at the 2009 COP Climate Summit.

Rich nations pledged to donate

$100 billion a year by 2020
to compensate for the damage and loss

to the developing world.

Sort of like climate change reparations.

However, the COP summit is non-binding,
exhausting, and incomplete.

And pledges were not honored.

And so, by 2016,

the rich nations
had only pledged to donate

about seven or eight billion
dollars a year.

A trivial amount compared to the trillions
of dollars of damage they've done.

Even 15 years later, at COP29,

although a Loss and Damage Fund
was addressed,

the pledges were still very low,
and they won't start until 2035,

once again, moving the goalposts.

Of course, a Loss and Damage Fund

won't unbreak the climate,

but it could start to address

this drastic global inequality.

Nothing today.

The most calamitous
effects of climate change

have been inflicted on those
who've had the least part

in creating this instability,
this global chaos.

For most of recorded human history,

the ruling political system
has been Empire.

Empires have ruled
the planet for centuries.

The British Empire, the Ottoman Empire,

the various Muslim caliphates,
the Romans, the Greeks,

the Mongols, the Chinese.

And those empires colonized, brutalized,

raped, pillaged, enslaved, extracted,

and stole everything they could,

everywhere they could, all over the world.

And people are nothing.

Normal people, we were
at the will of the empire.

And brutality and military strength
were the principles that ruled the Earth.

You know, everybody wants
to rule the world.

Centuries of colonialism

and two brutal world wars of Empire
killed hundreds of millions of people.

And in the wake of fascism's defeat...

...a new world system emerged.

The United Nations was born.

Throughout the '40s, '50s, and '60s,

former colonies threw off
the yoke of imperialism

and declared independence.

India, Jamaica, Caribbean, Africa,

independent nations,

now 195 in total.

The formality of Empire dissolved

and borders mutually
agreed upon or created.

A new system of nation-states was born.

Our current era of nation-states is young.

It's younger than blue jeans,

younger than cars, than planes.

It's younger than machine guns.

For all intents and purposes,

the system of nation-states
is a new creation on the planet.

But the empires never really
let go of their power.

They found a way around all
those countries' sovereignty

and independence,
and a new world of economic domination

and military hegemony emerged.

That's the period we're in now.

The Global North, the former empires,

the former colonizers are still very much
in control of the global system.

They still control the resources,

they still control the militaries.

The economic hegemony
and the military dominance

make sure that those borders

of those newly established
independent sovereign countries

are now basically enclosures,

walls of confinement.

Visas and passports,

border stops and tariffs
and checkpoints and border control.

That system of global economic domination
never disappeared.

And this new world is still defined
by radical economic inequality.

And inequality is the wall.

If you're in the Global North

or you've got money,
you can go anywhere you want.

Sit in that chair
while people bring you drinks

and arrive anywhere you feel like going.

Planes, trains,
and automobiles. It's so easy.

But in the Global South,

the former colonized world,

the borders of your nation
are your confines.

You're not free to move.
You're not free to travel.

Checkpoints are everywhere.
Everywhere has borders.

It is the colonial system
that has never left us,

which is the root cause of climate change.

And the forces of Empire

and their emissions don't stay behind
their own walls.

Borders and walls don't only exist

for our countries and our houses,

they exist inside of us.

But there's one place that I've been
where the houses didn't have walls.

The town was defined
only by the edge of the jungle.

Achuar territory in the Peruvian Amazon.

We're immediately welcomed by this family

just chilling out at the end of the day.

This guy's like an Amazonian Tony Danza

with his perfect hair
and his soccer jersey.

You feel like you could just float away.

I'm here with Ricardo
from Amazon Watch and Benjamin,

who's the tribe's media coordinator.

Instantly, their daughter runs up a tree.

It's welcoming. That's a real welcome.

It's the greatest
tasting fruit I've ever had.

Yeah, of course.

Can't say no.

You're gonna have some,
and it's going to mellow you out.

Even the Peruvian government.

That's very funny.

But even this tiny,
insanely remote corner of the Amazon

can't escape the crisis of the world
and like so many other paradises

is under attack.

'Cause there's something
that has no respect

for the sovereignty
of this borderless society

and threatens to displace the Achuar

from their thousands of years
in this forest.

Corporate capital, oil drilling.

Petroperú, the state oil company,

has a disastrous drilling
record in the Amazon.

Spills, leaks, illegal dumping,
decades of ruin, destruction, chemicals,

cancer, health problems, despoiled areas.

And Petroperú is seeking

the investment of the big banks
to drill in Achuar territory

against the will of the people.

Nelton Yankur,
the current Achuar president,

has fought off five oil companies
in his four-year tenure.

I can't imagine a worse
or more precarious place to drill for oil,

and yet it's been happening for decades.

The big banks are heavily
invested in oil and gas.

Chase, Citibank, Wells Fargo.

If your money's in one of those banks,

it doesn't just sit there
quietly in a vault somewhere.

As soon as you deposit it,
it starts flying all over the world

financing destructive projects
of the oil industry.

It's hard to believe
that your savings account

could go to create a pipeline
in the farthest reaches of the Amazon,

but that's this global system

where money travels faster than people
and rarely respects borders.

Oil companies don't respect borders.

Human rights violations
are part of their business model.

Oil from a broken
pipeline has been seeping up

through the ground for years...

...contaminating the water table.

That's all oil.

He has that thousand-yard stare
of the contaminated,

the brutality of neglect and poison
that threatens his family.

So, you become
a refugee in your own village.

You become a displaced person
on your own land.

Divorced from your faith in the planet.

That in itself is a kind of dispossession.

Oil is the breath of climate change.

Oil is the blood of the system
that divided the world

and set it on fire.

But there are other valid systems.

He shows us the Sangre de Grado trees.

Dragon's Blood.

The red blood of these trees
is a medicine the Achuar are cultivating.

Instantly, an army of ants

comes to defend the tree.

Symbiosis, partnership,
understanding, working together.

Benjamin says, let's go fishing,
but he has no poles and no nets.

Forty minutes.

Okay.

Suffering...

slightly.

There's a certain plant,
if it gets in the water, stuns the fish.

This plant gets the fish drunk.

In fishing, nothing beats local knowledge.

Ah! Look, there's one already.

Holy shit.

Oh, my God.

They follow the cloud
down the little river,

as each one of the fish that it encounters
gets stunned, confused,

and starts swimming in a funny way
that they can see it.

Sirincash. Oh, wow!

In the jungle, there's a flow,
a seamless, boundless exchange of life.

Nature is the ultimate welcome.

It welcomed our species.

Shit! That almost got the camera.

I mean, look at us. Look at us.

Look at him.

Look at us.

Isn't it our job
to show each other who we are

and to do that with a great deal
of pride and humility,

that we can welcome and share each other?

This planet is generous,

and we can mirror that generosity.

The oil industry wants
to build walls here,

walls of exploitation
and certain contamination.

But without the Amazon, we all perish.

We're all interconnected, all related.

The flow of life cannot be walled in.

I don't wanna do a thing

Without you

I know it's a dream I'll keep dreaming

So, just how much have the empires

and the first world nations
heated up this planet?

In just the last 50 years,
burning fossil fuels

has added the heat
of 25 billion atomic bombs

to the environment.

The risk is coming at us
so much faster than we thought.

Climate emergency is no longer

a projection into the future.

It's an emergency now. It's happening now.

A rainstorm is no longer a rainstorm.

It's a bomb with
a whole year's worth of rain

falling in one or two days.

Climate infernos where it's never been
that hot or that dry.

Huge sections of forests burning

across the world from the Amazon to Canada
and then the bombshell...

The IPCC now says
huge swaths of the planet Earth

will become uninhabitable.

By 2070, a third of all land
no longer habitable.

A person born today will have
33% less of the Earth

to live on by the time
they're 45 years old.

And so who's a climate refugee?
What is the definition?

A victim of a drought? Yes.

Fire? Yes.

Flood, landslide? Yes, yes.

But also the victim of the war,
a victim of the gang,

a victim of gender-based violence,

the victim of bias,
those pushed across borders

by these unimaginable stresses,

by all the structures crumbling at once.

The sky, the ground, the earth, the water.

The very fabric of life,

the threads that weave
the tapestry of our story

has frayed,

and the loose ends
are ripping in the wind.

That's who we are now,

a loose thread unknit
from the material of the world.

So, we're gonna need to get
really good at welcoming,

because with a third
of the planet uninhabitable,

three billion people will be on the move.

We will either be on the move ourselves

or tasked with welcoming those who are.

The farthest continent
from everything else

but not far away enough
to escape the climate.

Our last stop, Australia.

Some of the most extreme climate impacts
happen here.

Apocalyptic fires, biblical floods,

extreme heat.

It's also one of the most
brutally colonized places on Earth.

Delta Kay, a Bundjalung leader,
teaches Aboriginal history at Byron Bay.

Mm.

Wow.

The brutal British invaders
committed genocide against Delta's people

and hundreds of other Aboriginal tribes,

killing between one
and two million people.

They stole the land,
pillaged timber and minerals,

killed and enslaved
and abducted the people,

separating families.

Australia had lush and diverse rainforests

like the Amazon.

99% of it was cut down.

Cutting down the forest to make
the whole place look like

the English countryside
is like courting climate karma.

When the rains come,
there's no protection from floods.

And in 2022, one of
the oldest colonial towns,

Lismore, flooded away.

It was apocalyptic.

The entire town was sunk,

thousands were displaced,
many people killed.

To house all these refugees,
the Australian government

built what they call pod villages.

Pod houses for a pod civilization,
for a pod future.

This is your neighborhood?

It's almost like you landed
on the surface of the moon.

Uh-huh.

But here, our story of climate,
migration, colonialism,

and empire takes one more profound
and maddening turn.

Because not everyone exiled to pods
was a victim of flooding.

Some were victims of another kind.

The final stage of climate displacement,

climate gentrification.

The powerful colonial government
using the chaos of climate change

to seize land and dispossess
the politically disenfranchised.

Cabbage Tree Island,

one of the few special places
owned and stewarded

by the indigenous people for generations
with Bundjalung customs and language,

actually survived the floods
because their houses are built on stilts

and were above the flood line.

But residents like Auntie Faye
were forced to leave anyway.

Auntie Faye takes me
to her house for the first time

since she was forced into the pods.

Wow.

So, it didn't actually touch the house.

Can I go up there?

There's a lot of glass in here...

and a lot stuff ripped out.

Yeah.

Wow, it's really trashed.

What was the deal? Somebody vandalized

and took the electricity wires and stuff?

Wait a minute,
this reminds me of something,

something close to home.

Hangin' in the Tremé

Watchin' people sashay

Past my steps

By my porch

In front of my door...

Probably the first event in the history
of modern climate displacement

is the levee failure after
Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans,

and it's also probably
one of the first episodes

of climate gentrification.

In a blessed tone

Yeah

Down in the Tremé...

Using a storm to deliberately
displace people.

I'm John Boutté.

I no longer live in the Tremé
even though I wrote

the neighborhood's most famous song.

What's up, baby!

So, I live--

This is the street
I wrote the Tremé Song on.

They were stealing everybody's copper.

They were stealin' anything metal.

All the grates and stuff like that, man.
It was just ridiculous.

They kept us out for a long time
saying the neighborhoods weren't safe,

the houses weren't safe.

They didn't have water.

We had no electricity.

You know, they shut
everything down long enough

just to force people to not come back.

And now the Tremé is overrun
with developers and Airbnbs.

Airbnb, Airbnb, Airbnb.

This neighborhood was just
so packed with musicians, man.

You could just walk
from one corner to the other.

I lived around the corner here,
but, you know,

it displaced a lot of us
and a lot of us never made it back here.

The storm had passed.

It was the actions
after the storm that doomed us.

Right? Greedy people, right?

Opportunists, and people who didn't have

poor people in mind.

But we never flooded.

Down in the Tremé

Just me and my baby

We're all going crazy

Buck jumpin' and having fun...

So, the government told everybody
they couldn't go back to their homes

in Cabbage Tree Island,

and the whole community
was pushed off to a pod

just five kilometers to the north.

You could see Cabbage Tree Island
from where they were stuck.

I mean, you're like a refugee
for just a few kilometers.

Hold on to the world

As it spins around

Just don't let that spin

Get you down...

That same weird thread
laced through a disaster

in Brazil that's being woven
in a Calabrian loom

by a migrant from Cote d'Ivoire
is in the hands of Auntie Faye

at an Aboriginal healing
and weaving ceremony.

Keep your self-respect your human pride...

Instead of throwing up a wall
in somebody's face saying no, no,

doing this, saying, yeah,
come on, baby, come on, yes.

Yes, welcome, yes to a better life.

Yes to a more loving world.
Yes to justice.

Yes to self-determination
and no to the hatred.

Take it from me

Someday we'll all be free

Yeah

We'll all be free

We shall overcome

Yes

Take it from me

Someday we'll all be free...

We shall overcome...

Delta Kay shows me the plants
that the baskets are woven from.

She pulls a strand.
She weaves it together.

In between her fingertips,
a reed is converted into art.

Do you find it ironic that these people

who colonized this land
and basically stole it

are now preventing
other people from coming here?

We shall overcome

- Hmm?
- That's for sure.

Take it from me

Someday, we'll all be free

And it won't be very long...

So, you've just been
weaving that this whole time?

Yeah.

We shall overcome

Someday

Whoa

Deep in my heart

I do believe

That we shall all be free

And we shall overcome

Someday

In 2025, Donald Trump's administration

spent $11.4 billion on new border walls

and militarization of the border,
allocating $75 billion to ICE.

An unprecedented increase in funding

for his crusade against migrants.

Hundreds of thousands detained or deported

and 15,000 children separated
from their families.

And yet, truth is,
everyone at this table is a migrant.

Everyone in this picture
is also a migrant.

Everyone comes from somewhere else...

if you go back far enough.

You usually only have to go back

one or two generations.

That's serious German...

But who gets welcomed and who doesn't?

Stop! Stop, ma'am, stop.

Stop!

And ICE agents detained a mother
and her 16-year-old daughter.

They say the teen daughter was holding
a newborn baby in her arms,

and that girl's face
slammed into the ground

as she was taken into custody.

There's an age-old
relationship between fascism

and the dehumanization of immigrants.

The policies of Donald Trump

evokes in many who know history

the despotic playbook
of the likes of Hitler,

Mussolini, and the colonists

of empires of old.

Use racism and xenophobia
to divide people,

strip nations of sovereignty,
convince us that we are not all one,

and then seize power and resources
and destroy democracy

and build a wall,

tearing up the Universal Declaration
of Human Rights.

But what is so powerful

it can strip away compassion

and decency?

What has mobilized the forces
of hate once more?

What inflames brutality and violence,

separating families,
demonizing immigrants,

violating human rights,

grabbing legitimate asylum seekers
off the streets?

The forces of intolerance and hate
are building a climate apartheid

where only the rich live behind the walls,

protected by corporate militarized racism.

Our humanity cries out
that we do the opposite

because climate change is not the weather.

We sat and talked
for five days on a levee.

Aw!

I believe that no matter
how high they build the wall,

it will always come down.

That love is stronger than hate,

and sharing is stronger than hoarding

and a wall...

on its side...

can be a table.

I, I want to see that beautiful city

I, I want to see that beautiful city

I, I want to see that beautiful city

I, I want to see that beautiful city

I, I want to see that beautiful city

I, I want to see that beautiful city

I want to see that beautiful city

I want to see that beautiful city

- One of these days
- One of these days

- One of these days
- One of these days

I, I want to sit at the welcome table

I, I want to sit at the welcome table

I, I want to sit at the welcome table

I, I want to sit at the welcome table

I, I want to sit at the welcome table

I, I want to sit at the welcome table

Sit at the welcome table

Sit at the welcome table

See that beautiful city

See that beautiful city

- One of these days
- One of these days

- One of these days
- One of these days

I, I want to sing and never get tired

I, I want to sing and never get tired

I, I want to sing and never get tired

I, I want to sing and never get tired

Want to sing and never get tired

Want to sing and never get tired

Sit at the welcome table

Sit at the welcome table

See that beautiful city

See that beautiful city

- One of these days
- One of these days

- One of these days
- One of these days

- One of these days
- One of these days

- One of these days
- One of these days

- One of these days
- One of these days

One of these days

One of these days

One of these days

One!

Whoo!

Rich people living in paradise

Poor people under the bridge at night

Oh, yeah

Most people know what it takes to survive

My people

Know how to do it and thrive

Oh, yeah

My people we've been left behind before

Left behind before

My people devil's knocking on your door

On your door

My people sad so many had to go

Had to go

My people, we still here

And one day we gon'
all be in the same boat

Rich people still living high and dry

Poor people we watching the waters rise

We watching the waters rise

- Oh, yeah
- Oh, yeah

Most people don't even bat an eye

But my people
know that it's real this time

Oh, yeah

My people we've been left behind before

Behind before

My people, devil's knocking

On your door

Devil's knocking on your door

My people sad so many had to go

Had to go

My people, we still here

And one day we gon' all be
in the same boat

Said all be in the same boat

Yeah

My people we've been left behind before

Behind before

My people, devil's knocking

On your door

Devil's knocking on your door

My people sad so many had to go

Had to go

My people, we still here

And one day we gon' all be

In the same boat

My people

We've been left

Behind before

My people, devil's knocking

On your door now, baby

My people sad so many had to go

Had to go

My people, we still here

And one day we gon' all be
in the same boat

My people we've been left behind before

Behind before

My people, devil's knocking

On your door now, baby

My people, sad so many had to go

Had to go

My people, we still here

And one day we gon' all be
in the same boat