As the United Nations COP30 climate summit unfolds in Belém, Brazil, the city has become a stage for both high-level negotiations and impassioned grassroots activism. On November 13, 2025, the banks of Guajará Bay were alive with the sights and sounds of a flotilla: scores of boats, canoes, and banners carried activists, Indigenous leaders, and environmentalists in a colorful, determined procession. Their mission? To make their voices heard outside the formal halls where world leaders debate the planet's future.
This year’s climate talks are different from those of the past. Instead of seeking a single, sweeping agreement, COP30 is focused on hammering out the nitty-gritty details required to fulfill promises made in previous years. But for many participants—especially those from historically marginalized communities—the stakes feel as high as ever. Their message is clear: climate action must center the needs and leadership of those who bear the brunt of the crisis, yet have the least resources to adapt.
“The Amazon for us is the space of life,” said Jhajayra Machoa, a member of Ecuador’s A’l Kofan First Nation and a participant in the Wisdom Keepers Delegation, as she helped paddle a canoe across the bay (Associated Press). For Machoa and her fellow activists, the gathering was about more than protest; it was a celebration of community, memory, and shared purpose. “We carry the feeling and emotions of everything lived in this place, and what we want is to remember. Remember where we are from and where we’re going and what we want.”
The joyous mood on the water stood in stark contrast to a tense episode just two nights earlier. On November 11, Indigenous protesters stormed the entrance to the COP30 venue, clashing with security guards and leaving two slightly injured. The protesters later said their actions were born of desperation: a bid to draw attention to the urgent need for forest protection and to ensure their voices reached both the Brazilian government and the United Nations.
“It was an attempt to get the attention of the government and the U.N. that are in this space,” explained Auricelia, a member of the Arapiun community in Pará, the Brazilian state hosting the summit (Reuters).
The security breach prompted immediate concern from top UN officials. Simon Stiell, executive secretary of the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change, publicly demanded that Brazilian authorities develop a swift plan to address security lapses, as well as other pressing issues at the conference—including soaring temperatures and flooding at the venue (Bloomberg). Stiell criticized security officers for failing to disperse protests inside a zone where such demonstrations are forbidden, underscoring the delicate balance between civil society engagement and the need for order at these high-profile events.
For many activists, however, the ability to protest and speak freely in Brazil is a welcome change after previous COPs were held in countries with restrictive approaches to civil society. “The evolution that needs to happen for the world to take action is not in the halls of the U.N. COP, but it’s in the streets and it is with our people,” said Jacob Johns, an Akimel O'Otham and Hopi member of the Wisdom Keepers Delegation (Associated Press).
Wednesday’s flotilla, escorted by two Brazilian navy vessels, brought together hundreds of people along the waterfront—Indigenous leaders, local residents, and COP delegates alike. Signs reading “Save the Amazon” and calls for land rights fluttered in the breeze as the boats glided across the bay. Carolina Pasquali, executive director of Greenpeace Brazil, summed up the moment for Reuters: “We are actually bringing climate negotiators and climate leaders to the heart of the forest to experience firsthand what it is to live here.”
Inside the conference venue—a repurposed airport—negotiators from nearly 200 countries pressed on with talks. The agenda is packed: climate finance, clean energy transition, and preparations for the worsening impacts of climate change, especially in developing nations. The issue of funding has become particularly fraught, with damages from extreme weather events on the rise and resources stretched thin. A COP-commissioned report released November 12 offered a glimmer of hope, stating that scaling yearly funding for climate action to $1.3 trillion by 2035 remains “entirely feasible” with the right mix of policies and reforms (Reuters). But, as the report warned, “Failure to achieve these goals would put the world in a dangerous place.”
Former U.S. Vice President Al Gore, a longtime climate advocate and Nobel Peace Prize laureate, delivered his annual presentation to the summit, rattling off a litany of recent disasters made worse by climate change. “How long are we going to stand by and keep turning the thermostat up so that these kinds of events get even worse?” Gore challenged the delegates (Reuters). His words echoed the mounting anxiety among many at the summit, especially as the United States was notably absent from this year’s talks—despite its historical role as the world’s largest emitter since the Industrial Revolution.
Meanwhile, several countries including Brazil, Canada, France, and Germany pledged to combat climate misinformation, vowing to promote evidence-based climate assessments. Many have looked to emulate the U.S. federal climate assessment process, though recent political shifts in the U.S. have cast doubt on its continued leadership in this area (Reuters).
For Indigenous communities, the urgency is deeply personal. Scientists warned in October that the Amazon rainforest could begin to die back and transform into a savanna as soon as 2030 if rapid deforestation continues, a timeline even shorter than previously feared. Margareth of the Maytapu community, speaking about the Lower Tapajós region, voiced frustration: “They (the Brazilian government) aren't the least bit concerned about the Lower Tapajós. They aren't concerned about our struggle. What they say is that we're against the government,” he said. “On the contrary: we're not against the government. We need the government with us. But it must be honest with everyone” (Reuters).
For many of those gathered in Belém, the symbolism of the canoe was never far from mind. Pooven Moodley of the Earthrise Collective described the climate crisis as a “canoe falling apart, it’s leaking, people are being pushed over, and ultimately we’re heading for a massive waterfall. So the question is, what do we do, because we’re in that reality,” he said. “We have to continue to defend the territories and the ecosystems that we can, but while we do that, we launch a new canoe” (Associated Press).
As COP30 continues, the world watches to see whether the voices on the water—and in the streets—will shape the decisions made inside the conference halls. The Amazon, and the planet, hang in the balance.
