As Southeast Asia and the Pacific islands face the mounting pressures of climate change, the choices made in the coming months and years will reverberate for generations. In the heart of this struggle, communities from bustling metropolises like Jakarta and Bangkok to tiny Fijian villages such as Muani are wrestling with the consequences of rising temperatures, shifting energy landscapes, and the harsh realities of adaptation.
For Southeast Asian nations, the year 2025 marks a crucial pivot point. Countries in the region are currently rolling out their Nationally Determined Contribution (NDC) climate action plans, a centerpiece of the global push to meet the Paris Agreement’s goals. According to reporting from The Habibie Center, this is a make-or-break moment: will ASEAN leaders double down on fossil fuels, or will they seize the chance to accelerate the transition to renewable energy?
The global energy landscape has shifted dramatically in recent years. Since 2021, electricity generation from coal and gas has flatlined globally, while solar power has surged ahead. China’s manufacturing prowess in solar panels, wind turbines, electric vehicles, and batteries has made it the linchpin of the world’s green energy supply chain. Yet, despite the falling costs of solar and wind technology, Southeast Asia remains tethered to fossil fuels. In 2022, only 15.6 percent of ASEAN’s total primary energy supply came from renewables. Coal still accounted for 30.5 percent and natural gas 19.7 percent of the region’s energy mix as of 2023.
That’s not to say there hasn’t been progress. Solar power capacity in Southeast Asia jumped from 11 gigawatts in 2019 to 26 gigawatts in 2023, a remarkable leap. But baseline projections indicate coal and natural gas will continue to play substantial roles in the ASEAN energy mix until at least 2050, even as renewable technologies advance and investments grow. The region has also emerged as a major exporter of liquefied natural gas (LNG) and coal, with 2023 exports hitting 29 million tonnes of LNG equivalent and 146 million tonnes of coal equivalent. While ASEAN is expected to become a net natural gas importer by 2027, coal exports are forecast to continue through at least mid-century.
This balancing act—between the economic benefits of fossil fuel exports and the looming threat of environmental catastrophe—defines the region’s current predicament. The stakes couldn’t be higher. Cities like Jakarta and Bangkok frequently wake under a haze of pollution, and rural communities in the Mekong Delta witness the collapse of fisheries as droughts and floods ravage river ecosystems. Without decisive, systematic decarbonization, these events are projected to intensify in both frequency and severity.
Yet, there is cautious optimism. Sun and wind resources in Southeast Asia are abundant, and the cost of solar panels and wind turbines keeps dropping. ASEAN has set an ambitious goal: to raise renewables to 35 percent of installed power capacity by 2025, a 15 percent jump from the post-Paris baseline. Experts quoted by The Habibie Center argue that if governments stick to policies like competitive auctions, feed-in tariffs, and streamlined permitting, a wave of investment could follow. New financing models—such as blended finance that mixes development bank loans with private capital—are already making inroads. Indonesia and Vietnam, for example, are proceeding with Just Energy Transition Partnership packages, even as U.S. funding has diminished following the country’s withdrawal from key climate agreements.
But the energy transition isn’t just about technology or finance. It’s about people. Fossil fuel companies and their lenders face tough choices; retiring coal and gas assets early means giving up steady cash flows. Workers in these sectors need retraining and social support, while communities dependent on fossil fuel revenues must find new sources of livelihood. Regional cooperation could make a difference. By harmonizing regulations, sharing research on battery storage, and jointly procuring renewable infrastructure, ASEAN countries could cut costs and smooth the path toward a greener future. Operationalizing Article 6 of the Paris Agreement by establishing a regional carbon market could also unlock much-needed climate finance.
Meanwhile, in the Pacific, the impacts of climate change are not theoretical—they’re existential. The village of Muani in Fiji is a living testament to this reality. Over the past decade, as rising seas and flooding threatened their homes, villagers built seawalls, dug culverts, and trucked in sand and rock. But as 92-year-old chief Alivereti Taito told The Washington Post, "It will be tough. But I am worried about the village."
Fiji was among the first nations to relocate a community due to climate change, moving Vunidogoloa one mile uphill in 2014. Since then, more than 40 villages—including Muani—have been earmarked for potential relocation. However, Fiji’s government simply doesn’t have enough money to move them all. A trust fund established in 2019 holds just $3.5 million—barely enough for a single village move. The U.S. pledged $17.5 million to a loss and damage fund in 2023, but subsequent withdrawals from climate agreements and the rescinding of related funding have left Pacific island countries in a financial lurch.
Into this vacuum, China has stepped, hosting a summit in May 2025 for 11 Pacific island nations and promising 100 "small and beautiful" climate projects. Whether any of these will directly support village relocations remains to be seen, but the geopolitical implications are clear. As Wesley Morgan, a climate and Pacific researcher at the University of New South Wales, put it, "The Chinese are seizing the low-hanging fruit that the Trump administration has offered them."
Relocation efforts in Fiji have met with mixed success. Vunidogoloa’s 140 residents eventually moved after five years of government construction, but other villages like Vunisavisavi experienced incomplete relocations that left communities distressed and divided. In Nabavatu, 150 people were still living in tents as of late March 2025, four years after a cyclone-triggered landslide. The government has since begun building 37 houses at a cost of $2.6 million, but progress is slow and patience is thin. In Cogea, where 18 houses were destroyed by floods, a civil society group is building new homes with $1.2 million in funding from a German religious charity.
The emotional toll of relocation is profound. Fijians have deep spiritual ties to their land, often burying a child’s umbilical cord beneath a tree as a symbol of belonging. As chief Simione Botu recounted, "We were born there, we stayed there, everything was there. When we came to the new site there was nothing." For many elders, the move was "like taking them to a foreign land," said Sailosi Ramatu, who led the Vunidogoloa relocation.
Fiji’s government has responded by creating a relocation task force and, in 2023, a detailed standard operating procedure to guide future moves. But with international aid in flux and relocation costs mounting, many villages are left to fend for themselves. In Muani, villagers have allowed logging on their land to raise funds for a potential move, even as this leads to soil erosion and further environmental risks. As acting chief Dan Area put it, the community is waiting for government approval and funds, but fears that political changes could derail their plans.
One thing is certain: the region’s challenges are not going away. Sea levels in parts of Fiji have risen over 11 inches since 1990—three times the global average—while Southeast Asian cities and rural communities alike bear the brunt of climate-driven disasters. The choices made by leaders today—whether to embrace renewables, support vulnerable communities, and foster regional cooperation—will shape the fate of millions.
For the residents of Muani, Jakarta, Bangkok, and countless other places, the hope is that their leaders will choose a path that offers not just survival, but a chance to thrive in a changing world.