Two-thirds of the island of Walande (Solomon Islands) were swept away by king tides in 2009. Photo by Derick Loea.

A retired bishop explains how global warming is flooding his former diocese.

For 34 years, I have lived and ministered in the South Pacific, where all countries are affected in one way or another by global warming and rising sea levels. We are sometimes called the “liquid continent” and when the sea level rises, for many it becomes a crisis.

Much media attention has been focused on the small nation of Tuvalu, whose entire land area is virtually at sea level. Indeed, Tuvaluans expressed disbelief about a recent tsunami warning issued for them “to head for higher ground.” There is no higher ground. And the whole nation could not fit atop the country's only four-storey office building. With rising sea levels, storms, and “king tides,” frequently much of the country is under water already. Discussion is underway about virtually resettling the whole nation, perhaps the world's first global-warming refugees.

I write just after the United Nations Climate Change Conference in Copenhagen has taken place. The results are not very hopeful for the Pacific nations greatly affected by climate change. Along with the Minister of the Environment, three young women from the Solomon Islands attended the summit to represent the Solomons, taking with them a film on the effects of climate change here that was shown to the delegates. I have not yet seen this film, but hope it is shown widely.

Solomon Islands encompass many low-lying coral atolls—large, ring-shaped reefs—including the world's largest inhabited coral atoll, Lord Howe or Ontong Java. It is located northeast of Isabel and Malaita islands, a day's trip by ship from the nearest large island. The atoll has an overall area of 1,400 sq. kms. (including ocean), but the 122 small islands that make it up are only 12 sq. kms. in total. Lord Howe is a part of the diocese I looked after for 12 years and I visited it half a dozen times. Many times I spent the whole day inside the peaceful lagoon, with strings of islands in the distance on both sides of the Southern Cross. I would sail from the large village of Luaniua on the south to the smaller village of Pelau on the north, each a parish with its own parish priest. The atoll is entirely Anglican. Most of it is virtually at sea level.

The people of Lord Howe are Polynesians, closely related to the people of Nukamanu (or Tasman) islands located to the north on the Papua New Guinea side of the border. The atoll has a population of about 3,000, all living off the rich resources of the lagoon. The islands are famous for their fresh and sun-dried reef fish, clams, and swamp taro, a traditional root crop grown in pits that are hollowed out of the sand and coral and then filled with compost. The men have incredible diving skills and the women dry fish and make a heavy swamp taro pudding, kakake.

However, in my last two visits to Lord Howe, clearly something was wrong. Sea water was seeping into the swamp taro pits from below and, following storms and “king tides,” covering and flooding them from above. The sea salt killed the young taro shoots and in a few months the villages were without a major staple, requiring the emergency importation of rice to prevent people from starving.

After church one day, the parish committee and I talked about global warming and rising sea levels over breakfast, considering possible solutions. There has been talk of resettlement, and at one point Malaita province even tried to set aside land for resettlement from another low-lying atoll to the south, Sikaiana. But the Malaita land was disputed and nothing came of the plan. Papua New Guinea has set up a resettlement scheme for people on Polynesian atolls near Bougainville and there has been a little migration. But always the problem is the same—for hundreds of years Lord Howe people have been living off the sea and to shift to the land without a reef nearby will require a whole new way of life. Many would prefer risking the rising sea levels.

Interestingly, the solution the community felt most positive about was intermarriage with other island groups, permitting them to resettle without controversy on other islands. Yet with such resettlement there is the risk of losing language, culture, and an ancient and distinctive way of life.

There has also been some attempt at adaption—for example, introducing vegetable gardening on raised beds, but there really is not much good soil, as the atolls are almost entirely sand.

Because the lagoon is rich in bêche-de-mer (sea cucumber, for which Asians will pay dearly), clams, trochus (sea snails), and fish, my guess is that many people will decide to stay, even as the sea rises, coping however they can. But many others are leaving, moving to the Lord Howe Settlement in the capital Honiara (also at sea level, as is the whole central business district of Honiara) or other places around the Solomon Islands.

This is just one global warming story from the Solomons. There are also the artificial islands of Malaita and atolls of Temotu. On the small island of Fanelei in South Malaita, many times I have waded to church in sea water up to my calves at high tides. Salt water people that they are, people build their houses higher and higher or move to the mainland. But more and more, “king tides,” which often accompany a storm and high winds, destroy everything in their path. Rising sea levels are part of this new phenomenon. As land is jealously guarded in the Solomons, some people have no place to go.

I have just returned from spending Christmas in nearby Walande, where people, concerned about rising sea levels, have been moving to the mainland for the last 10 years. Early last year two-thirds of the island were finally swept away. The accompanying photo was taken soon after that disaster. But the new mainland settlement flourishes, as people are still near the sea upon which they so much depend.

Solomon Islanders are not without blame, as they too contribute to global warming. Logging continues at an unsustainable rate. Taxis, buses, trucks, and diesel generators spew out pollution. Clearing of mangrove forests goes ahead, although recent tsunamis have, I think, slowed down this destruction. The Solomons should be using solar and wind power rather than fossil fuels, but the equipment and installation costs are beyond most people's means.

Solomon Islanders are survivors. I believe that, despite the rising sea levels, many people will stay where they are and cope; many have no choice as they are unable to find land elsewhere, unless the government facilitates resettlement. Others will move to town, contributing to urban drift and social unrest. Rising sea levels are just one more problem for the many people who already struggle against rampant malaria, high infant and maternal mortality rates, inaccessible education, and the constant grind of poverty. However, the next generation may not be so accepting of the status quo. While they have not generally done so yet, rising sea levels may displace these other problems as some people's first concern. Land problems will be the inevitable result.

Where is the church on all this? The Anglican Church of Melanesia sends representatives to the Anglican Communion Environmental Network meetings. We have offered to host the next meeting of the Network in the Solomons so others can see how serious the problem is. I also think that if eventually the government does not act where resettlement is the only option, the church, with its commitment to holistic human development, will act instead. But the best solution would be a change in the world's energy consumption habits and a reverse of what is still, for now, reversible.