Youth activist Kimberly Silva describes her perspective and visions on the territories and spaces of climate COPs

On 28 November 2024, we conducted an interview with Kimberly Silva – a biologist, socio-environmental activist and member of Palmares Lab. This is an organisation of Northern and Northeastern Brazilian Youth “creating technologies for socio-environmental and climate justice”, which was part of the COP das Baixadas Coalition until April 2025. Since our first project workshop in Belém, Kim has acted as an important focal point to the project, helping us to follow the mobilisation of youth in Belém towards COP30.

Kim: I’ve set this time aside to speak with you, also because this bond we’ve built feels really important — in my life in general, actually. I was talking to Mateus about reawakening my interest in academic life, and about the potential partnerships between our organisation, the coalition (COP das Baixadas), and yourselves. So, you have my time and attention, because I truly believe in what we’ve built together.

To answer the question, I’m Kimberly. I have a degree in Biology, but during university I began working on a socio-environmental project. I joined a youth environmental collective: Youth Environmental Collective of Pará. It emerged from the first Environment Forum held in Brasília. Several collectives sprang up across Brazil, and this was the one in Pará. I had the opportunity to join in 2018, and we focused on environmental education. This collective also became a local hub for Engajamundo, which was where I first encountered the word “advocacy”.

Engajamundo started out focused on the Southeast, but then expanded rapidly in the North, especially in the Tapajós region, with the folks from ‘Alter do Chão’, as well as in Manaus, Belém, and several Northeastern cities. It was during this time that I met many people who, like me, were interested in transforming realities through public policy. At Engajamundo, we went through many training moments, but we also had the opportunity to enter high-level spaces, because that’s what Engajamundo was created for — to occupy those spaces, like the COPs. I believe they’ve been present since COP22 in Marrakech or maybe even earlier. Back then, young people weren’t really represented, and the youthful way of shifting structures wasn’t there yet. So, the idea was to advocate with more accessible language and to communicate complex topics like UN negotiations more effectively.

That’s when I really connected with this work. Later on, in 2022, when I was already with Palmares, we aimed to take a delegation with a Northern Brazilian identity to these spaces. Even though more young people were attending the COPs, they were still mostly from Southeast Brazil or from the Global North. We saw a strong presence from “Fridays for Future”, a movement that started and gained traction in Europe. We also saw greater access by people from other continents – Africa, Asia – but among Brazilians, the visible representatives were still mostly from the Southeast.

Now, to the question of how I decided I wanted to be at a COP. My local activism was always closely tied to large projects that threaten our region, along with the environmental racism and violence we live with daily. I’ve always been connected to energy related issues. Early on, I worked on a Greenpeace campaign against oil exploration at the mouth of the Amazon River. At the time, it was Total and BP trying to buy exploration blocks and drill there — that’s when the Amazon Reef was discovered. This issue re-emerged urgently during COP27, which was basically the “oil COP”, and we aimed to be present to pressure state and federal governments to reject oil exploration. From that COP onward, we’ve consistently focused on pushing for a just energy transition in these spaces.

I wasn’t able to attend COP27, but I did go to COP28, and had a more active role, as we were already deeply involved in several topics, including climate adaptation and climate finance. We entered those spaces more prepared because beyond our interests in the COPs, there were also external demands intersecting with our work. We discovered that the themes we’ve been working on for years — environmental education, environmental racism — are discussed at the UN as urban climate adaptation. And we realised: “Oh, so what we call this here, over there it’s called that.” What we frame as demand for funding, which never reaches us, is labelled “climate finance” in negotiations. So we realised we’ve already been working on these themes — they just aren’t framed the same way. Occupying these spaces and saying, “Look, we talk about this too,” is a way of turning on a switch for change in the territory. It says, “look, our territory is just as savvy as the negotiators at the COP.”

So it’s also a moment when we take all our discussions, our contributions, our work, and bring them into that space — to decentralise, to communicate, and to build strong connections that can feed back into our territories. It was a late realisation: the people who occupied those COP spaces were far better networked, had more access to funding, more contacts and opportunities than we did. People like me often didn’t access that space either out of stubbornness or a belief that it wasn’t relevant. So recently, we’ve been thinking a lot about the importance of being present in these spaces. They exist — whether we go or not, these events will happen and will reach us eventually.

It was at the COP in Egypt that Brazil expressed interest in hosting a COP, and Belém — where I live — was proposed as the host city. So, for us, COP30 began two years ago, when that announcement was made. Since then, aside from the flow of information we’ve been receiving, we also noticed money starting to come in — funding for major infrastructure projects, the state [of Pará] talking about climate, about the economy, about the protection of Indigenous peoples. It was quite a surreal moment, because we had just come from a scenario in which we had to fight to even get these topics on the radar of the Pará state government — and now they were speaking about them as if fully aligned with our strategic priorities. But in truth, they were engaging in greenwashing. We’ve been immersed in this for two years now, awaiting the event, which might turn out to be a one-of-a-kind moment — unlike any previous COPs hosted elsewhere.

And that’s roughly how I ended up in these spaces. It’s a mix of many things, which makes it hard to lay it all out chronologically. But it’s also clear to see that this space eventually opened up to me because I was already immersed in this atmosphere. That said, I also used to refuse to enter COP spaces — I didn’t believe my body belonged there. I thought I wouldn’t be able to be there, for many reasons: the language barrier, the financial barrier, the networking barrier — because while you’re aware of what goes on in these spaces, you truly don’t know until you get there. So I think that’s part of what makes up this path to COP29, for example.

Verónica: Speaking more personally about your experience at the COPs — how did you feel being there? You mentioned your body, the language… Could you say a bit more about that?

Kim: Yes, for my first COP, I received funding from an exchange programme run by Sciences Po in France. They take Brazilian participants for exchanges, although I didn’t do the exchange itself. I managed to go using leftover funds from the delegation they were supporting, because they were interested in building a partnership with Palmares. If not for them, I wouldn’t have gone, because it’s really difficult to secure resources for COP, or even to realise that you need to fundraise for it. Our partnership worked out, and they fully funded my trip. I think it’s really important to mention this — to name those who are making efforts to bring people like us into these spaces. Avina also sponsored two more people from our delegation. Saúde e Alegria, from the Tapajós region, supported another person. And Perifa Connection supported Vitória, their director. So it was a collective effort of various external funders that made it possible for us to attend our first COP as a proper, structured delegation.

I had an idea of what it would be like, but it turned out to be quite different. First, I imagined it would be a very rigid space, and that we’d be able to see the negotiations happening directly. I already knew it would be full-on — non-stop activity, tonnes of information. But when I arrived, what I found was more like a massive festival. My first COP was held at Expo City in Dubai — a vast, commercialised venue with branding everywhere. There was so much going on that I honestly couldn’t even locate the actual negotiation spaces. That really struck me, and people who had attended many COPs told me, “It wasn’t like this before — it’s become this way.” That was a major red flag for me — realising what this space had turned into. And to be honest, seeing it like that made me quite fearful about what COP30 might become, because this trend was already well underway. It made me really reflect on what I want to do in that space.

At that first COP, we were working directly on municipal and state-level issues. I’m not someone who goes to COP to follow negotiations closely — I felt my knowledge wasn’t strong enough for that, and the language barrier didn’t help. My English was very, very basic, so I relied heavily on more experienced colleagues. One internal group dynamic during that COP was crucial: we had Elenita Salles, a Palmares collaborator, with us. At that first COP, she helped structure our agenda and guide us so we wouldn’t get scattered. We had a full list of panels we were participating in, and we’d begin every morning by identifying the day’s key topics. Every day at 9 a.m., YOUNGO hosts a general briefing about what’s coming up — and she’d highlight the priorities for us. I believe these international youth movements are hugely important because they genuinely strive to level the playing field, preventing people from feeling lost. If we’re not organised, we don’t make the most of it. Talking about COP also means demystifying it — showing that it’s not as if you arrive, open a door, and instantly understand everything that’s happening. It’s not like that at all. The topics are very specific. It took me a long time to find my feet.

For five days, I ended up following the governor of Pará and the mayor of Belém. I was concerned with the political profile of my city and state — how they were presenting themselves on this international stage. I also got a real insight into how the governor operates, for example, leaving a bioeconomy panel wearing a shirt with Marajoara patterns, then changing outfits to go sit down with Arab sheikhs to sell oil. That experience was surreal for me — I had to leave my city, the very place where the mayor and governor are supposed to govern, to travel to another country and finally see how these political processes actually unfold. I was focused on pushing local agendas, even in that highly international setting. We managed to submit a few documents and arrange some meetings. In particular, we were campaigning around climate adaptation for Caratateua Island. So, we made some progress with our campaign. These were key moments where we also made contact with advisory teams we likely wouldn’t have been able to reach locally.

These were important moments when we made many contacts with people from advisory teams, the kind of contacts we might not have managed to make here in the city itself. And the rest of the time, it was just walking – because it was such a huge space. I felt it was very well structured for dispersal. And there was that initial impact of getting to know a city outside my own country, and realising how it was also a Global South city, like mine. Like, comparing my city to other cities they call “first world”, super developed and rich. Anyway, I think that sums up a bit of what my first experience at COP was like.

Verónica: In your talk at the Brazil Pavilion, you spoke about territory. Could you share with us what territory means to you?

Kim: What is territory? That’s very complex. Actually, my Instagram handle, Kim do Norte (Kim from the North), came from a funny conversation I had with some friends when I was living in Jari. My old handle was “Marapaniense”, from Marapanim, my hometown. Then some friends said, “You should change your handle, you’re not from Marapanim anymore, now you’re from Jari, you’re ‘Jarilense’.” And I said, “No, I’m not, I’m still from Marapanim.” Then they said, “Maybe you’re just from the North, because you’re everywhere – you’re not just from Belém, or Marapanim, now you’re also from Amapá.” And I replied, “Alright then, I’ll go with Kim do Norte.” It was almost a joke, because the person I replaced in my role is a friend of mine whose handle is “Bruna Amazônia”. So Bruna Amazônia left, and Kim do Norte stepped in – two very territorial women.

And I think territory is exactly that – it’s the identification with the place you were born, where you walk; but it’s also broader, in the sense of the Amazon, the Northern region, the city itself.

There’s another concept that struck me deeply too: the idea of body-territory. Beyond the soil of the Amazon we walk on, identify with and belong to – when my body leaves, when I travel, it’s as if I take that with me somehow. Wherever I am, a part of the Amazon is there too. And at the same time, it affects me – when something affects the Amazon, it affects my body; and when something affects my body, it also affects the Amazon. So I think that has a lot to do with culture. It’s ancestral.

When we speak of traditional peoples – whether an Indigenous or Afro-descendant community – it’s very hard to separate our body from our roots. And I like to think of it that way. I think defining territory is hard, but finding your territory is easy.

At COP29, we were completely hooked on the Moana Pavilion (Polynesia), and there were people wearing all the ornaments, things we usually only see in Disney films. Because for me, things like the grass skirts, leaf crowns, blowing the conch – they feel very distant. I felt like I was watching a Disney film, really. But those were people bringing their territory with them – “look, this is our territory, we are this”.

We also met African princesses, all adorned, and my God – this is territory. So I think, what I was saying wasn’t very different from what other people I met were saying – people who embodied, in their very essence, what territory truly is.

Verónica: Kim, could you tell us a bit more about your territory – what is unique about it in the context of climate change?

Kim: I was writing a piece for an agency that also did some coverage with us at COP, and they asked me for a bit of this context too – not just to write a report about results, but to also share my personal vision.

I remember writing from the perspective of someone who comes from the city that is going to host the COP. But I also like to take a step back and remember that I was born in the countryside – in Marapanim. And when you grow up in the countryside, you have a completely different outlook than someone who grows up in a capital city, even though both are small cities within the Amazon.

Belém is a metropolis, but compared to other cities I’ve visited, it’s small. There’s the fact that people know each other, that you can really get to know the surroundings. And when you’re from the countryside, that becomes even more amplified.

So, I also grew up with a very strong connection to the land. My mother is from the countryside. My father’s family too. They all had deep knowledge of the land, and passed a lot of that down to us. Our whole generation grew up playing in the dirt, learning about the species, living… living very healthily.

When I moved to the city, I felt the shock that many people from the countryside experience – a more disconnected relationship with the land, more centred on “work”. I moved to study, so there was pressure there.

And then, how do we reconnect with this broader ecosystem? With the idea that people really are Amazônidas (from the Amazon)? Because I remember that in 2012 or 2013, people in Belém didn’t recognise themselves as Amazônidas. They didn’t realise that Belém, even though it’s a city, is still part of the Amazon. They thought they were in “the city”, and only when they left Belém and entered “the forest” did they consider that to be the Amazon.

I think art has really helped bridge that gap. It’s made people actually see the city as an Amazonian city. And I love to talk about that, because art has helped address the problems brought on by climate change, has brought it into people’s everyday reality, and has created spaces for dialogue.

So, what do I think is unique about my territory? I’d say the local culture – the culture of Pará specifically, and then the Amazonian culture more broadly. Each state has its own culture, but together they form the many Amazons. These Amazons are different, but at the same time, they’re very similar because of how people are, how they carry their roots, how they pass them on through generations.

I think that’s wild – because I didn’t see it clearly at first. It took meeting people from outside, from other ecosystems, and seeing how they look at us.

Once, I had a friend over at my house who wasn’t from the Amazon or from the North at all, and she said, “I think it’s amazing how you still preserve that Indigenous culture of bathing in the Igarapé (creek), bathing in the river.” And I asked, “But doesn’t everyone bathe in the river when they can?” And she said, “Yes, but here you have access and you still do it. The rivers are healthy.” That practice – bathing after lunch – is Indigenous. Sitting around in circles at night to tell ghost stories, stories of “visagens” (apparitions from the forest), this obsession with bathing all the time – all of it. These are heritages from our Indigenous and Afro-descendant peoples who settled here. Riverine communities survive through fishing, subsistence, traditional medicine. So when climate change affects our forest, it takes away our pharmacy. When it affects our species, it takes away our food supply.

And it’s wild to think, from this perspective, that climate change is the threat. Even before people started talking about “the climate”, the cause was agribusiness – and it still is! So I don’t like changing the terms. Because for years, agribusiness has been carving up the Amazon to plant soy, raise cattle. Back when it was unbearably hot in São Félix do Xingu, there were already more cows than people. It’s important to make this connection. Because when no one was talking about the climate, and no one believed it was really changing – until the extreme events started – it was still agribusiness that was behind what was happening.

In 2018, there was a crime known as the “Circle of Fire” in Altamira, São Félix do Xingu and another municipality – more than 19 fire outbreaks all at once, all around the same area, which was later parcelled out for cattle grazing. No one was talking about climate. We were talking about land crimes. About how large landholdings have been affecting women’s bodies, especially. About how they’ve been taking Indigenous land from Indigenous peoples. So to talk about territory, we also have to talk about the political context of this region. And our context is marked by the removal of our lands.

Verónica: How would you describe the territory of the COP? And what about that territory stood out to you the most, or had the greatest impact on you?

Kim: The COP territory is constructed, isn’t it? I don’t know. It’s quite complex. This COP territory is complex because it’s a mobile territory, right? It’s something that can be installed, that is created. And it’s created by multiple things. If I draw a parallel between Dubai and Baku, we could really feel how things had ‘cooled off’. So, even the climate influences how people behave there, what they’ll do. I say this because I keep thinking: in Belém, the COP will be a boiling pot. And we all know what happens in a boiling pot—things burn, things explode, right?

And I say it felt colder (in Baku) because I already arrved knowing several local activists, who said things like, “We want to fight for water, because it’s becoming scarce.” And I was shocked, asking, “What do you mean you want to?” For me, it’s always been like: my God, this happened, I need to fight right now. But I’ve never had a government so repressive. So I met people who couldn’t even speak about what they dream of defending, because of their government. That’s a very distant reality for me, because if water ran out here right now, everyone would leave their buildings. We’d grab whatever’s flammable and set it on fire until someone did something.

So the COP territory also depends on the territory where it’s installed, doesn’t it? In the United Arab Emirates, we had some serious issues with digital security—they accessed our phones, they knew who we were, what we were fighting for, what we posted, even what we wore. That really frightened us, and it echoed into Baku. But in Baku, they wouldn’t even let local people speak. I was very concerned because the green zone, which is supposed to be for the local population of Baku to attend, was completely inaccessible. They even made it a public holiday. Supposedly to help with the city’s traffic flow.

We’re already seeing that happen here in Belém. The school calendar for next year came out, and it shows holidays during the COP period. My husband said, “That’s so people won’t use public transport, to make it easier for those going to the COP venues.” And I replied, “Have you ever seen that work? It never works! If there’s a public holiday here because of an event, everyone goes out into the streets to see the event!” If you give people time off expecting them to stay at home, they’ll do the opposite—they’ll go out because it’s hot, it’s a chance to relax, drink beer, bathe in the river, enjoy themselves.If there’s a celebrity involved, they’ll go and try to find out who it is. Sometimes we don’t even know them, but we’ll still go and take pictures. That’s just… our vibe, right?

I’ve been thinking about this idea that COP30 is supposed to be “the COP of social participation.” But we’re not treating social participation as a mechanism for decision-making—only as a symbolic presence. People are participating just to participate. And while that space for participation has grown within the COP, the outcomes haven’t reflected what civil society has demanded.

We only really understand whether the COP30 territory mirrors the one in which it is installed when it actually happens, when we see whether it remains rigid and cold. I think it’ll be very different. To me, the COP territory is a mobile one. It relies on the territory where it lands. It is ethnically diverse, but it is influenced by its host. I think I only managed to get this perspective because I’ve attended two COPs so far. I met people from all over the world, and they also brought similar insights. For example, when they talked about COP in Egypt—it was meant to be the African COP, and it ended up being held in a resort, sponsored by Coca-Cola. We all know that was just an installation, right?

Now imagine if it had been installed in a territory that evoked ancestry, that was sacred, that inspired respect for people and the land—not just commodified. Would it have been different? Would we have a different COP, with different structures. These are the kinds of questions we should be asking ourselves.

Verónica: Why did you want to attend COP29?

Kim: I didn’t want to go. I said, “I’m not going anywhere, I’m exhausted.” I have a forum to organise here, and I don’t even know if we’ll manage to pull it off now at the beginning of the month. We’re also facing some internal financial struggles. But Vitória, my director, said, “You have to go, because next year you’ll be hosting this event in your home. You need to go and start telling people they’ll be welcomed, that we’ll be there, and whatever they need, we’ll help make it happen together.”

So we go back to that question of why, right? Why go to this space, why do this work? There’s this almost mantra-like thing here in the North: if you don’t go, someone else will go in your place. And they might do a lot of things that aren’t in line with what you wanted. So either you go and do what needs to be done—which is to be present in those spaces with our bodies and our narratives, and at least try to steer things in favour of what we’ve been building in our territory—or someone else goes, someone who isn’t aligned with that vision. And they’ll keep reinforcing our position of underfunding, of underrepresentation. At most, we’ll be given a chance to speak on a panel, and then we’ll go home with no real power to make connections in such a big event.

I think that’s what keeps me going back to that space—even with my criticisms and reservations. If it’s not continuous, if it’s not well planned, it gets lost. And then all the investment that other organisations have put into us—everything we’ve constantly tried to bring back into the territory—gets lost too. Because here, the people we work with locally expect us to be there, and expect us to come back with good things. That expectation also pushes us to keep showing up. Marcela even invited me to a roundtable that’s happening at NAEA, and I’ve been thinking a lot about that—these invitations are coming in, and we wanted this. We wanted to be able to sit down with people and say, “This is what happened.” Because it’s part of giving something back for the constant support we receive.

So I said, okay, I’m going to Baku. And I was really happy that I managed to do what I set out to do. In terms of the projects, the deliverables, but also in terms of building relationships. Being with the COP das Baixadas crew was very important, because I really wanted to be there and show myself as a host—not only to people from other countries, but also to people from Brazil who don’t know us. We positioned ourselves as an organisation open to partnerships, because we don’t receive as many opportunities here as people in the Southeast do. And putting that on the table helps others see how entrenched they are in a system—even if they want to break it, they can’t, because they haven’t expanded their perspectives.

Bringing up the importance of partnerships is key so we don’t repeat what happened at the Y20 and COP29. We’ve been having major discussions around how credentials will be distributed next year. We’ve spoken with organisations and the government about the need to create specific credentials for Indigenous peoples—which is already starting to happen through the Indigenous Caucus. But also, how can credentials be accessed by movements already organised here, who want to be in the space—not just the green zone? Even though we faced many difficulties at COP29, we gained a lot with the panel we had there.

There are also rebellious movements forming—there are going to be multiple COPs. In the COP das Baixadas, we understand how important it is to have a space to communicate what we’re doing. And other coalitions who didn’t manage to access that space still saw their photos there, saw their movement’s name present. That matters.

So that was my motivation to go. It wasn’t just personal. It came from a whole chain of people—from those in the territory who work on materials and attend meetings, to my own organisation believing in me as someone who has the strength to be there, somehow.

I want a future where social participation holds real decision-making power. That’s what I want. Because I believe that truly ensures that the major international political decisions translate into something tangible here at the local level — which we still haven’t achieved. There have been, I don’t know, 29 COPs? For me to see that what’s happening here, right next to me, is a product of those negotiations, you know? It feels like there’s a huge disconnect. These events happen constantly, and then people say, ‘Ah, so now here in Brazil we will behave in this way, because what was decided there means this amount of resources come here, that amount goes there.’ But what actually happens year after year is one environmental disaster after another. So, the future I want isn’t some utopian ideal where environmental disasters just stop happening. They will happen. And our cities aren’t prepared, there are no policies for loss and damage, no mitigation policies. And the policies we try to create aren’t listened to, they aren’t taken forward. And when they are, it’s only as window dressing, to be displayed but without any real power of decision. So, there’s a cycle broken somewhere. And I believe that break can only be fixed when they actually let us be there to make real decisions. At the same time, that might sound very utopian to those who follow the negotiations and think it’s easier to keep doing things the way they are, hoping it will have some effect on the ground. But it never has.

So, in one of these two cycles, or the one whoever created this system believes in, there’s something broken. I’ve moved away from the idea that I’m going to solve anything. I tell people, ‘We’re not going to solve anything because they aren’t letting us solve anything.’ So, we’ve been creating mechanisms to be as close to them as possible in terms of influence. But are they actually letting us influence? That’s the big question. When they talked — or rather didn’t really talk — about energy transition, they said, ‘Oh, there won’t be time. We’ll keep exploiting oil this year and see if anything changes next year.’ And it won’t. They say it openly; they expose that they’re not interested in transition. The country that survives on oil doesn’t want to stop depending on oil. On the contrary, they want to drill everywhere for more.

That’s something that really strikes me, and what I want for my future is that climate isn’t used as a cover to discuss geopolitical problems or exploitation, because that’s what’s happening. They exploit, deforest everything, leave a huge hole in the ground, it rains and destroys everything, and then they say, ‘Look at that, the rain destroyed everything.’ ‘No! You went there and dug it up, didn’t you?’ Braskem went and destroyed Maceió, and now they talk as if it’s a result of climate change. That’s not climate. And I think this has confused people who’ve only recently come into this agenda, bringing many basic questions. So, I think we also need to work more on educating these people, explaining this more openly.

Verónica: What is this future you want, what do you imagine?

Kim: The Amazon has been succumbing in many ways. The future I truly want is one of return. When we say the future is ancestral, for example, it’s like when Krenak talks about boys playing in the water as if they were returning to the past, as their ancestors did — as if they were longing for that return. It’s something like that. Recovering what was lost is very difficult, but not impossible.

I’m from the countryside, and I’ve seen swidden farming happening for years. Swidden comes from an Indigenous word, but it means clearing and burning a whole area because that’s where the crops will grow. You have to do it in a very specific way, a specific pattern, so that the burning is natural and healthy for planting. Without this burn, the crops won’t grow. I’ve seen this natural cycle happen. But also, when I travelled inland and came back, I saw vast fields burned out, and I knew those weren’t for planting. It was a time of transition, for example, travelling from Belém to Marapanim and seeing it happen. And when I came back from Marapanim to Belém, everything was green again, because the land recovers. That’s the future I like, that I want: recovery.

Recently, a video circulated about the number of dead fish in Alter do Chão. But when I saw that video, I told Mateus, ‘This is the water returning.’ Those fish aren’t dead because it’s getting drier; they’re dead because the water is coming back. How do I know this? Because I know the Amazon. I can look at recent photos of Alter and see it’s flooding again. I can see that the rain that fell this afternoon wasn’t a random downpour — it was the late November rain signalling the start of the Amazonian winter. I think that’s the future: connection with the past.

References

Krenak, Ailton. 2024. Ancestral Future. Polity Press.