It is 26 January 1917 and a storm is slamming Start Bay and the Devon coast. High tides and strong winds pound the village of Hallsands, a fishing community of little more than 100 people located below the cliffs fronting the bay on the south coast of England. During the night, villagers evacuate their homes to ride out the storm in safety. Their return the following day bears witness to a scene of almost complete devastation. While the storm, combined with high tides, was particularly fierce, some accounts of the disaster suggest that it never should have happened and that poor coastal management was to blame. As the story goes, starting in the spring of 1897, material was dredged from Start Bay over four years for the purposes of construction work at the Plymouth naval dockyard. By 1902, the beach was noticeably eroded and over the next 15 years, storms began to damage the village, culminating in its near total destruction in 1917. Accounts of the experience of Hallsands tell the story of a village and its inhabitants whose culture and livelihoods were entwined with the sea and the coast, but who became vulnerable to disaster directly as a result of human interference and lack of understanding of natural coastal processes (Cooper, 2008).

I came across Hallsands village almost 100 years after these events during a visit to nearby Start Point Lighthouse. Looking back across the bay, my eyes were drawn to a collection of ruined structures perched along and within the cliff. It was a powerful and haunting scene that brought my attention to the power of water, the persistence of environmental change and the vulnerabilities of the coast. Moreover, Hallsands shows first-hand how culture and environment are intimately interconnected. Here was a community organized around the coastal setting that included fishing, sailing and the associated knowledges of living on the coast. Yet, environmental change disrupted the balance of interdependencies which made life at Hallsands possible, leading to its decline and eventual total abandonment.

Stories and experiences such as Hallsands have existed throughout human history and are likely to become more common as the impacts of global warming are felt more directly. According to recent research, globally, more than 260 million people live on land that is less than two metres above sea level (Hooijer and Vernimmen, 2021) and climate change is increasing the risk of flooding and erosion in these areas. It is my view that the stories we tell about places such as Hallsands and other coastal communities are critical to understanding how people experience environmental change as well as how they manage to adapt and maintain their existence in challenging circumstances. Of course, telling stories is a way of passing along a history of events. But also, in the context of climate change, it is the construction of a narrative of how we understand human–nature relations and possible futures. For example, one could interpret Hallsands as a story about perseverance and resilience of the community, including some of those who lived on at the site for several years following the disaster. It could also be about human interference and disregard for environmental processes, or the precariousness of living in coastal settings and the power of environmental change. It can be these and many other things. It is my contention that how people narrate these experiences is particularly important as they set out the conditions within which someone might feel anger, pity, sadness, fear, justice, and so on. Stories, in other words, are ways of interpreting the changes that are happening around us and motivating action.

The importance of stories and storytelling is something I have recognized across almost all my research on water and environmental change. Many of the colleagues I have worked with over the years are either artists or have arts and humanities backgrounds. From these experts, I have learned that if policies and ‘recommendations’ are to be convincing and effective, they must be framed within the context of narratives – in other words, as stories. Stories about climate change have often focused on tragic scenarios or catastrophes. As the years have progressed, with limited political commitment, climate change is becoming more commonly narrated as a threat. This is exemplified by recent use of phrases such as ‘climate emergency’ and other doomsday scenarios (De Meyer et al, 2020). The human side of these stories often reference those displaced by climate hazards as ‘climate refugees’. These framings present climate change as a crisis and are intended to raise alarm and awareness (Moser and Dilling 2004). For example, in 2018, Bristol City Council declared a climate emergency and pledged to make the city carbon neutral by 2030. Undoubtedly, far too little has been done to address climate change and Bristol’s use of words such as ‘emergency’ and ‘crisis’ point to a new, more insistent discourse. The 2021 film Don’t Look Up addresses the challenges of motivating action around planetary concerns. The film uses a planet-killing meteor as a metaphor for climate change and the inability of people to mobilize or even see beyond their mostly short-term self-interests. Even the prospect of the apocalypse (only six months away!) does little to motivate politicians to save the planet. At one point, one of the scientists begins yelling at the TV audience to take things seriously, only to be mocked and ridiculed on social media which is bursting with unflattering GIF images and memes of a crazy person, completely out of touch with reality.

Remarkably, it has been shown that negative discourse – claims that the world is ending – does not necessarily translate into action and can limit the ways people might get involved in addressing climate change (O’Neill and Nicholson-Cole, 2009; Wibeck, 2014). Indeed, research highlights how the dominance of negative, awareness-raising forms of communication can lead to apathy and disengagement (Hulme, 2020). As an alternative, what we need is an action-oriented framing of climate change with ‘people taking action’ at the core of storytelling efforts (De Meyer et al, 2020: 10). In a similar way, Stephen Duncombe (2007) wrote in his book Dream: Re-imagining Progressive Politics in an Age of Fantasy how progressive efforts must shift away from a purely rational frame of argument towards a political aesthetic that also connects with people’s dreams and desires. Duncombe’s book argues that to advance a radical agenda, activists and those interested in change must learn how to communicate more effectively in the context of the Society of the Spectacle (Debord, 1967). The book asks an apparently simple question: what motivates people? By understanding the way culture taps into people’s desires and motivations, Duncombe argues that we can craft a better process of political engagement. The protagonists in the film Don’t Look Up eventually embraced the spectacle by recruiting leading musicians and pop icons to raise awareness and action to address destruction of the Earth.

In recent years, there has been a move to strengthen the relationship and integration of social and cultural knowledge and popular culture into climate science (and other areas of environmental concern). Some of this is evident within the environmental humanities – an emerging area of thought, scholarship and action which looks at human–environment relationships through multidisciplinary and transdisciplinary perspectives (Sörlin, 2012; Emmett and Nye, 2017; Robin, 2018). Critically here, scholars within the environmental humanities do not draw a strict distinction between that which is ‘nature’ and that which is ‘culture’. Rather, they see environmental problems and challenges such as climate change as enmeshed within culture and society (Neimanis et al, 2015). Work in this area often explores environmental change through writing, film and painting. But rather than centring on a singular disciplinary frame, more importantly perhaps, this work shows a desire to place climate change and environmental challenges within human culture, values and norms. As Schmidt et al (2020: 227) point out, the global environmental changes we are witness to can only be ‘made comprehensible if they are understood as social disasters, whilst promising solutions must take into account the social, cultural and political dimensions of these crises’. For my research, this has meant drawing on the emotional and affective aspects of experience and embracing the meaning that informs people’s struggles with environmental change. I find that this notion of meaning is so very important. A close colleague of mine, Loraine Leeson, once told me that art makes meaning. She explained that art helps people understand the world around them and helps them to engage with it in a more meaningful way. I like to think of this book as a way to make meaning. It is perhaps not as creative as Loraine’s work. Yet, it is a creative and even exploratory process which tells a story that is dear to me – my professional research and activity working with people to understand the role of care within the adaptive practices associated with water security and climate change. In my framing, care is an interdependent, often hidden and devalued form of more-than-human labour. In this way, I understand care as an ecology that is made up of a multitude of component parts that come together in different ways, times and spaces (I discuss theories of care in Chapter 2 where I develop my approach in greater detail).

In this book, I draw on several years of studying places and people and researching with communities to build narratives around water and care. While the stories in this book relate varying experiences of environmental change, one characteristic they hold in common is a deep sense and practice of care for others and the environment. My hope is to not only convey the details of these experiences and places, but to construct a narrative that demonstrates the pervasiveness and power of care to contribute to water security and climate change adaptation.

The climate change context

It is now recognized that humans are having a significant influence on the natural environment. Over the last 100 years, the average temperature of the Earth has increased by at least 1°C. According to the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) (2012; 2018; 2021), it is likely that anthropogenic global warming of 1.5°C above pre-industrial levels could be reached as early as 2030 (IPPC, 2023a). The impacts of warming beyond this point are said to be potentially catastrophic (with the potential for 3°C by the end of the century) for a range of ecosystems. In an effort to manage the impacts of climate change, the IPCC has set out a strategy to limit warming to 1.5°C. Accomplishment of this goal will require major reduction in greenhouse gas emissions through an overhaul of energy, transport and other polluting industries and sectors. However, the impacts of a 1°C increase are already evident. Research and media regularly highlight how the increase in the severity of hurricanes can be attributed to climate change (The Guardian, 2018), a trend which is potentially irreversible. As such, even with achievement of IPCC goals, over the next several decades it is expected that global warming will contribute to significant environmental change. In the most general sense, dry areas are expected to become drier, with the potential to experience desertification and suffer from drought conditions, while wet areas will see increased precipitation and more severe and extreme storm events (Pilkey et al, 2020). The 2021 IPCC report suggests that without immediate and extensive reductions in greenhouse gas emissions it may not be possible to limit warming to 2°C. At this point, warming would further worsen the variability and intensity of wet and dry events such as monsoon rains, cyclones, hurricanes, droughts and fire. In this scenario, coupled with sea level rise, the situation for coastal areas will be dire with ‘extreme’ 100-year events occurring annually in the most vulnerable locations (IPCC, 2021 2023b).

When scientists speak of ‘greenhouse gases’ related to anthropocentric climate change, they are generally referring to carbon dioxide (CO2), methane (CH4) and nitrous oxide (N2O) (water vapour [H2O] also plays an important role in atmospheric warming). In recent years, a significant focus of climate change mitigation efforts has been to reduce the amount of CO2 released into the atmosphere. Current concentration of CO2 in the atmosphere is approximately 412.5 parts per million (ppm) which is higher than any point in the last 800,000 years (Lindsey, 2023). The amount of CO2 concentration in the atmosphere has increased by 47 per cent since the Industrial Revolution (IPCC, 2021). CO2 is particularly significant for climate change because it has a higher atmospheric concentration when compared with other greenhouse gases such as methane or nitrous oxide. Further, it remains in the atmosphere for thousands of years, compared to methane, which has a comparatively short 12-year lifespan (Pilkey et al, 2020). Analysis shows that the increase in CO2 has been influenced by human activity – primarily through burning fossil fuels (for example, oil, gas and coal) but also through processes of development and deforestation which have reduced CO2 storage. Globally, the primary contributors to greenhouse gas emissions are from energy, transport, manufacturing and construction, and agriculture (Ritchie et al, 2023). However, as global warming continues, more permafrost will thaw, which can release large quantities of methane into the atmosphere. Some have called the potential release of permafrost methane a ticking time bomb (Glikson, 2018) as it is a more effective and efficient heat trapping gas (compared with CO2) which could lead to more rapid and extreme global warming. Nevertheless, it is the Earth’s oceans that have served as the main source of heat trapping. It is estimated that over 90 per cent of the heat associated with anthropocentric global warming has been absorbed by the oceans (Durack et al, 2018; Johnson and Lyman, 2020; Cheng et al, 2021). Ocean warming threatens marine ecosystems and biodiversity through deoxygenation, acidification and shifting ocean currents (Kwiatkowski et al, 2020). One of the most visible impacts of these trends has been the destruction of coral reefs due to increasing acidification and other forms of heat stress (Barott et al, 2021).

Global warming refers to the specific rise in global temperatures caused by an increase of greenhouse gas emissions in the atmosphere. The year 2020 was the sixth hottest year and the 2010s were the hottest decade on record (WMO, 2021). The data shows quite clearly that the Earth’s climate is warming. Climate change indicates the wider series of shifts in climate patterns brought about by human influence and activity (including global warming) which may include increase precipitation or even cooling in some areas. The phrase climate change is sometimes considered less frightening, particularly when compared to the more polarizing term global warming (Benjamin et al, 2017) and more encompassing of the key climate challenges facing the planet (National Geographic, 2023). In this book, I primarily use the term climate change as I am discussing the broad changes in climate systems and how these are impacting communities and people across the world. Nevertheless, it is critical to recognize that the warming trend (that is, global warming) is at the heart of these shifts and is the key threat to the Earth’s future.

Relatedly, this book is mostly concerned with the ways in which people are adapting to, rather than mitigating, climate change. Climate change mitigation centres on reducing the emissions of greenhouse gasses into the atmosphere. Mitigation efforts are often situated in response to calls to limit global warming to 1.5°C and, as such, are often situated within the context of a climate emergency to highlight the urgency and importance of acting now to limit further warming. The main initiatives in this area involve reducing and eventually eliminating the use of fossil fuels as well as protecting existing carbon capture resources (such as forests or the permafrost) or creating new carbon sinks (including projects that would pump CO2 underground). The Paris Accord, the 2015 international treaty on climate change, set the aim of limiting the increase in global temperature to 1.5°C while leaving delivery of carbon reductions up to individual countries.

At the national level, in 2019, the United Kingdom set a goal of ‘net zero’ carbon emissions by 2050. This mitigation effort combines reductions in fossil fuel burning with other strategies such as carbon capture and demand reduction that would result an equilibrium between the amount of carbon produced (for example, by buildings, industry and vehicles) and removed from the atmosphere. And as I mentioned earlier, within the United Kingdom, the city of Bristol (where I live) has been more aggressive in its move to ‘decarbonization’ and is working towards a goal of being carbon neutral by 2030. Bristol has put together a climate strategy and climate emergency action plan that set out the vision for a sustainable city that does not produce greenhouse gases. The strategy covers areas such as transport, buildings, food, electricity and the natural environment where carbon reductions and climate mitigation efforts are possible. These climate change mitigation efforts – at local, national and global scales – are largely centred on limiting or stopping the trend of global warming.

Climate change adaptation is sometimes framed as the flip side of mitigation as it centres on changing lifestyles, policies, ways of working and generally adapting to environmental change, rather than stopping it (NASA, 2023). Of course, climate adaptation has always been a way of life for human populations as people moved to respond to changing environmental conditions. However, adaptation takes on new meaning and a new politics within the context of the Anthropocene. The IPCC defines climate adaptation as ‘the process of adjustment to actual or expected climate and its effects’ (2014: 1758). As indicated within this definition, adjustment can be in response to particular events – such as relocating after a serious flood – or preventive and proactive. Anticipatory climate adaptation draws on an understanding of potential future risks and requires trust in projections and studies of environmental change (McDonald et al, 2019). As might be expected, proactive adaptation is politically challenging as it requires a long-term frame and possibly life-altering changes to life and lifestyle for a threat that may not be immediately apparent. In Chapter 4, I discuss the case of Fairbourne, Wales, where residents are being told by their government to move away from the coast in anticipation of future sea level rise associated with global warming. Of course, this forward planning – inviting people to take action based on changes that are not expected to have serious impacts for several years in the future – can be extremely contentious and controversial. Long-term planning for climate change adaptation requires improving communication, raising awareness and building trust in science (while ensuring that studies of climate change are trustworthy!).

Somewhat paradoxically, some efforts to adapt to climate change might actually work against mitigation. For example, the use of air conditioning to reduce heat stress might be critically important for public health and survival. However, air conditioners use massive amounts of electricity which can lead to the production of more carbon (depending on the type of energy source), contributing to a vicious cycle of global warming to adaptation to exacerbated global warming (WE Forum, 2019a; Underwood 2021).

Furthermore, there is an unequal spatial distribution of climate change impacts. For example, many of the places experiencing the negative effects of sea level rise have some of the smallest carbon footprints in the world. The Small Island Developing States (SIDS) – which includes places such as Tuvalu, Fiji, Solomon Islands and Tonga (among others) in the Pacific – contribute very little in terms of global carbon emissions. Yet, they are some of the most vulnerable to climate change, particularly by way of sea level rise and an increased frequency and intensity of storms (UNFCC, 2005). Moreover, populations such as the elderly or poor are more likely than others to experience the negative effects of extreme weather events such as flooding or drought. Research shows that older people are particularly sensitive to heat waves, which can lead to a range of heat-related illnesses as well as death (Åström et al, 2011; Guergova and Dufour, 2011; Varquez et al, 2020). As populations age, and global warming continues, fatalities among older demographics associated with heat stress are expected to increase (Dutchen, 2023).

A key objective of this book is to present a broad geographic spectrum of problems and initiatives in the context of water to demonstrate some of the global differences and similarities across these processes. Adaptation to environmental change has been a constant across human civilization. Yet, anthropocentric climate change presents a new circumstance of planetary environmental challenges. While this is a shared challenge, climate change involves a particular and complex set of factors and processes such as geography, climate, adaptive capacity, and so on, which means that the impacts and ability to adapt or indeed survive will be varied and unequal.

Climate change and water

‘[W]ater is the primary medium through which climate change influences the Earth’s ecosystems’ (UN Water, 2023: np). Warmer temperatures are expected to alter the Earth’s hydrological cycle and adversely impact environmental systems (Mulroy, 2017). The hydrological cycle is made up of the globally interconnected ecosystem of wind, ocean currents, precipitation, evaporation and energy. Of course, water is central to this system (Peters-Lidard et al, 2021) and it is through this system that climate change is being felt and experienced. Climate change impacts are dynamic and, to some extent, the timing, scale and regional variations of future changes are uncertain. However, from the perspective of water, a set of likely consequences of global warming includes, but is not limited to:

  • increased severity and frequency of floods and droughts;

  • increase in coastal erosion and inundation, leading to displacement and forced migration;

  • declining quality and reliability of water sources (UN Water, 2020); and

  • an increased potential for conflict over water resources (Welzer, 2015; Michalak, 2016; Werrell and Femia, 2018).

I will spend a bit of time here examining these in the following sections. While this is necessarily a generalized overview of commonly experienced impacts, the discussion provides a framework through which to examine the water adaptation examples presented in later chapters.

Floods and droughts

In certain places, climate change is leading to an increase in the frequency and severity of both floods and droughts. With respect to flooding, warmer ocean temperatures along with sea level rise are leading to an increased frequency of storms such as hurricanes and cyclones. These storms are generally associated with high wind speeds, storm surges and heavy precipitation which can contribute to flooding and damage to natural ecosystems and coastal communities. Climate change is almost certainly making these storms stronger and more catastrophic. For example, research suggest that the impacts of climate change increased the amount of rainfall associated with Hurricane Harvey in 2017 by 20 per cent (Risser and Wehner, 2017). Of course, flooding events are not limited to the coast and there is evidence that climate change is contributing to interior (for example, river) flooding. One study notes that over the last five decades, precipitation has increased by almost 10 per cent in parts of the midwestern United States (EPA, 2016). In India, data indicates that climate change is making the monsoon season both more erratic and extreme and leading to serious flooding challenges (Deshpande, 2021; IPCC, 2021).

At the same time, droughts are becoming more common (Pokhrel et al, 2021; UNDRR, 2021). A drought is the result of less than normal precipitation that results in a water shortage. It is said to be a hidden disaster as droughts can be difficult to observe in their early stages and do not have the singular impact moment often associated with flood events (Jones et al, 2021; Liguori et al, 2021). Often, a drought is identified by a lower-than-normal level of precipitation, less moisture in the soil, drying lakes and rivers, or inadequate water for domestic and industrial uses. The effects of drought can be far-reaching and costly, adversely influencing water security, food security, and human health and wellbeing. Droughts can also increase the risk of fire (Mukherjee et al, 2018), which has been particularly evident in recent years in the western United States. Indeed, the western United States has been experiencing a ‘mega-drought’ with some areas experiencing the most extreme drought conditions in over 1,000 years. The drought’s length (over 20 years) and severity has been attributed to anthropocentric climate change and has contributed to an increase in wildfires, water insecurity and depleting reservoirs, and extreme heat (Williams et al, 2022). The US experience shows how a drought or flood is likely to lead to further dangers or compound environmental events and challenges (Ridder et al, 2020; Ionita et al, 2021).

Coastal change

Coastal transformation associated with climate change will have significant impacts for people across the globe. It is estimated that almost 2.5 billion people, approximately 40 per cent of the global population, lives within 100km of the coast (UN, 2017). Further, somewhere between 600 and 800 million people live in coastal areas of less than ten metres elevation (Lichter et al, 2011; Kulp and Strauss, 2019). Some high growth scenarios project that the number of people living in these low-elevation coastal zones will be 1.4 billion by 2060 (Neuman et al, 2015).

While a vast population lives in these areas, coasts are dynamic spaces where change, including coastal erosion, is a natural process. Yet, climate change is leading to more significant and direct impacts on coasts, through processes of sea level rise. Sea level rise is linked to climate change and global warming due to both the changes in volume and temperature. First, changes in volume of water and ice on land (for example, through melting glaciers) can impact the amount of water in the ocean. Simply stated, melting glaciers means more water in the oceans. Second, when water warms, it expands. In this case, as the oceans absorb heat from the atmosphere, they get warmer and experience thermal expansion leading to an increase in the volume of water. The result of this process is sea level rise. Recent climate change reports indicate that the world’s oceans were at record high temperatures in 2023 (The Guardian, 2023). Other non-climate factors can also contribute to changes in sea level rise, including land rise and geological uplift, erosion, subsidence and groundwater withdrawal, all of which can impact the dynamic and fragile relationship between land and sea (EPA, 2023a).

During the 20th century global sea level rise increased by around 1.5mm per year (Frederikse et al, 2020). Since the 2000s, the rate has increased to something like 3.2mm per year and is not expected to slow down, even with major climate change mitigation efforts (Griggs, 2021). In total, there has been an average sea level rise of 24cm since 1880 (Lindsey, 2022). By 2050 the global mean sea level rise is likely to increase by another 20–30cm. Many projections estimate sea level rise of 50–100cm by the end of the century (Kulp and Strauss, 2019), although some scenarios (where emissions of greenhouse gasses are not significantly curtailed) project sea level rise over two metres (Le Bars et al 2017). Critically, the sea level rise projections are global averages and do not reflect spatial or temporal variations (Yin et al, 2010; Aral and Chang, 2017). For example, sea level rise will be more significant in Asia than along the Pacific coasts of Central America (Church et al, 2013). Further, the impacts on local communities may fluctuate due to small changes in wind, sedimentation patterns and other environmental factors (Church et al, 2013).

Many parts of Asia are particularly vulnerable to flooding due to sea level rise, including coastal areas in Bangladesh, Indonesia and Thailand (Kulp and Strauss, 2019). Jakarta (Indonesia) is a commonly cited example of how these factors interrelate and threaten coastal cities. The capital of Indonesia, Jakarta, is a low-lying, topographically flat mega-city of over 13 million people. The city is on the north coast of the island of Java and has grown around a complex geography of wetlands, streams and canals. In recent decades, urbanization and development (with extraction of groundwater) have contributed to subsidence, worsened flooding, and led to displacement (Steinberg, 2007). As a coastal city, the city is further threatened by sea level rise and other climate change impacts (Takagi et al, 2016). Now, partly due to these environmental challenges, plans are in place to relocate the capital city.

Sea level rise is also particularly relevant for the United States. For example, between 2011 and 2015, sea levels along the southeastern coast of the United States rose six times faster than the global average (Hauer et al, 2016; Valle-Levison et al, 2017). As a result, cities are putting together climate adaptation plans to deal with the threat of coastal flooding. New York City, for example, has been developing plans and strategies to protect people and resources in the mega-city. The Eastside Coastal Resiliency Project is a 2.5-mile, US$1.5 billion flood protection system that will provide lower Manhattan with strengthened coastal protection from sea level rise and associated storm surges (NYC Gov, 2023). Of course, not all places have the resources of New York, and some will struggle to adapt to these conditions. Indeed, many of the SIDS mentioned earlier are particularly exposed to the impacts of climate change due to their location, geographic isolation, size and limited economic resources (Robinson, 2020). SIDS are located across the globe with clusters in the Caribbean, the Pacific Ocean, the Atlantic Ocean (for example, off the eastern coast of Africa), the Indian Ocean and the South China Seas. These countries are at the vanguard of global warming impacts.

Quality and reliability of water

Climate change poses significant challenges for water quality and water supply. In particular, water quality is likely to deteriorate as a result of global warming (Fant et al, 2017; Salerno et al, 2018; Li et al, 2020). Research shows that climate change can reduce or adversely impact drinking water quality in several ways. For example, we know that climate change is altering patterns of precipitation, leading to an increase in the intensity of heavy precipitation events. Particularly in urban areas with extensive impermeable surfaces such as roads, buildings and pavements, heavy precipitation and an increase in the frequency of large storms can lead to an increase in untreated stormwater. In urban areas, this stormwater often caries harmful pollutants into water sources. Further, heavy rain events can contribute to erosion and sedimentation, which can further impact water management systems and the quality of drinking water (Gӧdeke et al, 2020).

Warmer air and water temperatures (again, a consequence of climate change) can also diminish water quality (EPA, 2023b). Higher temperatures are associated with lower levels of oxygen – conditions that can impact ecological systems by supporting algae growth and increases in bacteria which harm aquatic plant and animal life. Again, this can adversely impact to drinking water systems. Finally, at the coast, sea level rise, discussed earlier, can also impact water quality. Primarily, this occurs as saltwater infiltrates freshwater aquifers and drinking water resources. The United States Geological Survey has been monitoring the ‘salt line’ that forms the barrier between ocean and drinking water for South Florida and the city of Miami (Prinos et al, 2014). The intrusion of saltwater into the Biscayne Aquifer – the aquifer that supplies drinking water to much of South Florida – is attributed to rising sea level as well as increased use and consumption via groundwater extraction. Efforts are being made to lessen or halt the decline of water supplies through demand management (for example, using less groundwater) and the conservation and protection of wetland areas. These issues suggest growing concern related to water security and the ways in which climate change will likely exacerbate the challenges many cities face in terms of providing safe, clean drinking water. Moreover, sustainable water systems will need to account for the ways in which certain climate adaptation efforts such as incentives and requirements for reduced water use might negatively impact certain communities and individuals such as the elderly or poor (Speight, 2018). Later in this book I highlight the case of Flint, Michigan (United States) where water managers made unfortunate choices about water supply which resulted in harm to many residents of this majority African American city. The example signals some of the complex relationships and interdependencies between policy, austerity, racism and prejudice, infrastructure, and water. As climate change adaptation strategies and policies become a more common aspect of city life, it will be critical to examine the ways in which these impact people differently. An awareness of social justice is critical to understanding climate change impacts on water supply. Of course, these changes not only affect human drinking water systems, but everything that depends on water for life and wellbeing. Climate change risks serious impact to societies and economies, as well as biodiversity and environments.

Conflict and water

Civilizations have always been framed by their relations with water. Access and control of water is a precursor for flourishing life and human wellbeing. It is a precious resource that enables cities and populations to grow. Well over a billion people live in areas of the world where water is scarce (Salman, 2005). The United Nations estimates that by 2050 some five billion people on Earth will experience water scarcity for at least one month of the year (UNWWAP, 2018). Clearly, climate change is contributing to water stress and water insecurity. These conditions suggest the potential for tension and conflict around water supply and the management of water systems, particularly in cross-boundary contexts (Klare, 2020). As Gleick and Iceland (2018: 7) point out, conflict over water resources is rare and people generally tend to ‘muddle through’ or find new ways to collaborate in the face of crisis. Yet, there have been and continue to be conflicts over water resources. The Pacific Institute’s Water Conflict Chronology details 316 incidents where disagreements over water systems and management was the trigger or cause of conflict (Pacific Institute, 2022). One conflict they highlight centres on Mali (West Africa), where many people have been killed and possibly hundreds of thousands displaced, in part due to water shortages (Diarra, 2020). In such places, on top of political conflict and uncertainty, environmental change is contributing to water stress, an increase in drought conditions, desertification, and water and food insecurity (Hegazi et al, 2021). These issues are pushing the capacity of the existing water management system to ensure safe, reliable drinking water for citizens.

In the western United States, climate change and drought conditions have also increased tensions over water. Of course, there is a long history of water conflict in this dry landscape. For example, the skirmishes over Los Angeles’ water supply system, designed by William Mulholland, are notorious. The thirst for water pitted the expanding metropolis against the people of Owens Valley, a water-rich area located in Eastern California (about 250 miles from Los Angeles). Mulholland’s project brought water from the valley to Los Angeles in the early 1900s. While this enabled the city to continue its expansion, it devastated agricultural and economic life in the valley. Seeing their livelihoods ruined, some locals protested while others attacked and disrupted the aqueduct project during construction (Reisner, 1993). These water wars were fictionalized in the 1974 film Chinatown, staring Jack Nicholson, which used the aqueduct project as a key narrative device.

More recently, declining water resources in the Klamath River basin, which covers a large area of northern California and southern Oregon, has brought farmers who use the river to irrigate crops in conflict with Native American tribes who rely on these same waters for fish (Flaccus, 2021). With lakes far below acceptable levels and fish dying off in large numbers, irrigation systems were blocked by the US government. Incensed landowners later threatened to destroy the gates that are closing off the water (Baker, 2021).

Yet, these negative stories notwithstanding, most research indicates a tendency towards cooperation and collaboration of water resources. Rather than an impetus for conflict, water tends to be an added stressor in contexts where conflict and instability is already present. However, such conflict (unrelated to water issues) can contribute to worsening water security. Again, the Pacific Institute tracks incidents of conflict where water supply is a casualty of conflict (either intentional or otherwise), rather than the cause. The database provides details for over 500 such incidents globally where water infrastructure such as dams, wells, tanks, supply facilities and irrigation systems have been destroyed and people have been killed or injured as part of violent conflict.

Vulnerability, fragility and climate change

The previous discussions highlight some of the impacts of climate change in relation to water and water security. They show a diversity of ways in which people’s lives are likely to be impacted by climate change (and how this is happening now). However, climate change is not experienced in a singular or universal way. Some areas are even finding short-term benefits. For example, the changes to climate might allow new forms of agricultural production and crops in high mountain areas (Palomo, 2017). Nevertheless, while climate change is a globally shared crisis, the impacts and disbenefits (and even benefits) are not equally distributed (Singer 2018). In particular, the negative impacts of global warming and climate change are likely to be experienced disproportionately by the poorest of the world, particularly people who live in parts of Africa and Asia (Ward and Shively, 2017). Recognition of this spatiality signals a moral and ethical requirement to consider those most vulnerable to the negative impacts of climate change. Vulnerability, in this context, is understood to reflect the ‘the extent to which a natural or social system is susceptible to sustaining damage from climate change’ (IPCC, 1997, 3; 2018). The concept generally indicates ‘susceptibility to harm’ (Ford et al, 2018: 191) and the ways in which we might advance understandings of the scope and extent of threat or risk (Kelly and Adger, 2000; Adger 2003). Vulnerability involves a range of elements including exposure to risk as well as the ability of a community to manage risk and adapt to changing environmental circumstances and extreme events. Of course, vulnerability shifts across geographies and over time. For example, a city may become more exposed to climate threats (for example, via sea level rise or worsening drought conditions) but it can also develop its adaptive capacity via strategies and programmes intended to build resilience (Companion and Chaiken, 2017; Siders, 2019). While vulnerability provides a framework for understanding the ‘where, how and why’ of climate change impacts (McDowell et al, 2016: 1), the concept may be less useful in terms of mitigating or adapting to environmental challenges. Indeed, some scholars suggest that the use of vulnerability framings is largely unsophisticated and crude and even potentially detrimental to those so-called vulnerable individuals and communities (Luna, 2014). Yet, clearly some parts of the world are more exposed to particular environmental changes than others and this understanding provides a useful framework for beginning discussions of how to adapt or even the potential for adaptation to climate change.

The concept of fragility provides further richness and nuance to understanding how people and communities might respond to these changes. Fragility indicates the interdependency between people, places and the wider environment. Recognizing that humans are – as a species – fragile can be a useful signal to frameworks and practices of care that are required to sustain life. However, in contrast to this care-oriented framing, the concept of fragility is more often used in the arena of international relations to refer to an inability to manage a population, usually at the national or state level (G. Zhou et al, 2020). In this respect it is used similarly to phrases such as failed or weak state which might include characteristics such as political instability, extreme poverty, and lack of durable and trustworthy institutional structures of governance (Nkurunziza, 2019).

Climate change researchers have drawn on these understandings to develop the concept of climate change fragility. Here, the notion of state fragility is joined with an understanding of the vulnerability and potential adverse impacts of climate change and the (limited) adaptive capacities of the state. In this framing, a weak state is unable to support adaptation processes or manage the growing risk of worsening environmental hazards (for example, flooding or drought). As a result, internal social, political and environmental challenges are exacerbated and the ability to adapt to climate change is hampered (Reimann and Burns, 2019). In other words, climate change works as a threat multiplier, intensifying the risks associated with the absence of an authoritative, trustworthy or capable system of governance (Rüttinger, 2017). Fragility, in this sense, is expressed as a failure of a state to deliver even a basic level of security and wellbeing for its citizens. Not completely dissimilar to the commonplace or conventional understanding of care, fragility in this interpretation expresses a lack (a need) and is used condescendingly to express an inability to take care of one’s situation. I want to move away from this understanding. Rather, as I noted earlier, I see fragility as part of the human condition and our interdependent position in the world. The notion of fragility, from this sense, takes into account that humans are inherently needy, and most importantly, that this is not a failure. All of humanity is fragile. Existence on this planet is fragile. The establishment of security, stability and flourishing lives is accomplished by recognizing the critical points of fragility and providing care or supporting care practices. All states are fragile. That some have robust and effective systems of care in place does not negate this fundamental fragility.

Looking at the global environment, in many parts of the world, environmental changes brought on by climate change have exposed and indeed worsened existing inequalities. Haiti, for example, has been identified as one of the most vulnerable countries in the world (Slagle and Rubinstein, 2012). It is also considered one of the most fragile in the discourse of developmentalism and international relations. Located in the Caribbean, Haiti is commonly described as the poorest nation in the western hemisphere and characterized as a weak or fragile state that lacks credibility and authority and is beset by corruption and political uncertainty. Indeed, the Haitian government has struggled to protect citizens from natural hazards including earthquakes and hurricanes which have led to significant loss of life and damage. Most notably, the 2010 magnitude 7 earthquake which resulted in at least 230,000 deaths and almost US$15 billion in damage (Margesson and Taft-Morales, 2010). The catastrophe was followed by an outpouring of aid and humanitarian assistance. However, aid efforts were framed by a (racialized) Orientalist discourse that Balaji (2011) notes largely celebrated aid workers coming to the rescue of needy Haitians. Balaji (2011: 57) explains how the White ‘do-gooders became the privileged subject of stories, while the Haitian victims blurred into the background as merely the objects of the good deeds’. The Haitian experience is extremely important for understandings of care as a framework for thinking about global interdependencies. Indeed, much of the global discourse around climate refugees is framed through a process of ‘Othering’ where victims are represented as dysfunctional and helpless. Again, as Balaji (2011) points out, this framing of subjects as ‘pitiful’ dehumanizes victims of disasters and reifies unequal north/south relations of superiority/inferiority. This is not a strong basis for an ethics of care. Rather, a care-oriented framing of climate change adaptation must be situated in a postcolonial understanding of structural power inequalities. On the one hand, this means that stories are not solely about victims, need, and how suffering individuals and communities must be saved. In place of this, one might look to the way agency is expressed and the way people forge their way in a complicated, challenging landscape. On the other hand, a postcolonial framing of care should be situated in an awareness of inequality – much of which is framed by a global north/global south dichotomy. I will explore these ideas in greater depth in Chapter 2. However, for now, I signal my argument that to see the experience of climate change and human vulnerability through the lens of care, is to see fragility as a human condition – not as a failure. The existence of human suffering is real and undeniable and climate change is leading to further tragedy. Moreover, the people most likely to suffer negative consequences of climate change are often those with the least political, social and economic resources to adapt.

Structure of the book

This chapter has set out some of the central framing between water, climate change and human–environmental fragility. It highlighted the role of narrative and storytelling in making sense of these changes and how these can be powerful tools for motivating (or demotivating) people and action. The chapter also discussed the current understanding of anthropocentric climate change and global warming and how this works through and impacts the global hydrological cycle. Finally, I looked at notions of vulnerability and fragility and how these differently position people within caring and care-needing communities. In my work, recognizing our human–environment fragility is one of the most important steps in moving to a more care-oriented world.

The book is organized in such a way to look at water and climate change in distinct contexts. Following this introductory chapter, Chapter 2 examines the concept of care in further depth, drawing out how it intersects with water security. In that chapter, I argue that care is fundamental to secure flourishing water futures. Chapter 3 examines some of the vast history associated with efforts to access and provide secure drinking water. Through the cases of Flint, Michigan (United States) and Rajasthan (India), I narrate experiences of care in the mundane work of daily life and how care is visible/invisible and present/absent in the achievement of safe, reliable drinking water. Chapter 4 is centrally concerned with coastal erosion and the impacts of global warming and sea level rise on coastal communities. Examining coastal change in Bangkok (Thailand) and Fairbourne, Wales (United Kingdom), I look at the unevenness of adaptation and management practices in these settings. Chapter 5 turns to the cryosphere and how global warming is leading to water insecurity in some of the coldest and most climatically harsh places on Earth. Images and videos of crumbling glaciers are powerful and all too real symbols of how our world is changing. Yet, people continue to live in much of the frozen Earth. Their adaptation strategies are part of an unfolding and uncertain story of living with environmental change. Chapter 6 draws this material together to build a more robust understanding of ecologies of care in water security. It reviews the book’s material and develops a further, more hopeful way of looking at the Earth as fragile, interconnected, interdependent and wholly worth living in.