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Activities by an organized crime group involving the illegal entry, transit or residence of migrants for a financial or material benefit. The production, transport, storage and sale of goods that are fraudulently mislabeled or fraudulent imitations of registered brands. The illicit transport, handling and sale of excise consumer goods despite a ban or outside a legal market. Excludes oil and counterfeits. The illicit trade and possession of species covered by CITES convention, and other species protected under national law. The poaching, illicit trade in and possession of species covered by CITES and other species protected by national law. Includes IUU fishing. The illicit extraction, smuggling, mingling, bunkering or mining of natural resources and the illicit trade of such commodities. The production, distribution and sale of heroin. Consumption of the drug is considered in determining the reach of the criminal market. The production, distribution and sale of cocaine and its derivatives. Consumption is considered in determining the reach of the market. The illicit cultivation, distribution and sale of cannabis oil, resin, herb or leaves. Consumption is used to determine the market's reach. The production, distribution and sale of synthetic drugs. Organized crime that results in a monetary loss via financial fraud, embezzlement, misuse of funds, tax evasion and abusive tax avoidance. Clearly defined organized crime groups that usually have a known name, defined leadership, territorial control and identifiable membership. Loose networks of criminal associates engaging in criminal activities who fail to meet the defining characteristics of mafia-style groups. Includes foreign nationals and diaspora groups. The State's role in responding to organized crime and its effectiveness. The degree to which states have put oversight mechanisms in place to ensure against state collusion in illicit activities. A country's supranational structures and processes of interaction, policy making and concrete implementation to respond to organized crime. The degree to which states are able to control their physical and cyber territory and infrastructure against organized criminal activities. Assistance provided to victims of various forms of organized crime, including initiatives such as witness protection programs. Refers to the existence of strategies, measures, resource allocation, programmes and processes that are aimed to inhibit organized crime. Despite having few economic opportunities, Tuvalu is an unlikely location for human smuggling because of its free education system and strong community support. Additionally, there is no information available regarding extortion or protection racketeering on the island. Tuvalu has no recorded evidence of arms trafficking within its borders. The country is not strategically attractive or economically permeable for organized crime groups involved in this type of crime. Illicit firearms are not known to be in circulation, and even the National Police do not carry firearms. The low crime rate in the country, combined with the low socio-economic status of many Tuvalu residents, makes it unlikely for an arms trafficking market to emerge. There is no indication of a significant market for counterfeit goods within the country, nor any evidence of organized crime involvement in such trade. However, recently, there has been an increase in the trade of counterfeited goods in the Oceania region, with growing demand. Counterfeited items, such as clothes, pharmaceutical products, pesticides, and electronic gadgets, mostly originating from China, are becoming more prevalent in commercial and e-commerce trade in Tuvalu. Similarly, the illicit trade in excise goods, specifically tobacco products, have been also on the rise in the region and in the country, due to the increasing levels of excise taxes. The market for flora crimes in Tuvalu is nonexistent, though the small size of the islands and limited forest make them more vulnerable to the importation of illegally harvested timber. The main form of fauna crime committed in the country is illegal, unreported, and unregulated IUU fishing, with revenue from tuna fishing contributing almost half of the government's revenue. Like several other Pacific Islands, Tuvalu benefits from permanent bilateral ship rider agreements with the US Coast Guard, allowing Tuvaluan law enforcement to expand their reach of monitoring and control for a limited number of days annually. There is no evidence of a nonrenewable resource crimes market in Tuvalu, and the country has recently withdrawn support for deep-sea mining activities. The prevalence of heroin and cocaine trade in Tuvalu is low. However, the country is vulnerable to being a stopover on the Latin America-Oceania drug highway due to its proximity to the high-value market of Australia. Despite this, Tuvalu is not an attractive destination market for drug traffickers due to low drug consumption and purchasing power. Tuvalu likely has a small illicit market for cannabis, with local production meeting local demand at a relatively low price. There is no evidence of organized crime involvement in Tuvalu's cannabis trade, and the size and value of the market are believed to be much smaller than in neighbouring countries. Tuvalu is not linked to the synthetic drug trade. However, as the South Pacific region is reportedly on a global trafficking route for methamphetamines, there is a possibility that Tuvalu has a transit market for synthetic drugs, albeit limited. In recent years, Tuvalu has been accelerating its digitization process with the goal of becoming the world's first paperless society. Most of the population owns mobile phones, and the government is working to provide access to more advanced internet technologies. Despite the progress made, there have been no significant cases of cyber-dependent crimes in Tuvalu. Economic factors suggest that Tuvalu will remain a low-value target for organized crime in the cyber realm. Tuvaluans are vulnerable to exploitation by criminals seeking to use their country as a pathway to Australian and New Zealand markets. While there is no evidence of financial crimes in Tuvalu, the country remains vulnerable to exploitation due to its geographic location and the presence of wealthy Australians seeking to minimize their taxes. Aside from these cases, there is no evidence of widespread financial fraud, embezzlement, or misuse of funds in Tuvalu. There is no evidence of mafia-style groups or organized crime in Tuvalu, with the exception of the foreign-led illegal fishing trade. Despite Tuvalu's criminal market being dominated by foreign actors, it is relatively small compared to that of other nations. Overall, Tuvalu appears to be at a lower risk of organized crime and criminal networks. Tuvalu's government has not been actively involved in anti-organized crime efforts since it is not a prevalent issue in the country. The government's focus is on more pressing needs such as economic issues and climate change. While Tuvalu's position against child labour and human trafficking has improved since , child labour is still tolerated in practice. The country has shown commitment to tackling human smuggling but has failed to communicate strong opposition to IUU fishing, which is the primary form of organized crime prevalent in its neighbourhood. Nevertheless, there are no indications of government involvement with organized crime. Tuvalu's political system is relatively volatile, with frequent votes of no-confidence against the prime minister, which has contributed to low trust in the government. Despite this, Tuvalu is generally regarded as a free country. While Tuvalu has anti-corruption instruments in place, the government has few coordinated measures targeting corruption. As a preventive measure against it, Tuvalu is part of an initiative led by New Zealand in cooperation with the UN to strengthen anti-corruption laws in the Pacific Island region. Tuvalu has a positive record of information-sharing and international cooperation as a member of the Commonwealth of Nations and partner to bilateral agreements with the US. Tuvalu has national legislation criminalizing several acts related to transnational organized crime, including human smuggling, human trafficking, and piracy. IUU fishing is criminalized with dedicated legislation and New Zealand has offered support to address illegal tuna fishing. The country's size and community-based approach to governance make its laws and policies considered appropriate. Tuvalu has an independent judiciary system consisting of island courts, magistrates' courts, a High Court, a Court of Appeal, and the UK-based Privy Council. The government generally respects judicial independence and impartiality. The Tuvalu prison system comprises one jail on the Fongafale islet in Funafuti, which reportedly houses between eight and 12 inmates at any given time. The conditions in the prison and detention centre do not raise concerns regarding living conditions or inmate abuse, and impunity is not an issue in the country. Tuvalu's law enforcement response is pragmatic and consistent with the location, community, and economic resources available. Tuvalu is a member of various transpacific island law enforcement forces and initiatives created to combat transnational organized crime. With the help of Australia, Tuvalu defends its territorial integrity against IUU fishing and smuggling. In , the country began its journey towards digital resilience with the help of the Oceania Cyber Security Centre in Melbourne. This, along with other international programmes, will provide Tuvalu with the capacity to resist cyber-infiltration and improve its cybersecurity. Tuvalu appears to be committed to anti-money laundering measures, with no major problems reported. Tuvalu plans to install a domestic Financial Intelligence Unit, and cooperation with the Fiji Financial Intelligence Unit has been strengthened to devise a possible organizational structure and job descriptions. Tuvalu recognizes the importance of developing an effective supervisory framework for the banking sector, as it does not have a central bank and uses the Australian dollar as its currency. Tuvalu's economy is dependent on external factors such as remittance payments, fishing licenses, and small-scale exports. Tuvalu's GDP growth is one of the strongest among the South Pacific island states, and it can generally be seen as a middle to upper-middle-income country. There are no specific sectors captured by organized crime or involved in any economic market regulation activities. Tuvalu's economy was not severely affected by the pandemic as its fishing revenues and donor grants allowed the country to avoid a recession. However, its vulnerability to the effects of climate change, domination by the public sector, and narrow revenue base present economic challenges for the country. Tuvalu has legislation in place to protect victims of violent crimes, including provisions for compensation and legal representation. However, while there are child protection victim services, adult protection services, particularly for women, remain inadequate. As of , Tuvalu may not be adequately equipped to support crime victims should this become a larger issue in the future. In terms of prevention, Tuvalu lacks specific action plans or national frameworks for organized crime prevention. NGOs are free to operate in Tuvalu and focus on areas such as good governance, community support, and environmental work. However, there is no information available regarding NGOs that specifically address organized crime-related issues. Overall, Tuvalu is considered to be a free country, but government control over the sole radio and television station limits the expression of independent views. The criminal markets score is represented by the pyramid base size and the criminal actors score is represented by the pyramid height, on a scale ranging from 1 to The resilience score is represented by the panel height, which can be identified by the side of the panel. A series of 13 discussion papers, one for each illicit market considered during the development of the Index. We're constantly working to improve the Index. By participating in this survey, you will be providing us with insights and suggestions that will help us make the Index an even better resource. This report was funded in part by a grant from the United States Department of State. The opinions, findings and conclusions stated herein are those of the Global Initiative Against Transnational Organized Crime and do not necessarily reflect those of the United States Department of State. Capital Funafuti. Income group Upper middle income. Population 11, Geography type Island. GINI Index Criminal markets 1. An assessment of the value, prevalence and non-monetary impacts of a specific crime type. Human trafficking 1. Human smuggling 1. Extortion and protection racketeering 1. Arms trafficking 1. Trade in counterfeit goods 4. Illicit trade in excisable goods 3. Flora crimes 1. Fauna crimes 5. Non-renewable resource crimes 1. Heroin trade 1. Cocaine trade 1. Cannabis trade 2. Synthetic drug trade 1. Cyber-dependent crimes 1. Financial crimes 2. Criminal actors 1. An assessment of the impact and influence of a specific criminal actor type on society. Mafia-style groups 1. Criminal networks 1. State-embedded actors 1. Foreign actors 1. Private sector actors 1. Political leadership and governance 5. Government transparency and accountability 6. International cooperation 5. National policies and laws 6. A state's legal action and structures put in place to respond to organized crime. Judicial system and detention 8. Law enforcement 7. Territorial integrity 6. Anti-money laundering 6. Economic regulatory capacity 6. Victim and witness support 4. Prevention 4. Non-state actors 7. Analysis Download full profile english. Trade Tuvalu has no recorded evidence of arms trafficking within its borders. Environment The market for flora crimes in Tuvalu is nonexistent, though the small size of the islands and limited forest make them more vulnerable to the importation of illegally harvested timber. Drugs The prevalence of heroin and cocaine trade in Tuvalu is low. Cyber Crimes In recent years, Tuvalu has been accelerating its digitization process with the goal of becoming the world's first paperless society. Financial Crimes Tuvaluans are vulnerable to exploitation by criminals seeking to use their country as a pathway to Australian and New Zealand markets. Criminal Actors There is no evidence of mafia-style groups or organized crime in Tuvalu, with the exception of the foreign-led illegal fishing trade. Leadership and governance Tuvalu's government has not been actively involved in anti-organized crime efforts since it is not a prevalent issue in the country. Criminal justice and security Tuvalu has an independent judiciary system consisting of island courts, magistrates' courts, a High Court, a Court of Appeal, and the UK-based Privy Council. Economic and financial environment Tuvalu appears to be committed to anti-money laundering measures, with no major problems reported. Civil society and social protection Tuvalu has legislation in place to protect victims of violent crimes, including provisions for compensation and legal representation. Read the analysis Listen the podcasts View all events. Next Skip. How to measure organized crime? Read more on globalinitiative. Give us feedback We're constantly working to improve the Index.

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Buying weed Funafuti

From the air the tiny islets of Funafuti atoll appear as a broken pearl necklace scattered on the blue throat of the tropical sea. No other land is in sight, only an ocean without end and its own billowy breath rising as cumulus clouds that seem far more substantive than the tiny landforms below. As the twin-engine turboprop banks for final approach, the atoll assumes the classic dimensions of a desert island—a sand outpost studded with coconut palms and surrounded by impossibly huge swells topped with wave crests longer than the island is wide. Although Darwin eventually discovered the reef-building mechanisms of corals that keep atoll islands from succumbing to the waves, even his prescient mind never considered the dread possibilities of the 21st century: that global warming could cause the sea to expand and rise faster than the corals could fortify themselves against it, and that these fragile spits of sand might disappear beneath the waves that tossed them into being in the first place. Today, roughly 1 million people live on coral islands worldwide, and many more millions live on low-lying real estate vulnerable to the rising waves. At risk are not just people, but unique human cultures, born and bred in watery isolation. Faced with inundation, some of these people are beginning to envision the wholesale abandonment of their nations. Others are buying higher land wherever they can. A few are preparing lawsuits that will challenge the right of the developed world to emit the greenhouse gases threatening to cause the flooding of their homelands. At no point is the sandy island of Funafuti higher than 13 feet above sea level, as is the case throughout the nine coral atolls of this South Pacific nation of Tuvalu. Surrounded by the sea, the people here have been shaped by it as few others on earth. Every afternoon, rain or shine, Tuvaluan children romp in its unsupervised playground. Those islanders without outhouses wade into the privacy of the waves, where—they laugh and tell me—they feed the same fish who will soon feed them. No one here has ever lived a moment without hearing the thunder of surf. What this mixture stirs up is a sensation that runs deep, a supreme sense of place. That place, now in danger of disappearing beneath the waves, is located halfway between Hawaii and Australia. Once part of the British empire, Tuvalu is among the smallest and most remote countries on earth, with a total land mass comprising only 10 square miles, less than half the size of Manhattan and scattered over , square miles of ocean, an area larger than California, Oregon, and Washington combined. Nine thousand people live on these nine atolls, 95 percent of whom are Polynesians, having arrived variously from Samoa, Tonga, and Uvea over the past 2, years. Life on a motu the low island atop a coral reef is always precarious, and when the first Polynesians arrived in Tuvalu, they found it hard going. With only sand for soil, they became dependent on the sea, coconuts, their pigs, and a threadbare agriculture of pulaka a tarolike root. When high winds and waves from tropical storms and cyclones overcame their low-lying islands, the Tuvaluans sometimes tied themselves to spindly coconut palms, hoping the wind might spare these tenuous anchors. Yet now, ominously, the high tides and resultant floods that used to visit Tuvalu in February are occurring nearly half the year, from November to March. And whereas in the past big cyclones rampaged through these islands only once or twice a decade—the most violent in recent memory being Cyclone Bebe, which in inundated Funafuti, killing six people, razing most buildings, flattening nearly every coconut palm—the s saw seven of them. When three cyclones ripped through Fiji and Tonga in , a acre motu in the Funafuti atoll washed away. On my visit across the lagoon to see what is left, I find only a dome of petrified coral cement—the basement, as it were, for the sandy beaches and palm trees that once comprised a favorite Funafutian picnic site. And these islands could be rendered uninhabitable by other effects of climate change. Already some farmers have been forced to grow their pulaka in tin containers, and already some of the smaller motus have lost their coconut palms to saltwater intrusion. Nor are storms a prerequisite for disaster. There was no apparent reason for it, and during my stay on the atoll, I find the sensation of threat to be ever present—the sea on both sides, the constant drumroll of surf, a thin strip of land between—like living on a liquid fault line. The Tuvaluans face a difficult choice. If the seas rise and they stay in Tuvalu, they will die. But if they leave, some part of them will die. Because there are no motor scooters or even push-bikes in work-ing order for me to rent, I am hitchhiking on Funafuti, although thumbs are not required here, simply a suitably heat-stricken gait. Recently a Funafutian married a palangi white woman, and his reports on the novelty of my kind are apparently piquing some interest. Most of these men turn out not to be native Funafutians, but transplants from the outer atolls of Tuvalu. They have come here in search of economic opportunity, swelling the population of the capital to around 5, When I ask if they have seen many changes on the atoll since they arrived, they avoid talk of rising seas, turning instead to more immediate concerns. Eight months ago, the only road in the country was paved along a 7. He blames this preponderance of newfangled footwear on the road too, saying the pavement is too hot to walk on, even for coral-calloused feet. There is little or no television here, only a few hours of radio a day, and most of these drivers have never been farther than their home islands, although some have traveled to Fiji or New Zealand. Because it would be unseemly to acknowledge that their world is that much better than mine. But whereas I had expected to meet a nation of people eager for me to broadcast their plight to the world, instead I am finding citizens wary of the topic of sea levels. To a person, they seem quietly disappointed that I am not a tourist. Perhaps the Tuvaluans are afraid that talk of flooded islands will squash any hopes that tourism will ever establish itself on their foot-high shores. Yet I also sense something of shame, as if they feel responsible for their impending status as fakaalofa. Thirty-one years ago, when Cyclone Bebe inundated Funafuti, its waves tossed coral rubble onto the windward side of the atoll, creating a rampart that still stands as the highest point on the motu. This rampart is now colonized by coconut palms, pandanus, and breadfruit trees, and I like to sit here in the late after-noons and watch the sea rolling ashore. As each wave climbs and then withdraws, it rolls the coral rubble back and forth. The chattering sounds these stones make are like the noise of thousands of falling dominoes, sharply audible even above the pounding surf. Stands of Acropora staghorn corals, the densest I have seen in more than two decades of diving and filming reef life, rise in a tangle as chaotic as blackberry thickets. Below them, the thicket of what obviously was once a spectacular coral world is now choked in velvety algae and aswarm with the herbivorous species of parrotfishes, surgeon-fishes, rabbitfishes, blennies, damselfishes, mollusks, and sea ur-chins. Together, these browsers and grazers form a bioerosive army that will eventually convert the bones of this reef to sand. In the event that these corals—the backbone of the atoll—never recover their health, the whole island will eventually be swept away as well. Yet even with robust reefs, a rising ocean will likewise overwhelm these low-lying islands, and the most likely cause of rising oceans is rising global temperatures. Most scientists even those employed by oil companies now agree that the dangerous rate by which global temperatures are escalating is largely due to human activity. Forecasts predict the earth will warm three to nine degrees Fahrenheit over the next century—far more rapid than any previous fluctuations—with a three-degree rise akin to moving the climate bands poleward 30 feet a day. Neither can islands. At their best, the reef-building corals grow only an inch per year. Evidence of global climate change is already mounting from the most distant reaches of the globe. The snows of Kilimanjaro are melting away. Also in , a piece of ice the size of Rhode Island broke from the Larsen B ice shelf in Antarctica, where it had been firmly cemented for 12, years. New research reveals that the rapidly melting glaciers are even changing the shape of the planet, making the earth more oblate than spherical. Yet another study in Science suggests that the warming oceans might trigger intense eruptions of methane now frozen beneath the seafloor, leading to global warming on a cata-strophic scale. More alarming still is the fact that this melting creates a feedback loop difficult to escape. But the evidence is not without controversy. Tangled up with the science is the reality that nations prefer not to alter the fossil-fuel- consuming habits that make them globally powerful, even at the expense of a stable climate. Chief among these are the United States and Australia, both of which refused to sign the U. Kyoto Protocol—calling upon the developed world to reduce greenhouse-gas emissions by 5. Perhaps in light of this stance, in Australia was quick to trumpet its own evidence that sea levels in the Pacific are not rising after all. Because I am on foot in Funafuti, moving slowly through the heat and the afternoon rainstorms, I have ample time to savor the ambiguities. In , Tuvalu began actively lobbying Australia and New Zealand to accept its entire population as environmental refugees, a request that Australia, with its strict no-refugee policy, refused, citing its tidal-gauge data. New Zealand, on the other hand, agreed to accept the citizens of Tuvalu, although only 75 islanders a year—at which rate the country will not be emptied for years. By that time, according to the IPCC report, the seas may well have risen more than 35 inches, rendering the atolls uninhabitable. Yet, paradoxically, Funafuti appears to be building like a nation with a long-term future. A three-story government office building is under construction in the center of town. Destined to be the tallest structure in the nation, this veritable high-rise is a thank-you gift from Taiwan, which won this round in the Pacific cold war by convincing Tuvalu to formally recognize it as the real China. Nearby, a new hospital is also under construction, funded by Japan. At both sites, Tuvaluan workers lounge in the shade, while their Australian handlers march around in Blundstone boots and khaki shorts. On much of the rest of the atoll I see new houses springing up—evidence of Tuvaluans moving to Funafuti from the outer atolls, and of the growing prosperity of the nation as a whole, as money flows in from Tuvaluans working overseas, from foreign-aid organizations, and from a host of innovative money-making plans implemented by the government. Presumably in acknowledgment of the rising waters, the new houses are all being built on foot-tall stilts—notably different from traditional dwellings—and overall, this tiny nation appears to be caught in a tidal cycle of doubt, ebbing and flowing between plans to abandon the country and hopes of developing it. Of course, the stilt houses might also be due to the rising tide of garbage. Until recently, the only refuse the Tuvaluans created was coconut husks and fish bones, and in keeping with past practices, they now throw everything from plastic bottles to beer cans and disposable diapers more or less out their front doors. I, too, have heard the pleasant soundtrack of their work in the cool hour after dawn, as they brush away the leaves and fronds that have fallen in the night, and dutifully weed the tenacious green shoots growing in their yards. But this is what I like best about this place, and what I fear most when I imagine its eventual abandonment: a different point of view that could only survive out here. Transplanted to New Zea-land, the Tuvaluans will doubtless learn to grow lawns. Before I left home, a friend suggested that Tuvalu might have a bright future as a postapocalyptic tourist destination, and with this in mind, I find myself assessing future attractions. The lobby of the Vaiaku Lagi would make a pleasant dive site—open and airy watery , with the guest rooms adding the thrill of exploration, all of which might be clothed in pretty corals if the sea temperatures permit. The windowless kitchen would provide an excellent daytime sleeping site for white-tipped reef sharks, while the small dining room could house a large humphead wrasse and his harem of females. Ordering a can of Victoria Bitter, I see ample room behind the bar for a moray eel, and plenty of whiskey bottles to provide homes for shy octopuses. The next morning, when he looks surprised to see me there, and anxious over what to do about it, he delivers me into the company of Father Camille Desrosiers, better known among his tiny congregation as Father Kamilo—a fit, year-old French Canadian Catholic missionary who has been on Funafuti for 17 years, where he claims, only half jokingly, to have been forgotten by his superiors. Father Kamilo also disdains the disappearing-island theory, citing the contradiction of the building boom. But the news of even the nearby world could easily pass him by, I realize. Father Kamilo strives mostly in vain against the dominant Protestant Church of Tuvalu, which has been in the islands for more than a century, and whose pealing bells call its brethren to services seemingly more often than a muezzin. What will become of these other Tuvaluans—the ones whom the people still consider important enough to erect roofs over their graves for shade? Surely the New Zealanders will not accept the dead Tuvaluans, too, or the soil they have become. Many young Tuvaluans are already being sent away. Promising students go to universities in Fiji, New Zealand, or Australia. At any given time Tuvaluans—about 1 in 4 of the adult males—are employed as merchant mariners. When these young people return, despite being richer or better educated or both, they still have no pigs, a condition considered pitiable by the older generation. Pigs and land have traditionally been the measure of wealth in Tuvalu. The feast is overflowing with pork, delivered whole on spits from underground umu ovens. Meantime, they tear into the pig carcasses with their bare hands. Like a growing number of their countrymen, they are Tuvaluans who do not live in Tuvalu. Recent population estimates indicate that in the last two years some 2, have fled the rising waters, or the limited opportunities, and are now scattered across the South Pacific—many in Auckland, the largest Polynesian city in the world, and a place decidedly pigless and landless, at least for refugees. During its brief decades of independence, Tuvalu has behaved differently from its South Pacific neighbors, many of which are considered among the most corrupt nations on earth. Currently, the government is seeking partners among other island nations for a lawsuit against the United States and Australia to be brought before the International Court of Justice in The Hague, suing for damages from global warm- ing. There is skepticism over this lawsuit. Some see it as a cynical ploy for more foreign money. These tend to be the same people who privately mutter that garbage-strewn Tuvalu would benefit from a seawater flushing, and who appear to begrudge the Tuva-luans their clever capitalizing on the few opportunities available to them. Still, the lawsuit is considered a threat, and Australian legal experts, at least, have advised their government to take it seriously. Along with Tuvalu, many other island and coastal cultures have just grievances. The seas around the Carteret atolls off Papua New Guinea have cut one island in half and left 1, people dependent on food aid. Trinidad reports losing land at the rate of two to four yards per year. And in Alaska, some Eskimo are being forced to move, as the tundra melts and their villages slip into the sea. Unlike other refugees displaced by wars or famines, these people on the edge of the ocean face the prospect of never again having homelands to return to. Some help has been promised, but it pales in comparison to Western practices. Eventually, the cost will be high for all nations. During my time in Tuvalu, I find myself wondering what Darwin would have thought of it all. Within the coming decades, the atolls of Tuvalu and elsewhere will almost certainly revert to sandbars and then nothing. Although the people themselves will not go extinct, without their home islands to anchor them, their beliefs and identity probably will, scattered person by person across the rising waters, to places where they will learn to wear real shoes and eat frozen pork— until, like Atlantis, the name of Tuvalu fades into myth.

Buying weed Funafuti