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OPINION
Opinions | Climate Change

To address malnutrition, we should turn to ‘blue’ foods

A ‘blue food revolution’ can help turn the tide against climate change and malnutrition.

Jim Leape
Senior Fellow, Stanford Woods Institute for the Environment; Co-Director, Stanford Center for Ocean
Solutions

5 Oct 2021

A worker captures shrimp in a net from an open sky pond at the Don Pepe Aquaculture Shrimp Farm in La Cruz,
Mexico, on Monday, September 28, 2015 [Susana Gonzalez/Bloomberg via Getty Images]

Our food system currently leaves three billion malnourished and will have to feed
10 billion people by 2050, all under the intensifying and unpredictable effects of
climate change.

Aquatic “blue” foods – fish, shellfish and algae that are caught or cultivated in
fresh or saltwater – are poised to play an ever more important role in addressing
this gap and building a better food system in the future.

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A landmark new study, the Blue Food Assessment (BFA), shows how we can
benefit from the multitude of opportunities that exist in the world’s waters.

With demand for aquatic foods already predicted to nearly double by 2050,
researchers found that expanding blue food production even further could make a
big difference for public health. Their models indicate that an additional increase
of 8 percent in supply would drive down blue food prices, making it easier for
poorer households to buy and eat and preventing an estimated 166 million cases
of malnutrition around the world as a result. What’s more, in three out of four
countries, these benefits accrued even more so to women.

To make the most of this rising demand, however, improvements are urgently
needed to drive the sector towards greater efficiency, sustainability and equity.
Here’s what we need to do to make the most of that potential, and truly begin to
turn the tide against the global challenges of climate change and malnutrition.

First, we need to recognise that blue foods are important foods. The policies and
programmes that shape our food systems have long focused on agriculture,
leaving blue foods on the sidelines. Blue foods already provide vital nutrition to
more than three billion people – and they can play an even more essential role in
meeting the challenges that lie ahead.

Second, we must capitalise on the incredible diversity of blue foods. We eat more
than 2,500 different aquatic species. They vary hugely in the nutrients they
provide. Small pelagic fish such as anchovies and sardines, for example, have
approximately eight times more iron, five times more omega-3 fatty acids, and
four times more vitamin B-12 than tilapia (a commonly eaten white fish).

Blue food production systems also vary widely in their environmental footprints
– bottom trawling can have very high greenhouse gas emissions; cultivation of
bivalves and seaweed, on the other hand, can actually be carbon-negative.

Our research shows that embracing this rich diversity offers rich opportunities to
meet our many needs and tastes and to find paths that allow us to meet multiple
goals at once – to have foods that offer higher nutrition, lower environmental
footprints, and more equitable livelihoods.

That means driving better practices in many parts of the sector. More
fundamentally, it also means expanding our blue food horizons – eating more
diverse species of fish, like sardines and anchovies instead of just salmon, and
further branching out into other foods like oysters, mussels and seaweeds.

Third, we must recognise and support the vital role of small-scale producers in
the blue food sector. Small-scale actors produce, process, and sell most of the
blue foods that are destined for human consumption, while providing livelihoods
and security for hundreds of millions worldwide.

Yet, these actors are often neglected by policymakers and by markets, which tend
to focus on large, industrial producers. Small-scale actors must have a seat at the
table in managing blue food resources. And they need support – including
infrastructure, such as cold chains, that allow them to access markets; finance for
innovation and the sustainable intensification of production; and cooperatives
that allow small actors to access national and international markets.

Finally, like other food systems, blue food systems will be disrupted by climate
change. The blue food sector needs to do its part to reduce emissions – better
fisheries management, for example, can lower emissions because fishers can
catch their quota with less time on the water. We must also invest in climate
resilience. Our research shows that the countries and communities that are most
dependent on blue food consumption are also most exposed to climate risks and
least prepared to cope with them. Even if the world achieves the Paris goals for
controlling emissions, more than 50 countries will face high climate risk due to
high dependence on blue food benefits and high vulnerability to loss of those
benefits.

With nine fishing seasons left to achieve the 2030 Sustainable Development
Goals, the research shows that blue foods are one of the best solutions to the dual
challenges of climate change and malnutrition that are rapidly accelerating
around the world.

Ultimately, we can begin to turn the tide against these global challenges, but only
if we unlock and unleash the vast potential of blue foods.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not
necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

Jim Leape
Senior Fellow, Stanford Woods Institute for the Environment; Co-Director, Stanford Center for Ocean
Solutions

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OPINION
Opinions | Beirut explosion

Lebanon after the Beirut blast: A nation stuck in a moment

Our lives are still defined by what happened during a few moments on that August
evening more than a year ago.

Zahera Harb
Leader of International Journalism Studies Cluster at City, University of London

5 Oct 2021

A demonstrator holds the Lebanese ag during a protest near Parliament as Lebanon marks the one-year
anniversary of the explosion in Beirut, August 4 [Aziz Taher/Reuters]

It was a quiet, balmy August evening. I had just finished running a workshop for
Lebanese journalists on the rise of hate speech in Lebanese media and was
enjoying summer drinks with three women friends at the Commodore Hotel in
Hamra, at the very heart of the Lebanese capital.

Around 6pm, we received a message on WhatsApp from a friend in London,

informing us of a tweet he saw about an “explosion” at the Beirut Port. The tweet
was accompanied by a photo showing clouds of grey smoke above the port. As we
did not hear an explosion, we doubted the story, but still went straight to our
phones to check if there were any corroborating reports. We found nothing. I
made a comment about how dangerous such “fake news” can be, especially in a
politically unstable country like Lebanon, but we didn’t think much of it.

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A few minutes later, we felt a jolt followed by strong tremors that shook our table.
It felt like an earthquake, but we instinctively knew what we were experiencing
was not a natural disaster. A fraction of a second later, we heard a loud bang, and
pieces of shattered glass started to rain on us. It felt like the world was ending.

It was a scene worse than anything I have seen growing up amid Lebanon’s civil
war or covering the many Israeli assaults on my country as a journalist. It was
worse than the two suicide bombings I personally witnessed in Beirut in 2013 and
2014.

I must have blacked out because when I opened my eyes, my head was pinned on
the wooden surface of the table. I heard my friends scream “something has fallen
on Zahera!”

As I pleaded with my friends to “get that thing off me”, all I could think was that
my city has betrayed me. The city that I felt safe in even during the toughest of
times has abandoned me.

When my friends finally managed to lift the large window frame resting on top of
my shoulders and free me, they started shouting: “There’s blood on Zahera’s
face!” I couldn’t feel much, so tried to calm them down, saying it was probably
just a nose bleed. Deep down, I was scared that I was about to become one of the
many Lebanese victims of violence whose stories I have covered over the years.

Soon it became clear to us that the blood running down my face was not a nose
bleed – there were three deep cuts across my face that needed stitching. Looking
at the chaos around us, we realised there was no point in calling an ambulance.
My friends said they would drive me to a nearby hospital.

When we stepped out of the hotel, we found ourselves facing an apocalyptic

scene. There were countless windows and doors lying on the street. Injured
people, covered in blood, were walking aimlessly among piles of shattered glass.

We were denied access to three hospitals overwhelmed with injured people –

people fighting for their lives. I felt hopeless, scared. I knew that my city was
doomed.

Once I finally managed to get myself admitted to a hospital and my wounds

treated, I started to recollect our search for the cause of the explosion. First, we
thought it was an Israeli air raid. Then, a story started circulating on WhatsApp,
claiming that it was a suicide bombing at the nearby residence of Saad Hariri,
former Prime Minister and son of assassinated Prime Minister Rafik Hariri.

A few hours later, we learned what really happened. The tweet we saw earlier in
the evening warning of an “explosion” at the port was in fact about a fire that
broke out in a warehouse full of fireworks. That fire had spread into a nearby
facility holding some 2,500 tonnes of ammonium nitrate and caused the
devastating explosion.

At least 218 people were dead and thousands were injured. A third of the city was
completely destroyed and some 300,000 people were displaced. And this
devastation was caused not by an outside force, but an enemy within.

On that day, alongside the explosion, a sense of despair also hit the nation. We
could not believe that the ruling class had allowed tonnes of explosives to be
stored at the Beirut Port for more than 6 years – a ticking time bomb at the heart
of the city. We couldn’t believe that our politicians and civil servants were
negligent and corrupt enough to have facilitated such a grave human tragedy.

As we tried to pick up the pieces of our lives and comprehend how much we had
lost in a matter of minutes, we realised that our country had officially entered the
club of failed and collapsed states.

Indeed, Lebanon could no longer be described as anything other than an “entity”

run by a group of corrupt warlords focused only on their own financial and
political interests.

After learning the depth of negligence and corruption that led to Beirut’s
destruction, I decided to stop referring to Lebanese politicians as “political
leaders”. “Leaders” do not condemn their own people to death. They do not
physically and psychologically cripple their own capital city.

Lebanon has collapsed but, more than a year later, its rulers are still spending
most of their energy on blaming each other for this catastrophe. Each sect, each
political party, is blaming another for what happened to our country.

Those ruling Lebanon are not “leaders” but thugs who need to be brought to
justice.

In one of the journalism workshops I ran in the aftermath of the explosion, a

prominent Lebanese investigative journalist asked: “Would it be hate speech if I
called Beirut Port officials criminals?”

“My investigation showed that they knew of the dangers of storing large
quantities of ammonium nitrate in a population centre and still did nothing,” the
journalist said, “Would it be considered hate speech if I called them killers?”

I didn’t know how to answer the question. In a country where the judiciary is also
controlled by the same corrupt ruling class, perhaps it is up to journalists to
decide for themselves. Personally, I have made my decision.

It has been more than a year since the explosion. But the people of Lebanon are
still waiting for justice. We are waiting for those directly or indirectly responsible
for our collective assassination to be held accountable for their crimes.

Beirut today is a shadow of the city we once knew. The port blast, followed by the
total collapse of the Lebanese economy, took its toll on the capital – and its
people.

Not only Beirut, but the whole of Lebanon is now a trauma zone. Trauma has
become a dominant ingredient of our national identity. We want to heal, we try to
heal – but there is no healing without justice. For the Lebanese people to once
again look at the future with hope, those who tampered with our economic and
physical safety need to be put behind bars.

The thugs ruling over us, however, are hellbent on avoiding accountability.

Their recent move to “suspend” the investigation into the explosion, following
complaints filed by two MPs summoned for interrogation accusing the leading
investigative judge of “bias”, was the most recent proof that they will do anything
in their power to obstruct justice.

But the Lebanese people will not give up. The families of those lost to this
explosion will not give up. They are determined in their quest to find justice for
their loved ones despite multiple brazen attempts to silence them and cripple
their protests.

Reading this, you may think that I’m still stuck in that fateful moment when I
realised Beirut had been ruined and the Lebanese state had collapsed. I am stuck,
but I am not alone. Every single Beiruti is still stuck in that moment. Our lives are
still defined by what happened during a few moments on that August evening
more than a year ago.

The Lebanese people are known for their resilience. Our resilience allowed us to
come out of 15 years of civil war and rebuild our lives and our country. Sadly,
after the Beirut Port explosion, we ran out of resilience. Anger and despair
prevailed. Only justice for the victims can give some comfort and hope to this
colonial political structure called Lebanon.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not
necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

Zahera Harb
Leader of International Journalism Studies Cluster at City, University of London

Dr Zahera Harb is Leader of International Journalism Studies Cluster at City, University of London.
She previously worked as a broadcast Journalist in Lebanon for local and international news
organisations. She is board member of Ethical Journalism Network, Dart Centre Europe for
Journalism and Trauma and several other professional and academic editorial boards. Harb has
published extensively on Middle Eastern media and politics.

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