La plantación de manglares en las costas de Vietnam ayuda a proteger contra el calentamiento global y también está sembrando las semillas del empoderamiento femenino.

Tran Thi Phuong Tien recuerda cuando llegaron las inundaciones. Sentada en su café en la ciudad de Hue, donde tuesta sus propios granos de café y sirve carne de res que atrae a los clientes del otro lado del río Perfume, recuerda cómo la tormenta tropical Eve golpeó la costa en octubre de 1999, golpeando la región con más de su promedio mensual de lluvia en solo unos pocos días. La lluvia masiva, que aterrizó principalmente río arriba, conspiró con la marea para causar el mayor desastre natural para el área en el siglo XX. El mar se derramó agresivamente por el estrecho, calles desprevenidas de las comunas y las casas de una sola planta en Hue. El agua insensible subió sorprendentemente rápido.

La inundación continuó durante cuatro días. Tran y su familia huyeron a la casa de su madre. En un momento, su esposo tomó un bote de regreso a su casa, bucear bajo el agua para entrar y sobrevivir con un alijo de bebidas energéticas que quedaron del antiguo trabajo de Tran durante los pocos días que pasó allí. El personal del gobierno lanzaba bolas de arroz cocido a través de las ventanas de las casas al otro lado del río, pero, por su parte, la inundación fue demasiado extrema para los escasos esfuerzos de rescate como ese. La mayoría de sus muebles fueron destruidos. Después de que las aguas retrocedieron, vio cadáveres por todas partes:perros, gatos búfalo, humanos. El barro que quedó en las paredes se negó a ceder a sus esfuerzos de limpieza. Escuchó sobre una familia, una abuela, un abuelo y sus dos nietos, que sabían que iban a morir y se ataron para que sus cuerpos no fueran arrastrados.

Se estima que 600 personas murieron en esos pocos días, y los daños ascendieron a unos 300 millones de dólares. Dejó la provincia de Thua Thien Hue, y otros en esa región del centro-norte de Vietnam, temeroso de la próxima vez que el mar venga a reclamar la tierra como propia.

Las aguas codiciosas a menudo han tenido la provincia en sus garras. En noviembre de 2017, las inundaciones del tifón Damrey afectaron a más de 160, 000 hogares en la provincia, matando a nueve personas, y causando alrededor de $ 36 millones en daños. Pero es la inundación de 1999 lo que acecha. Desde debajo de su flequillo tenue, Tran mira el estanque sucio al otro lado de la calle de su café como si se preparara para lo que podría convertirse.

El desastre de 1999 es de lo que habla la gente de Thua Thien Hue cuando les pregunta sobre el cambio climático, tan reflexivamente como un hipo, como si fuera un ejemplo de libro de texto. La conexión no es precisa explica Pham Thi Dieu My, director del Centro de Investigación y Desarrollo Social, una organización sin fines de lucro con sede en Hue. El cíclico, si es severo, tormenta tuvo la diabólica suerte de traer fuertes lluvias, la marea alta, y falta de preparación. Pero para Pham, que ha estado educando a la comunidad sobre el cambio climático, la memoria ha sido crucial para despertar a los residentes, en particular a las mujeres, a la realidad de su futuro.

El Ministerio de Recursos Naturales y Medio Ambiente de Vietnam predice que, si las emisiones siguen siendo altas, la temperatura media en Thua Thien Hue aumentará hasta 3,7 grados Celsius a finales del siglo XXI. Las precipitaciones anuales aumentarán entre un 2 y un 10 por ciento. El nivel del mar se elevará hasta 94 cm. El aumento del nivel del mar combinado con el aumento de las lluvias inundará las llanuras bajas en las que se asienta la provincia. Al mismo tiempo, el agua de la que dependen algunos cultivos puede volverse fatalmente salada cuando las sequías de la estación seca no traen suficiente lluvia para equilibrar la salinidad del agua del océano. La inundación de 1999, dice Pham, facilita la comprensión de lo que se avecina.

Como estrategia, funciona. El ejemplo de la inundación junto con otros cambios recientes:temperaturas tan altas que los agricultores se habían acostumbrado a sembrar arroz por la noche, y las escasas precipitaciones que dejaron las aguas demasiado salobres para que prosperasen el arroz y muchos peces; le demostró a la gente de Thua Thien Hue que el cambio climático no estaba llegando. fue aquí.

Entonces, cuando Pham se acercó a las sucursales locales de la Unión de Mujeres de Vietnam, con una idea simple para ayudar a la tierra y al mar a resistir el peligro que se avecina, encontró voluntarios dispuestos. No necesitaban marchas o compromisos de las superpotencias mundiales para catalizarlos a la acción. Las mujeres de Thua Thien Hue estaban listas para rescatarse. Y al hacerlo, se unieron a un movimiento global para preservar y restaurar una de las herramientas más cruciales y generalizadas, aunque olvidadas, para frustrar la destrucción provocada por el clima:los manglares.

Le Thi Xuan Lan se está riendo de mí. Me lo merezco. Caminamos hacia su pequeño rectángulo de agua, un bolígrafo bordeado por bajo, diques de arena que lo separan de la laguna de Tam Giang a lo largo de la costa central de Vietnam. Allí, cosecha camarones y cangrejos para complementar el dinero que gana recolectando basura en su comuna tres veces por semana. Pero llegar a su estanque requiere cruzar un puente, si se le puede llamar así. Tubos de bambú gris unidos y reforzados por estrechos, Los tablones verticales se extienden a lo largo de una entrada. Un solo poste horizontal hecho de bambú ofrece una barandilla desvencijada que inspira poca confianza. El puente mide solo 30 pies más o menos, pero soy torpe y tengo miedo de dejar caer mi cuaderno y la grabadora, así que agarro la barandilla con las dos manos y tomo el puente de lado. Detrás de mí, Le, quien tiene 61, aúlla de risa y salta al puente sin agarrarse. Detrás de los dos el Mar de China Meridional se encuentra plano y en calma, como si planeara seguir así.

Antes ese mismo día, nuestros pies se hundieron en el calor, negro, orilla blanda junto a un manglar de 16 meses de edad que ella había ayudado a plantar. Los árboles jóvenes parecían niños soldados delgado y larguirucho, sus cabezas de verde, hojas coriáceas flotando a solo un pie más o menos por encima del agua. Le, vestido con una sudadera con capucha rosa y pantalones negros, cubierto de la cabeza a los pies a pesar del aire hirviendo, como es el camino en el sudeste asiático, inclinado para limpiar las algas de las raíces aún tiernas. Ella arrojó una piedra que se había posado cerca, como una madre que limpia la comida de la cara de un niño. Mantener los árboles pequeños libres de cualquier cosa que pueda sofocar su crecimiento es vital para su éxito. Y su éxito ella sabe, es vital para su supervivencia. En unos años, los manglares estarán allí para evitar que las inundaciones se traguen toda su aldea. O eso espera ella.

Los manglares son un testimonio del milagro de los árboles. De los 60, 000 o más especies de árboles en la Tierra, solo los manglares toleran el agua salada. Prosperan donde el agua dulce se mezcla con el océano, un poco más allá de las costas de más de 90 países en el sudeste asiático, Sudamerica, Norteamérica, África, el medio Oriente, el Caribe y el Pacífico. Sus espesos nudos de raíces fibrosas capturan los sedimentos del río, reduciendo así la erosión de las playas y evitando que los contaminantes fluyan hacia el océano. Una franja de manglares de 100 metros de ancho puede reducir la altura de una ola hasta en dos tercios. Secuestran carbono de tres a cinco veces más poderosamente que los bosques tropicales de las tierras altas.

A menudo se hace referencia a los manglares como "los viveros del mar"; los grupos de ellos son caldo de cultivo para peces y crustáceos. Aunque es difícil obtener estimaciones exactas, es probable que cientos de miles de especies de peces pasen su ciclo de vida alrededor de los manglares. Los investigadores estiman que el 80 por ciento de la población mundial de peces depende de ecosistemas de manglares saludables, ya su vez, 120 millones de personas en todo el mundo dependen de ellos para obtener ingresos. Las aves migratorias también hacen hogares estacionales en los manglares.

Todo esto hace que plantar estos árboles sea un proyecto ideal para un tipo de preparación para el cambio climático conocido como adaptación basada en ecosistemas:el aprovechamiento de los recursos naturales para desarrollar la resiliencia al cambio climático. Puede entenderse mejor por lo que no es:gris. Paredes del mar, Los embalses y diques construidos con materiales duros son lo opuesto a la adaptación basada en ecosistemas (AbE). Estas estructuras suelen ser el resultado de decisiones y financiación de arriba hacia abajo. AbE, por el contrario, es de abajo hacia arriba y se centra en la conexión entre las personas y su entorno. Es más eficaz dice Philip Bubeck, que investiga la adaptación al cambio climático en la Universidad de Potsdam en Alemania, si los humanos directamente entrelazados con un ecosistema dado son los involucrados en salvarlo. La plantación de manglares es un ejemplo de AbE. Otros incluyen la reforestación para eliminar la inseguridad alimentaria en México, el establecimiento de zonas de no pesca, y la limpieza de basura en áreas urbanas de Sudáfrica.

No siempre se presta mucha atención a las soluciones basadas en la naturaleza para adaptarse al cambio climático. Aunque AbE como concepto formalizado tiene más de diez años, un informe reciente de las Naciones Unidas señaló que solo el 1 por ciento de la inversión global en infraestructura hídrica se destina a este enfoque. Bubeck dice que debido a que los proyectos involucrados suelen ser pequeños y locales, los gobiernos nacionales tienen poco control, lo que puede causar tensión en países donde los funcionarios gubernamentales están acostumbrados a tomar las decisiones. Los buenos resultados pueden tardar años en revelarse, y eso suele ser demasiado para la política.

Todo esto está cambiando lentamente. Los proyectos basados ​​en la naturaleza están ganando más atención y más financiación. Los pobres, vulnerable people who are most susceptible to the damage that climate change will bring are finally being included, consulted, and heard. In Thua Thien Hue, that means women.

Women's inequality makes them particularly vulnerable to the hazards of climate change. In Vietnam, says Pham, "women have important roles but are not fully recognised by society." Their resilience is hampered by social, cultural and political disadvantages. Because they are the primary caregivers to children, the elderly and the sick, women are not as free to seek shelter from the storm when doing so means moving to another location. They often earn money in the so-called "informal sector"—selling noodle soup or roasted pig on the sidewalks of Hue, por ejemplo, or caring for a young family at home—leaving them financially insecure, especially when calamity strikes. And they tend to hold far fewer roles in the government, which means their particular needs, such as hygiene requirements, often aren't part of disaster management discussions.

Pham wanted to change that. Growing up in rural Quang Binh province, she liked the floods that arrived every year during her childhood. "I played in the water, it was fun, " ella dice, "and we had no school during the floods." But 1999 changed that. "I saw so many people dying, " says Pham, now 40. At her office at the Centre for Social Research and Development (CSRD), a merciful air conditioner hums faintly in the background. A few men and women work in near silence while Pham's four-year-old daughter tries to keep herself busy. A sizeable fish tank containing just a single plant sits on a shelf above the blonde wood table where we're sitting.

Climate change was still emerging as a national issue when Pham started working here in 2008. The following year, the team here joined researchers from the Institute for Environmental Studies and Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, both in the Netherlands, on a wide-ranging project known as ADAPTS, funded by the Dutch Foreign Ministry. In Vietnam, this focused on planting mangroves and also fruit trees for the shade and extra income they provide.

The project achieved its aims of planting trees and galvanising locals to protect their homes. It also attracted the attention of the government, which then asked CSRD to draft a province-based action plan for climate change adaptation. But Pham knew whatever they did next had to address gender inequality, an issue that was baked into CSRD's mission and also was proving essential for climate change adaptation.

Women were crucial to protecting their communities against the intensifying natural hazards and healing them afterwards, Pham and the founding director of CSRD, Thi Thu Suu Lam, wrote in 2016. "However, women are underrepresented in decision-making at all levels." And with little time to spare for learning, women couldn't do much to prepare for disasters beyond stacking their furniture.

One morning in a small, coastal village called Ngu My Thanh, populated by about 220 households, I watch as neighbours build a fish trap together. Mothers and daughters tie white netting onto long, thin dowels that stretch from the porch into the house. "We worry about it, " says Vui, one of the mothers, when I ask her about climate change. Her tone is casual and her adaptation plan is limited. "We can arrange the furniture in the house, " ella dice, "and stock food." The daughters, around ages 8 to 12, know little if anything about rising global temperatures or the threat that poses to Vietnam. "They haven't learned anything yet, " another woman says, as if she's been asked to prove Pham's point. "They're busy earning their lives, they don't have time."

Pham had global support for her conviction that any future project on climate resilience had to address gender inequality. The Sendai Framework for Disaster Risk Reduction, a 15-year, non-binding agreement put forth by the United Nations in 2015, called for more attention on the role of women in disaster risk management. Women, it stated, "are critical to effectively managing disaster risk." And yet Pham also knew that in Vietnam, being critical didn't mean being treated that way. En 2016, por ejemplo, the Flood and Storm Control Committee of Thua Thien Hue included one female member but the province planned projects and policies "without meaningful consideration of [women's] capacities, needs and interests, " Pham and Thi wrote. Members of the province's Women's Union told Pham and Thi that their involvement was passive at best.

As Pham prepared for the next project, she knew this inequality had to be addressed first and foremost. And she believed that doing so would make all the difference when it came to safeguarding the future of Thua Thien Hue.

En 2017, Pham and the Dutch team received $500, 000 for a new mangrove project, the one for which Le Thi Xuan Lan planted trees. Called ResilNam, it is funded by the Global Resilience Partnership Water Window, a collection of public and private organisations that awards money from Z Zurich Foundation, a private Swiss grant foundation supported by the Zurich Insurance Group.

Drawing on the knowledge of locals, the team identified two spots for planting mangroves. One site, Hai Duong, where Le had laughed at me, had never seen mangroves before. The other was two hours south in a rural district called Loc Vinh, where locals had once been forced to flee as American soldiers moved in to destroy a Viet Cong base. Allí, mangroves already flourished in the warm, jade-green waters where the Bu Lu River flows into Lang Co bay, where desolate beaches lure pale vacationers. The ResilNam project offered a chance to expand their reach.

Starting in March of 2018, just after flood season, locals at each site planted hundreds of trees, mostly purchased from nurseries in nearby provinces. In Loc Vinh, about 20 men and 10 women planted enough trees to cover two hectares of coastline. For each day's work they earned 250, 000 dong (about $11, or enough to buy ten loaves of bread in Hue), paid from ResilNam grant money.

Beginning in the late afternoon, after the tide receded for the day, the men dug holes 20 to 30 cm deep, two metres apart, and the women planted the trees. Healthy mangroves nearby fed their inspiration. Regard for the landscape they'd been forced out of during the war fed their motivation.

"Growing mangroves makes things more beautiful, " says Le Cuong, 55, who helped plant the mangroves and built a fence to protect the saplings. The late afternoon planting sessions filled the workers with a sense of purpose, "because we were helping to do something to protect the environment." The ResilNam team estimates that 12, 000 people will directly benefit from the new mangroves, with an additional 180, 000 people reaping some tangential reward.

But ResilNam wasn't just about planting trees; it was also about planting seeds. Pham and the research team held workshops and other events within several communes to educate women and engender confidence to voice their needs. They organised focus groups for women to discuss how severe weather shaped their lives and what they could do about it. They also established a micro-credit programme that lets households in the village encompassing one of the mangrove sites borrow funds; caring for the mangroves during that year is part of the loan agreement.

At the local branches of the Women's Union, members learned about climate change and held karaoke sessions with a song list themed entirely on the topic of flooding. Women were trained to host tours of the mangroves, which will generate income for them. The capacity-building efforts of ResilNam reached 300 women directly and, the team estimated, another 1, 500 by proxy.

The project worked. At the first community meetings with the ResilNam team, only men talked. Women, many of whom couldn't read or write, didn't speak. "They were marginalised, " says Pham. Gradually the women spoke up. And the ones who went first encouraged others to do the same. For Pham, the change she has seen among women in Thua Thien Hue has been just as significant as the new mangroves, if not more so. "That is the biggest achievement, " she says. Communes that held men-only activities have now opened those events to women. And, says Pham, women have a stronger voice in the plans and policies set by the Flood and Storm Control Committee.

Le Cuong, who is 55, takes me, along with my translator, out in his canoe-like boat to see the mangroves he and his neighbours have planted by Lang Co bay. He stands as he rows past enormous fishing nets and ramshackle huts where fishermen can nap in the shade while their traps catch their targets. He has to keep his mouth open to hold his conical hat in place because the string holding it under his chin is too loose. He is tanned and muscular and although he is clean-shaven, he has let a few white facial hairs sprouting from a mole grow several inches long. He tattooed the words "sad for my life" on his arm when he was 20 and upset with himself for not managing to travel overseas. Ahora, gliding through the bay, he is happy—happy to have done something to help the next generation, happy to have people to help, happy to expand the mangrove forest.

But it isn't all happy in the bay. Le is sad for the life of the year-old mangroves. They have failed to grow. Where trunks should be thickening, spindly sticks poke the air, a handful of leaves sprouting from their tops. They look like a long row of pencils with decorative erasers, the tropical equivalent of Charlie Brown's sparse little Christmas tree. Nearby, lush, older mangroves drop their green-bean-like fruits towards the water and extend their green-bean-like roots up towards the sky. Oysters cover the bark where the trunks meet the water and ducks wander in their shade. These old-timers are doing everything mangroves are supposed to do, but they can't show the young, new shoots the way. The ResilNam team aren't sure why the trees haven't thrived here. Le suspects they planted the saplings at the wrong time of year and too deep in the water.

It is a somewhat cautionary tale. "There are so many failures all over the world, " says Ali Raza Rizvi, who manages the ecosystem-based adaptation programme at the International Union for Conservation of Nature and works with the Global Mangrove Alliance, a hub for sharing data and developing projects centred on saving mangroves. "It's not easy." The uncertainty faced by new saplings is one of several reasons that the priority needs to be on protecting current mangrove forests, says Rizvi. About 25 percent of the global mangrove population has been lost since 1980, with between 12 and 20 million hectares remaining worldwide. Asia lost up to a third of its mangroves between the 1980s and 1990s. In South-east Asia, the trees have been uprooted mainly by aquaculture, but also by palm oil refineries, construction and rice agriculture. The degradation has slowed, but a 2015 study reported that it is currently continuing at 0.18 percent per year.

Even if the trees are replaced, restoring the ecosystem that had developed around them could take years. The trees themselves need seven to ten years to become substantial enough to slow storm surges, shrink waves, and sequester enough carbon in their roots to make a difference. Por el contrario, the amount of carbon dioxide released each year from the roots of destroyed mangroves worldwide may equal the annual emissions of Myanmar. "Let's protect and conserve the mangroves that we have, " says Rizvi, "and then restore."

Hoang Cong Tin, an environmental scientist at Hue Sciences University, says that we should not view mangroves as independent ecosystems. Bastante, they are part of a bigger ecology that also includes sea grass and salt marshes. Particularly when it comes to gauging the ability of these species to sequester carbon, the coastal ecosystem must be viewed—and preserved—as a whole, says Hoang.

Todavía, mangroves at the planting sites where the trees were new to the location are thriving. They show all the promise of becoming the ecological marvels that their ancestors have proven to be.

On a hot weeknight in July, Trinh Thi Dan, 58, emerges from her evening swim in the Perfume River. She's one of many "aunties" who bathe in the river twice a day, using large plastic bottles roped around their bodies as flotation devices (many of them can't swim) and dressed in clothing rather than bathing suits. She often carries trash out of the river when she leaves. A couple of days earlier, she pulled out a dead dog. "The river is like a mom hugging you, " she says. She wants to protect it. Another auntie, Tran Thi Tuyet, 57, soon joins her on the grassy bank. "Our group is addicted to the river, " she says. Tran sometimes makes it all the way home having forgotten to remove the garbage she's stashed in her clothing while swimming.

Tran directs the Women's Union in her town and has planted mangroves as part of ResilNam. El proyecto, ella dice, transformed the women of her commune. "It's totally different to how it was before the project, " says Tran. The women are more confident. They have more skills and knowledge. They are better equipped to take action before, during and after a flood. They are equal with men. "The men have to admit the contribution of women and accompany them side by side, " says Tran. She says she feels happy to be among those who've helped their environment.

As she speaks, the stillness of dusk descends over the river. Mountains, sky and water melt together into a trio of indigo. Birds circle above. Tran goes to join the few women still bobbing in the dark, placid water. She plans to swim to the other side.

This article first appeared on Mosaic and is republished here under a Creative Commons licence.