Pacific Island Nations Face Extinction. Their Allies Are Arguing Over Bases.

The Pacific islands have a problem that is both existential and immediate. Tuvalu, a nation of 11,000 people spread across nine coral atolls, will be uninhabitable by 2050 if current sea-level rise continues. Kiribati's capital, South Tarawa, floods during king tides with such regularity that residents have learned to move furniture before consulting tide charts. The Marshall Islands, independent since 1986, faces the prospect that the United States military base at Kwajalein Atoll — which provides 60% of government revenue through lease payments — will be submerged before the lease expires in 2066. Yet the international response has been focused less on climate adaptation and more on securing military access. Australia, China and the United States are locked in a strategic competition for influence in a region where nations are literally disappearing.

This is, to put it mildly, suboptimal. The region's 14 sovereign nations represent just 0.02% of global greenhouse gas emissions but are experiencing some of the most severe climate impacts on Earth. Average sea levels in the western Pacific have risen at roughly twice the global rate since 1993, according to the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. Saltwater intrusion has destroyed freshwater aquifers in Kiribati and Tuvalu. Storm surges that once occurred every 50 years now arrive every five. The World Bank estimates that adaptation costs for Pacific island countries will exceed $1 billion annually by 2030 — more than the total GDP of Tuvalu, Nauru, Palau and the Marshall Islands combined.

The numbers

The geopolitical stakes are considerable. The Pacific islands control exclusive economic zones covering 30 million square kilometres — an area larger than Africa. These waters contain shipping lanes that carry 60% of Asia's maritime trade. The United States maintains military facilities in Palau, the Marshall Islands and the Federated States of Micronesia under Compacts of Free Association that grant Washington exclusive military access in exchange for economic assistance. China, which established diplomatic relations with Kiribati in 2019 and Solomon Islands in 2022, has proposed infrastructure projects in both countries that include deep-water ports. Australia, alarmed by Beijing's encroachment, has increased aid to Pacific nations by 50% since 2022 and deployed additional naval patrols under the Pacific Maritime Security Program.

Island leaders have noticed the mismatch. Simon Kofe, Tuvalu's Minister of Justice, Communications and Foreign Affairs, delivered his address to the COP26 climate summit in 2021 while standing knee-deep in seawater — a stunt that garnered global media attention but little additional funding. At the Pacific Islands Forum in Suva in February 2026, Kofe was more direct: "Our partners speak of strategic competition. We speak of survival. These are not the same conversation." Tuvalu has since signed the Australia-Tuvalu Falepili Union, a treaty that grants Tuvaluans the right to live, work and study in Australia in exchange for Canberra's veto over Tuvalu's security arrangements with third countries. The agreement, which takes effect in July 2026, has been described by Australian officials as a climate and security pact. Tuvalu's opposition has called it a sovereignty surrender dressed up as a lifeboat.

A familiar pattern

This is not the first time great powers have treated Pacific islands as strategic assets rather than sovereign nations. During the Second World War, the United States fought island-hopping campaigns across Micronesia and Melanesia, treating atolls as unsinkable aircraft carriers. Between 1946 and 1958, Washington conducted 67 nuclear tests in the Marshall Islands, rendering Bikini and Enewetak atolls uninhabitable and exposing thousands of islanders to radiation. The Compact of Free Association, signed in 1986, included $150 million in compensation but waived Marshallese claims for future health effects. By 2023, cancer rates in the Marshall Islands were four times the regional average, according to research published in the Pacific Health Journal.

The Cold War brought a different form of neglect. France conducted 193 nuclear tests in French Polynesia between 1966 and 1996, most of them at Moruroa and Fangataufa atolls. Paris acknowledged health impacts only in 2010, after decades of denial. Britain detonated nine nuclear weapons at Kiritimati (Christmas Island) between 1957 and 1958, exposing I-Kiribati workers to fallout. London has paid no compensation. Australia, meanwhile, has long treated the Pacific as a backyard rather than a neighbourhood. Canberra's aid to the region peaked at 0.38% of GDP in 1984 and has since fallen to 0.07%, despite Australia's status as the Pacific's largest trading partner.

The mechanism

Why do outside powers prioritise security over climate? The answer lies in the intersection of geography and great-power rivalry. The Pacific islands occupy what defence planners call the "second island chain" — a strategic buffer between Asia and the Americas. Control of this zone was a central objective of American war planning during the Cold War and has returned to prominence as China expands its naval reach. The People's Liberation Army Navy now operates 370 ships, compared to 293 for the United States Navy. Beijing has established a naval base in Djibouti, negotiated a security pact with Solomon Islands in 2022, and proposed port upgrades in Kiribati and Vanuatu that could accommodate military vessels.

Climate adaptation, by contrast, offers no strategic advantage. Seawalls do not deter rival navies. Desalination plants do not secure sea lanes. Resettlement programmes do not enhance military readiness. The mismatch between what Pacific islanders need and what great powers are willing to provide reflects a hard truth: sovereignty without power is precarious. Tuvalu can demand climate action, but it cannot compel Australia, China or the United States to cut emissions or fund adaptation. Kiribati can refuse Chinese port proposals, but it cannot finance alternative infrastructure. The Marshall Islands can invoke its Compact with Washington, but it cannot force the Pentagon to decontaminate radioactive sites or extend lease payments beyond 2066.

What is being done

The international response has been fragmented and inadequate. The Green Climate Fund, established under the Paris Agreement to channel $100 billion annually to developing countries, approved just $890 million for Pacific island nations between 2019 and 2025 — less than 1% of total global climate finance. Most funding has gone to small-scale projects: solar panels in Samoa, rainwater harvesting in Vanuatu, mangrove restoration in Fiji. These are useful but insufficient. Tuvalu requires $400 million to elevate its capital, Funafuti, above projected sea levels by 2050. Kiribati needs $1.2 billion to relocate 110,000 residents from South Tarawa to less vulnerable islands. Neither country has received commitments approaching these sums.

Australia's Pacific Step-up, launched in 2016 and expanded in 2023, has increased aid by A$1.4 billion over five years. Much of this has funded infrastructure and governance programmes rather than climate adaptation. The Australia-Tuvalu Falepili Union, meanwhile, has been criticised by legal scholars as an attempt to secure migration pathways without addressing the root causes of displacement. "Australia is offering Tuvaluans the right to flee, not the resources to stay," wrote Professor Jane McAdam of the Kaldor Centre for International Refugee Law in a February 2026 analysis. Canberra has rejected proposals to establish a regional climate adaptation fund or to link migration pathways to emissions reductions.

China, for its part, has positioned itself as a development partner unconcerned with political conditionality. Beijing provided $780 million in concessional loans to Pacific island nations in 2024, concentrated in Solomon Islands, Kiribati and Vanuatu. Most projects involve roads, ports and government buildings — visible symbols of Chinese generosity but limited contributions to climate resilience. The exception is a $120 million flood-control project in Honiara, Solomon Islands, completed in 2025, which includes raised seawalls and improved drainage. Chinese officials have cited this as evidence of their commitment to climate action. Western diplomats have noted that the seawalls surround the deep-water port that Chinese state-owned enterprises are upgrading under a separate contract.

What is to be done

The Pacific islands require a climate adaptation fund commensurate with the scale of the crisis. The Asian Development Bank estimates that Pacific nations need $5–7 billion annually through 2050 to finance seawalls, freshwater infrastructure, renewable energy systems, and planned relocation. This is roughly half the cost of a single Gerald R. Ford-class aircraft carrier. Australia, which is spending A$368 billion on AUKUS submarines, could establish a Pacific Climate Resilience Fund with an initial capitalisation of A$10 billion — less than 3% of its submarine budget — that would provide grants rather than loans for adaptation projects. New Zealand, which has committed NZ$1.3 billion to Pacific climate finance by 2030, should match this contribution proportionally.

The United States, which bears historical responsibility for nuclear contamination in the Marshall Islands, should extend and expand its Compact funding. Current payments of $70 million annually are insufficient to cover health care costs for radiation-related illnesses, let alone climate adaptation. A revised Compact should include $500 million annually through 2066, with automatic extensions tied to sea-level rise projections. Washington should also support a Loss and Damage Fund under the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change that prioritises small island developing states. The fund, approved at COP27 in 2022 but not yet operational, has received pledges totalling just $700 million — less than the cost of two F-35 fighter jets.

China, if it wishes to be taken seriously as a responsible stakeholder in the Pacific, should shift its financing from prestige infrastructure to climate adaptation. A Chinese-funded Pacific Climate Resilience Initiative — capitalised at $2 billion and focused on seawalls, water security and renewable energy — would demonstrate genuine partnership. Beijing should also clarify the security implications of its port projects and offer transparent financing terms. The opacity surrounding Chinese loans, many of which carry interest rates above 4%, has fuelled concerns about debt traps and dual-use facilities.

Pacific island nations, for their part, should leverage their strategic importance to demand better terms. The Pacific Islands Forum, which represents 18 member states, should establish a unified negotiating position on climate finance and refuse to sign security agreements that do not include binding adaptation commitments. Tuvalu's Falepili Union with Australia could serve as a template — but only if future agreements tie migration pathways to measurable emissions reductions and adaptation funding. Island leaders should also pursue legal avenues. The International Tribunal for the Law of the Sea is currently considering a request from the Commission of Small Island States on Climate Change and International Law to issue an advisory opinion on state responsibility for climate harm. A favourable ruling could establish liability for high-emitting countries and unlock compensation pathways.

A choice, not a fate

The Pacific islands face an existential threat, but their disappearance is not inevitable. The technology to build seawalls, desalinate water, and relocate populations exists. The cost, while significant, is a rounding error in the defence budgets of the countries competing for influence in the region. What is lacking is political will. Australia, China and the United States have chosen to treat the Pacific as a chessboard rather than a community. They have prioritised bases over survival, loans over grants, strategic access over sovereignty. This is a choice, not a fate. Tuvalu's islands are sinking, but its leaders are not drowning quietly. They are demanding that the world choose differently. Whether anyone is listening remains to be seen.