Environmental crime is one of the most pressing threats to the natural world and all of us who rely on it. Damage to the earth cannot be separated from damage to humans, and human prosperity cannot be conceived without a functioning biosphere. Environmental crime destabilises communities and economies, threatens public health, undermines food security, weakens the rule of law, and fosters corruption. Despite being the fourth largest criminal activity globally, it continues to receive inadequate resources and political prioritisation.

We have had ecologists from the UK in this field, who cried when they counted the amount of species they found per square meter. I have been told that in the UK there are only 6000 hectares left of such rich biodiversity, most of them created and maintained with high financial input. I try to explain this to one of my neighbours in our Transylvanian village at the foothills of the Western Carpathian Mountains, as he was praising the local, ever-expanding, large-scale farm which has managed to turn the biodiverse hay meadow into a grass monoculture.

Not long ago, the idea of humanity manipulating the planetary systems that regulate life on Earth belonged largely to science fiction. Today, it is the subject of serious policy debate.

Imagine waking up on an unfamiliar island beside strangers from every corner of the world. None of you remembers how you arrived. None possesses a deed, a flag, or a claim of inheritance. For a brief moment before ideology, hierarchy, or fear takes hold, something remarkable would likely occur: each person would recognise that no one present has any greater right to the island than anyone else.

Ten years after the collapse of the Fundão dam in Mariana, London’s High Court has finally reached a decision. In November 2025, the Court recognised the liabilityof mining company BHP, under Brazilian law, for what is widely considered the largest environmental disaster in the country’s history.