What is blue carbon and why does it matter?

I’m sure we’ve all heard about the importance of forests in capturing and storing carbon in order to mitigate climate change, but have you heard of blue carbon? Blue carbon also refers to CO2 being captured, but within oceans and other bodies of water. Essentially the liquid version of what forests do for our planet.

The great appeal of blue carbon is essentially that it is more efficient at capturing carbon than its drier counterpart. The term tends to focus on tropical ecosystems: mangroves, salt marshes, and seagrasses. Doctor Narissa Bax focuses on Antarctic blue carbon, which is the same concept, in the colder climate of the Southern Ocean, a place that has taken on unexpected levels of carbon sequestration.

The Scientist Behind the Research

Dr. Narissa Bax is a polar marine ecologist, originally from New Zealand, who has worked much of her life in Tasmania and is now based in Greenland. Dr. Bax has led expeditions in some of the most remote marine environments on Earth, from the Southern Ocean to the sub-Antarctic, and her work has been recognized by the IPCC, COP27, and Australia’s 100 Climate Conversations. She is also one of the co-authors of an article published in Frontiers in Marine Science titled, “The Growing Potential of Antarctic Blue Carbon.” She is a leading researcher on Antarctic blue carbon and its cycles in the Southern Ocean.

Blue Carbon vs. Antarctic Blue Carbon

To review, blue carbon is carbon that is stored and sequestered by marine ecosystems. Since around 2009, it has become a much more central part of the climate change discussion due to its higher efficiency carbon capture and sequestration, often able to store the CO2 for hundreds of years.

Antarctic blue carbon is essentially the same concept, but in the Southern Ocean and with a longer duration of sequestration.

The key players in the Southern Ocean are the phytoplankton at the surface and the deep-sea corals and sponge fields on the seafloor. Imagine the Great Barrier Reef, but in a cold, dark, Antarctic context. There is quite a lot more animal life down there than you may imagine.

On top of that, with the melting ice in that area, we are seeing phytoplankton blooms on the surface, who are, as a result in direct contact with animals living on the seafloor, leading to faster growth and extended opportunities to feed. We are also seeing some increases in the capacity of those animals to grow and retain carbon in their skeletons.

The phytoplankton living in the surface column consume the carbon and sequester it. If their bodies are buried below the sediment, the oxygenated layer, it ends up being taken out of the carbon cycle for hundreds to thousands of years! This had been happening naturally in the Antarctic and is an incredibly impressive process in the battle against climate change. In response to rising temperatures, this ecosystem is becoming more adaptive and “consuming” more of the carbon that is being output.

Carbon Storage vs. Carbon Sequestration

In order to understand the political and business implications of these findings, it helps to have a clear distinction between carbon storage and carbon sequestration. Carbon storage refers only to capturing and holding carbon without specific definitions of how long it will be held for. Carbon sequestration is the process of removing carbon from the atmosphere and putting it somewhere else, for longer amounts of time, typically over 100 years.

This distinction matters not only factually but also in looking at ecological conservation and quantifying it in monetary terms within a larger business context. Under the Paris Agreement, for example, certain emission limits have been set that businesses need to abide by. If they do not meet the criteria, they are allowed to purchase carbon credits from projects that are removing or reducing CO2 from the atmosphere in order to offset the emissions that they themselves produce.

How Does Blue Carbon Fit Into the Conversation?

The discussion around carbon credits varies on the quality of the credit and the level of removal or sequestration, and is a great topic of debate and, as are many other environmental topics, very politicized.

“In the carbon credit system, only carbon that is permanently removed from the atmosphere for centuries or more is truly considered sequestration. When applied to the ocean, blue carbon projects such as restoring mangroves, seagrass meadows, or salt marshes are increasingly being used in the system. However, the deep sea, where carbon can be stored for thousands of years, operates differently from coastal blue carbon. And because carbon markets are political as much as they are scientific, who gets to claim credit for that sequestration, how it’s verified, and whether it’s really offsetting emissions long term are ongoing debates.”Dr. Narissa Bax, Polar Marine Ecologist (via Pine Forest Media)

Carbon markets are highly politicized spaces that are still developing in terms of regulation. With many large corporations vying for ways to make their image more green, blue carbon and Antarctic blue carbon serve as high topics of interest due to their long sequestration potential.

Protections and Governance in Antarctica

The Antarctic Treaty System is an international framework that governs Antarctic relations and dedicates the space to peace, science, and environmental protection; cutting it off from territorial claims, nuclear waste, and prohibiting military activity below 60 degrees south latitude. This space of land and sea is meant to be a preserve held for the benefit of humankind.

The treaties are very important in terms of environmental protection, but were made in a very different era of time. When they were created they mostly focused on fisheries practices and did not take into account the problems with global warming that we face today. Looking forward, scientists and many others in the environmental space are looking to center on modernizing future treaties and making them more applicable to today’s circumstances.

“So finding ways to make these treaties that are globally applicable and collaborative, and meaningful, is to also understand that biodiversity and climate change are linked.”Dr. Narissa Bax (via Pine Forest Media)

Scientists are looking to adapt what is already in place to be more focused on climate change and upholding Earth’s functions as much as possible.

So much of this area of the world still remains unexplored. There is a big need for continued long-term, collaborative, multi-disciplinary research to take place in order to push us towards a cleaner Earth.

Blue Carbon and Hope for the Future

Blue carbon is not a cure-all, but it is certainly something to be excited about in terms of climate change. (Proceed with cautious optimism.) Antarctic blue carbon is an entity that exists within a protected place, is a system that exists naturally, and is responding and adapting to climate change. This is a rare chance to preserve mostly unharmed, functioning ecosystems before they are degraded.

“…it is an example of working with something that holds a bit of hope because it’s based on protecting areas that are largely intact and biodiverse and functioning in their healthy natural state for the most part, as far as we know. I think it’s incredibly important to protect those areas for the future, obviously, but it’s also really beautiful for and hopeful as a scientist to be able to work in those locations and to hold on to that idea that you’re working on something that will translate into conservation and you’re not necessarily documenting the decline, you’re looking from a collaborative explorative perspective as well.”Dr. Narissa Bax (via Pine Forest Media)

Antarctica’s ecosystems are crucial in connection to global systems that fight climate change worldwide. They provide us with a model of hope to look towards the future with and a way to connect with an utterly critical part of our ecosystem that we know so little about. Antarctic blue carbon is a distant lighthouse of hope in a dark, stormy ocean of bad news.

You can find Dr. Narissa Bax on Instagram, Twitter, or on her website. More than anything, she encourages people to continue engaging in scientific conversations and learning as much as they can!

This article is courtesy of the Oceanography podcast from Pine Forest Media, the only independent podcast network in the world dedicated entirely to environmental science storytelling. Episodes are available wherever you listen to podcasts.

Follow Pine Forest Media on Instagram: @pineforestmedia

Written by: Madelyn Choi Weir

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About the Author

Madelyn Choi Weir is a New York-based freelance journalist, a producer with Pine Forest Media, and a public relations professional. Her work focuses on environmental storytelling and global travel. As an artist and polyglot, she seeks to amplify stories from around the world that have a story worth telling.

You may have heard the phrase: If you want to make change, start locally. But how do impactful environmental missions actually take root in our own communities?

One compelling example can be found in the bustling capital of Ghana, Accra. There, two media professionals and conservationists have joined forces to protect their local waters, and to teach others how to do the same. George Amadou, a marine educator, conservationist, and underwater filmmaker, and David Selasi Kuwornu, a cinematographer and the organization’s communications and programs lead, are the founders of Coral Reefstoration Ghana, a non-governmental organization dedicated to expanding ocean access and protecting marine ecosystems.

In September of 2025, they launched The Dive Lab, Ghana’s first-ever diving and underwater media bootcamp designed specifically for marine biology undergraduates. The program represents a major step forward in hands-on marine education in the region.

Mission

Coral Reefstoration Ghana is a nonprofit organization focused on marine conservation, coral restoration, and expanding public access to the ocean. Their work centers on equipping ocean enthusiasts, scientists, and conservationists with both research skills and storytelling tools, believing that people are far more likely to protect what they understand and feel connected to.

In Ghana, ocean conservation still faces many challenges. Despite being a coastal nation, education around marine ecosystems is not very widespread at primary or secondary school levels. Many children grow up near the sea yet are taught to fear it, often hearing cultural stories that emphasize danger and risk.

“You know, growing up, one thing that we all noticed was our parents never allowed us to get close to the sea or to the ocean or to any water body at all. You know, because there’s this scare that we may drown…”George Amadou, Co-founder, Coral Reefstoration Ghana

As a result, misconceptions about the ocean persist into adulthood. Amadou and Selasi Kuwornu are working to change that narrative. Their goal is to reframe the ocean not as something to fear, but as something to explore, understand, and protect.

Origins of the Organization

Coral Reefstoration Ghana officially began just over two years ago with a simple but powerful goal: to help people feel more comfortable in the water. The team started by organizing swimming lessons for a wide range of participants, from schoolchildren to university students.

A turning point came when they attended the West African Marine Science Symposium, hosted by the University of Ghana. During the conference and through conversations with Professor Edem Mahu, they identified one of the region’s most significant barriers to marine conservation: lack of access. Across West Africa, only about one percent of students ever gain firsthand experience with the ocean. Most universities lack the funding, equipment, or infrastructure needed to take students into the field.

Seeing an opportunity, Amadou and Selasi Kuwornu expanded their efforts. Already certified divers with the necessary equipment, they began taking marine science students into the water, starting with Professor Mahu and her class.

“We decided on teaching them how to dive so that they could actually go down there, get to see the seabed, experience the marine life, and thereby appreciate marine conservation more.”George Amadou

Under the guidance of Coral Reefstoration Ghana, students are able to engage with their studies in three dimensions, transforming abstract concepts into lived experience and helping them become stronger researchers and storytellers. Through The Dive Lab, Coral Reefstoration Ghana hopes to empower West Africa’s future of science.

The Dive Lab

The Dive Lab is a six-day, hands-on program that teaches participants how to scuba dive and film underwater. The inaugural program received more than 50 applications, from which 10 students, mostly marine biology undergraduates, were selected.

By the end of the bootcamp, participants earn a diving certification, underwater research skills, underwater cinematography training, and media and storytelling experience.

The hope is that by experiencing marine ecosystems firsthand, students will develop a deeper connection to their work while gaining the tools to share their findings with both the scientific community and the broader public. If conservation efforts like this continue, Ghana may be able to guide us forward with news that contrasts the doom and gloom we are so accustomed to.

The State of Ghana’s Reefs

So, what is the current state of Ghana’s coral reefs?

According to Coral Reefstoration Ghana, the reefs are still relatively healthy, but highly vulnerable. Amadou and Selasi Kuwornu see this moment as critical: an opportunity to protect these ecosystems before irreversible damage occurs.

Some of the most pressing threats include destructive fishing practices and pollution. Bottom trawling, for example, involves dragging heavy nets across the seafloor, destroying reef structures and capturing far more marine life than intended. In other cases, fishing with explosives or harmful gear causes widespread damage and contamination.

In one recent project, Amadou used a 360-degree camera to document underwater damage and later presented the footage using a virtual reality headset. Showing coastal communities the direct consequences of human activity beneath the surface has proven to be a powerful tool for awareness and mindset change. Once people are able to get a visual understanding of what is happening in their environments, they are more likely to get involved.

Looking Ahead

Moving forward, Coral Reefstoration Ghana plans to expand its outreach through local media stations, with the goal of eventually reaching audiences across West Africa. They are also developing school programs, screenings, workshops, and virtual reality experiences to bring the ocean to those who may never have seen it firsthand.

“I believe that digital storytelling is actually what is going to bridge the gap between the wealth of knowledge that is to be acquired from the ocean and those out there who do not know about it. The digital storytelling tools are going to carry these live marine messages right on their wings to these people out there who do not know anything about it, who have very wrong perceptions about the ocean in the first place…”David Selasi Kuwornu, Co-founder, Coral Reefstoration Ghana

Longer-term, they hope to integrate marine science education into schools at an early age, starting with swimming programs for children that can eventually lead to diving and conservation training. With these programs they aim to empower young Ghanaians to become innovators and leaders in locally led ocean conservation.

Conservation does not always begin on a global scale. Often, it starts within a community, through access, education, and storytelling. Coral Reefstoration Ghana offers a powerful model for how these elements can come together to transform relationships with the ocean and inspire meaningful change.

To support their work, follow Coral Reefstoration Ghana on Instagram and YouTube at @CoralReefsGH, and help share their story with the world.

This article is courtesy of the Oceanography podcast from Pine Forest Media, the only independent podcast network in the world dedicated entirely to environmental science storytelling. Episodes are available wherever you listen to podcasts.

Follow Pine Forest Media on Instagram: @pineforestmedia

Written by: Madelyn Choi Weir

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About the Author

Madelyn Choi Weir is a New York-based freelance journalist, a producer with Pine Forest Media, and a public relations professional. Her work focuses on environmental storytelling and global travel. As an artist and polyglot, she seeks to amplify stories from around the world that have a story worth telling.

Queer on a Quest: On visibility, travel, and human compassion

I didn’t go looking for danger; I went looking for people. I went knowing the warnings, carrying them lightly, aware of the risks without letting them write the entire story for me. What I found wasn’t recklessness on my part or a denial of reality, but something far more common: people who were willing to meet me where I stood, openly and with respect.

In the markets and mosques, on ferries, and in winding back streets, I met people whose lives had nothing to do with my fears. And in those ordinary crossings, I learned how rarely decency announces itself loudly, and how it often simply shows up unexpectedly.

North Korea

In the DPRK, the structure of life is what one would notice first. Everything feels arranged, and held in place with rules and culture. These rules are rarely talked about but very much understood by the North Korean people. The land, however, refuses to cooperate. Mountains rise as they will, and beautiful rivers (much like the Daedong River I was to be running alongside in the upcoming days) bend and move as they please. Structure bows to the will of nature.

I’ve been twice to the beautiful Hermit Kingdom, and the first time was for the Pyongyang Half Marathon. I ran the second year the marathon was offered to foreigners and probably the first time in its history that North Korea allowed access to as many tourists as were running in this event. I was very happy to count myself as one of them. It was here that I met Mr. Park. I’ve written about Mr. Park before as this was one of those stories that truly changed who I was and how I see the world.

The conversation with Mr. Park started after I finished my first half marathon ever, so needless to say I had very little energy to entertain small talk. However, when Mr. Park started to engage me with questions about my life, I couldn’t resist talking about myself. I mean, it’s my favorite topic. It was there when he asked if I had a wife or a girlfriend. I did do a little research before coming to this country, as most queer travellers are used to doing when going to a country where our sexuality could be, shall we say, a hindrance. I was told by the tour company I chose to go with, Koryo Tours (look them up, by the way), and their response shocked me. They said it was perfectly fine to be openly gay in North Korea, but all North Koreans believed that that was a Western ideal and did not exist within the country. Okay, so I wasn’t in any danger for outing myself. To my dismay, however, when I showed Mr. Park a photo of my then-boyfriend, his response was less than friendly. ‘I don’t like that,’ he said and proceeded to ignore me for the rest of the day. Rude, but not the first time. It wasn’t until the next morning at breakfast that Mr. Park pulled me aside, like aside aside though, he fully pulled me out of the breakfast room and down the hall to a very private part of the hotel. Confused and very concerned, I went with him, not at all sure what was happening. Mr. Park then turned to me and asked, ‘Do you love your boyfriend, Mark?’ to which I could only squeak a nervous response of ‘Yes.’ Assuming I was about to be deported or something, his face melted to a smile and he clapped my shoulder and said, ‘Then that’s okay, that’s okay then.’ After I finally exhaled from what seemed like forever, my heart melted. I can only assume he went home and had a think about it. Instead of continuing to judge or believing what he was told, he really thought about it and decided that as long as it was a loving relationship, he could totally be on board. For the entire rest of the trip, we were buddies. I think about the experience so often, as that was the first time I learned that government, politics, and travel warnings are not always a reflection of what you will find in the streets. Much like Mount Ryongak and all the peaks that choose to defiantly stand up around the city center of Pyongyang, Mr. Park chose to use his own self-determination and decide that he and I could be friends. Obviously, I haven’t heard from him again, although I did make inquiries the second time I was there. He’s doing well and back at his desk job. It still does my heart good to know I had a friend who chose love over rules and kindness over program.

Afghanistan

After North Korea, I assumed these same rules would apply to Afghanistan: the same reserve, the same careful distance. Instead, I found myself standing in Kabul, dressed in my club naughties, a glass of vodka sweating in my hand, quietly asking myself how another trip built around warnings had led me here. North Korea offered acceptance via a contained, singular experience given out by one Mr. Park. In Kabul, it was everywhere, layered, overlapping, impossible to trace to one person but definitely one moment.

The DJ was killing it. All of the haphazardly put-up twinkle lights gave the room a cool retro seventies vibe, while the party patrons buzzed around, dancing and socializing as a group of people do who have found themselves in a very tight-knit community. This birthday party was raging. I found myself, mildly under the influence, in the center of the dance floor, in a deep grind with my bestie. In true Vegas hens party fashion, we dirty-danced with each other while being cheered on by the Afghan party-goers. Now this would have been a typical night out any day of the week normally had we not been standing, or umm grinding, downtown Kabul. What was happening?

I remember mostly the streets of Kabul as being beige and nondescript. They were full of life and character but generally just walled compounds, one after the other, and streets lined with cedar trees. Beautiful in their own right, however, each street had a way of blending into one another. I met my friend/dance partner on one of those said streets after driving in from the airport. He had been working in Kabul for a while and offered to bring me along for a road trip through central Afghanistan. I immediately accepted this offer and flew to meet him. We hugged on the street and he took me into the house where I was to be staying whilst in Kabul. Here is where it hit me. We passed through the compound wall, through a sturdy gate, into an inner garden, or paradise, would have been more appropriate. It was a literal oasis of grapevines clinging to rock walls, of pomegranate trees growing strong in impossibly fertile soil. There were bushes and trees in every corner and the smell of pine with touches of kebab only heightened the sense. It was beautiful, and it was a reminder of Kabul from long ago: rich in heritage and refined in opulence. It wasn’t until a while after that the metaphor hit me.

Kabul unveiled a truth: beauty and acceptance often dwell in shared, hidden sanctuaries. Beyond the watchful, busy streets and behind high, rigid compound walls, there was a defiant life of music blaring, vodka flowing, and Afghans, contrary to every modern media narrative I’d heard, laughing, dancing, and drawing this gay man into a night of rebellious vibrancy. Seemingly reserved on the outside yet fiercely welcoming within. That evening transformed me, proving that the need for human connection is a force more powerful than any imposed ideology.

Ethiopia

In the Omo Valley of Ethiopia, nature and people overlap so completely that neither tries to dominate the other. The land stands as it is, and the people do as well. Water and dust, language and ritual exist side by side, negotiating their space not demanding it. It felt like a place that has always understood what modern borders forget: that coexistence isn’t disorder; it’s balance.

I remember coming to the Omo Valley a little trepidatious, as it was a little infamous and tourists were criticized for traveling to experience a ‘human zoo.’ I would have never wanted to contribute to that, but after many talks with tour companies and personal reflection, I made my way there. The vibrancy of the people was astounding, from the seriousness of the Mursi People, to the beautiful ochre hues of the Hammer Tribe; cultures rich in their own traditions shared so much beautiful space for each other. I marveled again and again at the diversity. And not only in the people; the land was vast and just as diverse, from green lush valleys of the Omo, to the Danakil Depression, all the way up to the deserts of the north. The land left you wanting nothing.

I found myself one night in a very small town somewhere around Jinka. My boyfriend at the time was grumpy from travel and wanted to stay in, but our guide invited us out to a small hole-in-the-wall for some drinks. I never say no. Honestly, never. I was thrilled I chose not to say no to this evening because this bar was way too much fun. The dance floor was going off and everyone was very welcoming and friendly. I found myself drinking at a table with my tour guide and several of his friends, who all were clad from head to toe in the Rastafarian colors. We sat there talking, and please understand I had a few Habeshas (local beers) in me, or I would never have been so bold, but the guys were engaged in explaining to me what the Rastafarian movement meant to Ethiopia. They explained how the Rastafarian movement was less about rebellion than it was about a return: a return to anti-colonial thought and ways of being, and Ethiopia had the distinction of representing pre-colonial African values.

It was then that one of the gentlemen clocked me. He looked up at me, as I was sipping my beer and just quietly enjoying the conversation, and exclaimed far too loudly, ‘I see you!’ ‘I’m sorry?’ I said back.

‘I see you, I know who you are,’ he said, waving a finger at me. Genuinely confused again, I said, ‘Sorry?’ smiling, trying to understand what was going on.

‘You’re a gay!’ he exclaimed as if he had cracked some sort of code. My stomach lurched. I honestly didn’t know how to respond. I was completely unaware of how to get back to my hotel, I was literally the only foreigner in this place, and my tour guide was a little wisp of a thing and very much incapable of helping me out of any situation.

I stammered, and honestly I can’t remember what came out of my mouth, something along the lines of, ‘Oh really? Why do you say that?’ I’m horrible with confrontation and this was not a moment I relished getting into one. Somewhat thankfully, his next line was, ‘It’s okay, I don’t have a problem, but that’s not something we believe in here.’ Now honestly, I don’t know what came over me, I don’t know what emboldened me to continue this conversation, as usually I would simply do my best to exit as quickly as possible. But on this night, I took a long haul on my Habesha and asked, ‘What don’t you believe in?’ He predictably launched into the same old argument of a Christian household, one man and one woman, procreating children, the same argument I’ve had to listen to since Catholic high school. It was then, and I can only tell you this came as a huge surprise to me, I launched into a rather spirited monologue of how Africa always had space for queer people; men living as women and adopting female roles around the village, non-binary people woven into society, of gay and lesbian lovers. I don’t know much about Africa’s history, but I do know a little bit about queer history and seemed maybe too eager to share. To my surprise, he listened intently, and instead of challenging my rather passionate, mildly inebriated, history lesson, he threw his head back and laughed, a gracious, happy sound that somehow ended the debate without invalidating a word I’d said. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘okay, you know some things.’ I smiled, he smiled, and we continued our night of drinking and dancing. We didn’t speak anymore about the subject, and the conversation ended with my guide saying, ‘I like gay guys, they don’t take any of the girls.’ I was more than happy to move on, but it was in that moment, when I braced for persecution, that I instead found myself fully seen and profoundly heard, creating a vital bridge of understanding in a space where I had expected something much different. Here we were, two cultures, distinct in countless ways yet deeply similar in many others, sharing this space and enjoying each other’s company, just as people have done on these very lands for countless centuries.

Written by: Mark Scodellaro