The (mal)governance of raw materials such as these even led to the resources being seen as a ‘curse’. In the present day, the scramble for critical minerals has many of the same features – imperial powers seeking to take control of the resources for their own benefit. History seems to be repeating itself.

The US’s new proposed trading club for critical minerals, in conjunction with its more domestically-oriented Project Vault, albeit designed to protect technologies for AI, manufacturing and defence rather than green industries, is but the latest example of an imperial-centred approach.  Such an approach could reinstate previous and reinforce existing power structures instead of recalibrating or even dismantling these structures for a socially-just global transformation that does not mainly serve the interests of the US.

If the world is to undergo a green transition, how might it do so without repeating the colonial and imperial global structures of the past? In short, what might a Green New International Economic Order (GNIEO) look like and how might it come about?

As a first step, greater agency and voice for the Global South are a prerequisite. Notwithstanding the uneven global distribution of critical minerals, many of them are found in the countries of the Global South (for example, China and Brazil alone have over 70% of known rare earth reserves).

If they are to be extracted and used to meet progressive social, political, economic and ecological goals, then countries of the Global South will need to have control over their resources and have access to the technologies which will allow them to use these resources for their own industrial advancement. Ownership of resources and access to technology and finance were, in fact, key aspects of the Global South’s proposals for a New International Economic Order (NIEO) in the 1970s. 

The NIEO was a brave attempt to see an alternative future for global economic governance but it failed to deliver as countries in the Global North, especially the US under Kissinger, sought to divide the countries of the Global South by exploiting the differences of interests between oil exporting and oil importing countries while maintaining Northern unity as much as possible, and as the Global South’s agenda unravelled as a result of the underlying tensions in its goals.

If a GNIEO were to be forged now, it would face many of the same problems. The unity of the Global North might be strained, however, as the US under Trump alienates friend and foe alike. Notwithstanding this, many of the current global governance institutions designed to regulate extractive processes, such as the World Bank’s Climate Smart Mining Initiative and the OECD’s Responsible Business Conduct, are dominated by Northern countries.

A coherent Global South response would require two major features. Firstly, it would need to manage the inherent tensions between resource nationalism and collective action. Secondly, and relatedly, it would need China to be a powerful leader given its global dominance in the extraction and processing of critical minerals.

Resource nationalism - and its associated policy instruments such as industrial policy, the support of State-Owned Enterprises, local content regulations and export bans - has resurfaced in the Global South over the past decade or so. Many countries feel the pull of resource nationalism as a way to protect and secure their own economic destinies in the face of predatory external threats.

Of course, this has often led local elites to engage in predatory behaviour themselves as part of the global structures of extraction and accumulation. Resource nationalism – in the sense of sovereign control over resources - is a necessary but insufficient condition for progressive change. One of the problems, from a global perspective, is how resource nationalism can be made compatible with collective action by the Global South, that is, which parts of nationalism can be reasonably ceded for the greater power offered by the prospect of cooperation with other Global South countries.

This dilemma is especially acute for China in the case of critical minerals. It is faced with geopolitical and geoeconomic threats from the US, is blocked by many Northern countries from investing in key sectors and from purchasing some key technologies. China’s response, perhaps unsurprisingly, has been overwhelmingly nationalist.

An examination of resource policy documents reveals a strong emphasis on domestic regulation covering issues such as environmental mitigation, work safety, export quotas and industrial restructuring and upgrading. There are specific provisions for international cooperation through the Belt and Road Initiative, for example, and in some bilateral agreements (with Russia, for example).

But there is conspicuously little which speaks to the global level, at how global governance structures could be forged to advance the interests of the Global South despite China’s insistence that it sees itself as a key member and supporter of the Global South. 

At present, we are therefore left with critical minerals, essential to the future well-being of the global population and planetary health, being governed by the anarchic interactions of rival powers. A Green New International Economic Order is needed urgently. 

The opinions and thoughts expressed in this article reflect only the author's views.

About the authors

Paul Bowles is Professor Emeritus at the University of Northern British Columbia, Canada. He has published widely on development, globalisation, and extractivism.

Nathan Andrews is an Associate Professor of International Relations at McMaster University whose research focuses on the global political economy/ecology of natural resource extraction and development.

Jing Vivian Zhan is a Professor in the School of Governance and Policy Science at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. Her research focuses on comparative political economy, local governance, and natural resource management, especially in the Chinese context.

This opinion piece draws upon the analysis set forth in Nathan Andrews, Paul Bowles and Jing Vivian Zhan, “ Transforming Global Critical Minerals Governance: Is a Green New International Economic Order Possible?”, Third World Quarterly , 18 January 2026 (online first), DOI: 10.1080/01436597.2025.2608840. For extended analysis, see also Paul Bowles and Nathan Andrews (eds.), Extractive Bargains: Natural Resources and the State-Society Nexus , London: Routledge, 2024.

Work on the Jakarta section is set to begin in September. The capital’s 19-kilometre stretch — expanded from an earlier 12-kilometre design — is expected to cost about $1 billion a year over eight years, with Jakarta asked to fund the segment because of its large regional budget.

President Prabowo Subianto revived the long-stalled plan last year by declaring it a national strategic project.

Jakarta Governor Pramono Anung said the city “fully supports the project,” arguing that extreme flooding and seawater intrusion have left officials with limited options.

Sinking Indonesia

First proposed in 1994, the wall is meant to address a convergence of crises along Java’s northern coast: climate-driven sea-level rise, chronic land subsidence and decades of unchecked groundwater extraction that have caused parts of Jakarta and other cities to sink rapidly.

A 2023 study found that several northern Javan cities are subsiding at least nine times faster than the global average rate of sea-level rise, intensifying tidal flooding and erosion in densely populated coastal areas.

For the government, the wall will protect millions of residents and key industrial zones, ports and transport links that underpin Indonesia’s economy . 

Pramono said the Jakarta segment would use a hybrid design combining concrete structures with nature-based solutions, including mangrove restoration, to blunt waves and reduce erosion.

“Despite the name ‘giant sea wall’, I will still develop mangrove ecosystems along Jakarta’s sections of the wall,” he told The Jakarta Post.

Environmental groups remain unconvinced, however, warning that a massive barrier could disrupt fisheries, worsen ecological damage and serve elite economic interests. The Indonesian Forum for the Environment has called the project a “false solution” to the climate crisis.

Fisheries and marine science professor Yonvitner of Bogor Agricultural University said concrete defences were increasingly unavoidable, but stressed they would fail without ecological measures.

According to official results from Portugal’s Ministry of Internal Administration, only António José Seguro of the Socialist Party and André Ventura, leader of the right-wing Chega party, finished first or second in every region of the country, locking in their places in the runoff.

Seguro, the centre-left Socialist candidate aligned with the S&D group in Europe, finished first overall with 31% of the national vote , leading in almost every municipality and all but two regions. His support base stretches across much of mainland Portugal, reflecting the continued strength of the Socialist Party in both urban centres and large parts of the interior.

Ventura followed in second place with 24%, marking another breakthrough for Chega. The party won outright in two regions and placed second everywhere else, confirming its transformation from a protest movement into a nationwide political force.

Liberal Initiative candidate João Cotrim Figueiredo also secured 16%, placing third in most autonomous regions, while Henrique Gouveia e Melo, running as an independent backed by the conservative PPM, finished with 12%, also claiming third place in several areas.

Neither came close to challenging the two front-runners nationally, underscoring how polarised the race has become.

The upcoming runoff will determine who succeeds President Marcelo Rebelo de Sousa, whose role, while largely ceremonial, carries significant influence through veto powers and the ability to dissolve parliament.

With Portugal facing economic pressures and broader European uncertainty, the second round is expected to draw sharp contrasts between Seguro’s institutional continuity and Ventura’s populist challenge.

In 1975, much of Africa, Asia, and parts of Latin America were still predominantly rural. According to the United Nations, only about 38% of the global population lived in urban areas at the time.

Fast-forward to 2020, cities had become the most common settlement type in large parts of Europe, North America, Latin America, and East Asia. Globally, urban residents crossed the 50% mark for the first time in human history.

What this really means is that cities are no longer exceptions or hubs surrounded by countryside. They are now the default way humans organise themselves.

Why the world is moving to cities

The drivers of urbanisation are well established and backed by decades of research from institutions such as the World Bank and the OECD.

People move to cities for jobs, education, healthcare, and infrastructure. Industrialisation and the growth of service-based economies concentrate opportunities in urban centres. At the same time, mechanisation in agriculture reduces the need for large rural labour forces, pushing people toward towns and cities.

In low- and middle-income countries, this shift is happening at remarkable speed. The World Bank notes that nearly 90% of future urban population growth will occur in Africa and Asia, particularly in countries such as Nigeria , India, and Ethiopia.

2025 and beyond: cities take the lead

In 2025, the UN projected that cities will be the most common settlement type in most countries worldwide. The map shows large swathes of Africa and South Asia transitioning from rural and town-dominated settlement patterns to city-centred ones.

Looking ahead to 2050, the trend becomes even clearer. The UN estimates that nearly 70% of the world’s population will live in urban areas by mid-century. Cities will dominate not just wealthy nations, but also overwhelmingly rural regions only a few decades ago.

This shift is not uniform. Some countries will still have strong rural populations, particularly where agriculture remains central to livelihoods. But globally, the balance has tipped.

The opportunities and the risks

Urbanisation brings real advantages. Cities tend to be more productive , more innovative, and more efficient in delivering services. The UN and World Bank both highlight that cities generate more than 80% of global GDP, despite covering a tiny fraction of the Earth’s surface.

At the same time, rapid urban growth carries risks. Without careful planning, cities can become centres of inequality, congestion, pollution, and housing shortages. Informal settlements already house more than one billion people worldwide, according to UN-Habitat.

This assertion is backed by a World Bank statement which reads "Cities are engines of economic growth and development. They are the centers where most GDP is generated and most private sector jobs are created. As cities grow, they help entire regions and even countries to become more prosperous and productive. However, the rapid pace and scale of urbanization is also bringing significant challenges."

Climate change adds another layer of urgency. Cities are responsible for a large share of global emissions, yet they are also among the most vulnerable to heatwaves, flooding, and rising sea levels.

This marks one of the most significant regulatory flashpoints for a major tech platform in years. What started as an isolated action in a handful of countries has grown into a patchwork of measures that reflect deep concerns over data privacy, national security and harmful content.

A new map from Nazar and The World in Maps shows the scale that several countries have fully blocked access to X, while others are actively reviewing its operations. The trend spans continents, from Asia and Europe to the Americas and the Middle East.

Here’s a breakdown of who’s taken action, and why.

Countries that have banned X

According to the latest information, the following countries have implemented some form of ban on X:

Countries under scrutiny

Several governments are cited as reviewing or considering bans, rigorous oversight or stricter content and data regulations affecting X:

Africa covers an enormous area of around 30.3 million square kilometres , making it the second-largest continent on Earth after Asia. Greenland, by contrast, is the world’s largest island but only roughly 2.16 million square kilometres in total land area. That means Africa’s landmass is roughly 14 times larger than Greenland’s.

But when you look at x, Greenland and Africa often appear to be similar in size on many maps because most maps use the Mercator projection, a style of map developed in the 1500s that preserves direction for navigation but dramatically distorts size, especially near the poles.

On a Mercator map, areas close to the equator, like Africa, get shrunk visually, while places near the poles, like Greenland, are stretched and appear much larger than they really are.

For centuries, the Mercator projection was the go-to choice for classrooms, atlases and even digital maps. But that has consequences. Because the projection exaggerates northern landmasses, it can give viewers a misleading sense of relative size.

Africa’s real size isn’t just bigger than Greenland. It also dwarfs other large countries and regions that people commonly think rival or exceed its area:

In recent years, geographers and advocacy groups, including the African Union, have pushed for world maps that show landmasses in their real proportions . Their aim isn’t just academic. They argue that accurate maps help correct misconceptions about Africa’s economic, demographic and strategic importance on the global stage.

One alternative gaining traction is the Equal Earth projection, which preserves area more accurately than the traditional Mercator map. Maps like these make it clearer why a continent like Africa, with more than a billion people and an area of over 30 million square kilometres, dominates in scale compared to islands like Greenland.

That sharp contrast defines the region’s fertility landscape in 2026. Data compiled by UNESCAP reveals a widening demographic divide, with profound implications for economies, healthcare systems and future generations.

At the top of the scale is Afghanistan, where women have an average of 4.7 births. Pakistan follows at 3.5, while Papua New Guinea sits at 3.0. These higher fertility rates are closely linked to limited access to reproductive health services, early marriage, and social norms that continue to favour larger families.

UNESCAP’s regional assessments consistently show that fertility tends to remain high where girls’ education levels are lower, and family planning options are restricted or unevenly available.

A significant number of Asia-Pacific nations are now hovering around the replacement level of 2.1 births per woman, the point at which a population can sustain itself without migration.

Mongolia and Timor-Leste record approximately 2.6 births, followed by Cambodia at 2.5 and Laos at 2.4. Bangladesh, Indonesia and Myanmar sit right on the replacement line. These figures reflect societies in transition, where economic growth and urbanisation are changing family expectations, but traditional patterns still hold influence.

According to UNESCAP, this stage often marks a turning point, after which fertility tends to fall more rapidly.

India , Nepal, the Philippines, Sri Lanka and Vietnam now average 1.9 births per woman. North Korea is close behind at 1.8, while Brunei sits at 1.7.

Fertility continues to fall in wealthier and more urbanised economies: Australia and New Zealand record 1.6, Malaysia and the Maldives 1.5, and Bhutan 1.4. At the lower end, Japan and Thailand have fallen to around 1.2, China and Singapore to 1.0, and Hong Kong, Macau and South Korea to just 0.7.

By 2026, few governments in the Global South publicly admit it, but many now operate as if the old model no longer applies. The language remains, growth targets, reform agendas, donor frameworks, but the behaviour has changed. Development is no longer about catching up. It is about coping, stabilising, and surviving in a world that no longer offers predictable rewards for doing things “the right way.”

This shift did not begin with a manifesto or conference declaration. It emerged from shock.

A world that broke the model

Between 2020 and 2025, the global system delivered a series of blows that exposed the fragility of development orthodoxy.

The COVID-19 pandemic showed how quickly global supply chains could collapse and how unevenly global solidarity functioned. Vaccines arrived late in much of Africa, despite years of participation in global health frameworks. Countries learned a hard lesson: integration did not guarantee protection.

Then came war-driven inflation, energy shocks, and food insecurity. Sanctions, once portrayed as targeted tools. became blunt instruments with spillover effects far beyond their intended targets. For many African economies, external crises they did not cause became domestic emergencies they had to manage.

Climate extremes added another layer. Floods, droughts, and heatwaves no longer appeared as future risks but as recurring costs. Adaptation replaced mitigation as the urgent priority, even as climate finance remained slow and conditional.

In this environment, the old development bargain began to look hollow. Play by the rules, open your markets, reform your institutions, and prosperity will follow. After 2025, fewer policymakers believed that sequence still held.

The quiet end of 'catching up'

Development thinking was long built around comparison. Income levels, infrastructure density, literacy rates, health outcomes, progress meant closing gaps with advanced economies.

But comparison assumes a stable destination. That assumption has eroded.

Western economies themselves now struggle with ageing populations, political polarisation, infrastructure decay, and fiscal stress. Their development path no longer looks universally desirable, let alone replicable. At the same time, the costs of reaching those benchmarks, environmental damage, social inequality, and external dependence are clearer than ever.

As a result, many countries have stopped measuring success by proximity to an external ideal. Instead, they ask narrower, more immediate questions: Can the lights stay on? Can food move from farms to cities? Can hospitals function under pressure? Can young people find some form of livelihood, even if it is informal?

This is not a resignation. It is recalibration.

Development as functionality

In 2026, development increasingly means functionality rather than transformation.

Power systems do not need to be world-class; they need to be reliable enough to support small businesses, clinics, and households. Healthcare does not need cutting-edge equipment everywhere; it needs trained staff, supply continuity, and referral systems that work under constraint. Transport does not need megaprojects; it needs roads that remain usable during the rainy season.

Across the Global South, especially in Africa , “good enough” solutions are quietly outperforming ambitious master plans.

Mini-grids expand energy access faster than national grid overhauls. Digital health platforms fill gaps left by overstretched public systems. Informal logistics networks move goods more efficiently than formal supply chains burdened by bureaucracy.

Who defines success now?

If development is no longer about meeting Western benchmarks or donor indicators, a deeper question emerges: who decides what progress looks like?

This question unsettles long-standing hierarchies. Global institutions still produce rankings and reports, but their authority is weaker than before. National governments, local communities, and regional blocs increasingly set their own priorities, even when these diverge from international advice.

This creates tension. Functionality may coexist with inequality. Stability may come at the cost of rapid reform. Pragmatism may override ideals.

The post-2025 development landscape does not offer moral clarity. It offers trade-offs.

Not the end, but a reckoning

To say that development has changed is not to say it has ended. People still want better lives, longer health, safer cities, and meaningful work. What has changed is the belief that there is a single, universal path to those outcomes.

In 2026, development is less about becoming something else and more about strengthening what already exists. Less about imitation, more about adaptation. Less about promises, more about systems that hold under pressure.