Every year, families in Bhola, Khulna, and Shatkhira lose their homes to floods and erosion. Most move to city slums, where life is extremely precarious. Internal migration is already straining our cities. By 2050, the number of people forced to move due to climate change could reach as high as 20 million. The pressing question is: when lands become uninhabitable and sometimes disappear under water, where do vulnerable people go, and under what law? With rising seas displacing millions, Bangladesh must push for a climate passport to secure dignity and justice for its people.
The climate passport is a proposed legal instrument to protect those displaced by climate change. It would function much like the historical Nansen passport issued to stateless people after World War I, granting them legal status and the right to cross borders. Scholars suggest embedding such a system into existing frameworks like the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC), the Platform on Disaster Displacement, and the Global Compact for Migration.
The strength of the idea lies in tackling a critical legal vacuum—the 1951 Refugee Convention does not cover climate displacement. Though International Human Rights Law offers some protections, it does not include the right to migrate across borders when homes are lost to the sea. Without a legal remedy, millions will be trapped in limbo—neither secure at home, nor recognised abroad.
The Constitution of Bangladesh guarantees the right to life (Article 32), protection of law (Article 31) as well as the right to a healthy environment (Article 18A). Moreover, the Supreme Court, in cases such as Dr. Mohiuddin Farooque v. Bangladesh (2003) and Rabia Bhuiyan, MP v. Ministry of LGRD & others, has interpreted that Articles 32 and 31 also include the right to a healthy environment. But when entire coastal regions like Shatkhira or Khulna become uninhabitable, Dhaka and other cities cannot endlessly absorb these populations. Constitutional protections under such dire circumstances cannot remain confined within shrinking borders. Safeguarding life and dignity then requires pursuing mobility rights beyond the state's territory. Without legal recognition abroad, displaced citizens risk becoming invisible—neither refugees nor secure residents at home.
In this sense, climate displacement is not only a humanitarian crisis—it is a constitutional and legal obligation. Bangladesh, as both a frontline victim and a moral voice in climate diplomacy, has a duty to articulate this case internationally.
According to experts, with rising sea levels, Pacific small island states, like Kiribati and Tuvalu, will be the first ones to go underwater. Threatened by the same fear, in February 2025, Nauru announced a controversial "climate citizenship" or "golden passport" scheme to raise funds for adaptation and potential relocation. Critics view it as selling nationality, but its message is vividly clear: when territory is at risk, mobility and identity become questions of survival, not of choice. Similarly, climate activists and legal scholars have revived the idea of a climate passport as a structured, rights-based solution. Bangladesh's plight mirrors theirs, though ours involves millions of people under the threat of climate displacement, rather than thousands.
The answer to the question of why a climate passport matters is—(1)Justice: Bangladesh has contributed less than 0.5 percent of global emissions, yet faces devastating consequences. The environmental principle of common but differentiated responsibility (CBDR) demands that high-emitting nations take on a fair share of responsibility, including supporting climate mobility; (2) Order: A climate passport would ensure legal, predictable, and dignified movement, avoiding chaotic displacement and irregular migration; (3) Dignity: Migration should not strip people of their rights. A climate passport would ensure that losing land does not mean losing their identity, culture, or protection.
Bangladesh has long led global climate advocacy, chairing the Climate Vulnerable Forum and championing the Loss and Damage funding. The same can be done for climate mobility by pushing internationally for recognition of climate passport at the UNFCCC and within the Global Compact on Migration. Building alliances with small island states and other vulnerable countries to demand minimum standards for recognition is also important, along with preparing domestically by documenting displaced populations, investing in skills training, and negotiating bilateral labour agreements with potential host countries.
Framing the climate passport not as charity but as a legal necessity rooted in human rights and international law will strengthen Bangladesh's case.
The history of global dialogues suggests that wealthy nations are unlikely to agree, but the alternative to not trying is far worse: millions trapped in disaster zones, or uncontrolled flows into overstretched cities. However, experiments like Nauru's golden passports or scholarly proposals for a Nansen-type travel document show that law is already bending under the pressure of rising seas.
Bangladesh cannot stop the Bay of Bengal from advancing towards itself, but it can help reframe global law so that when our people move, they carry not only their belongings but also their rights and dignity. A climate passport is not a utopia. It is an essential beginning to stop the worst nightmare from coming true, and Bangladesh should be at the forefront of making it a reality.
Zeba Farah Haque is a lecturer of law at North South University. She can be reached at [email protected].
Views expressed in this article are the author's own.
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