The air grew particularly suffocating between September and October 2025, when local authorities reported 122 cases of intoxication and asphyxiation caused by toxic fumes. Gas leaks from GCT’s facilities are widely blamed. 

On 15 October, the civil movement Stop Pollution mobilized 40,000 residents for a mass demonstration, followed by a general strike called by the national trade union UGTT, which drew more than 130,000 participants. The city of Gabès has around 150,000 citizens. 

The last protest took place on 17 December 2025, the anniversary of the 2011 Tunisian Revolution.

The Little Tunisian Chernobyl

Phosphate, one of Tunisia’s key natural resources, is largely destined for export. In 2023, Tunisia ranked as the world’s tenth-largest exporter of phosphate fertilizers, earning 61.7 million US dollars. The main destinations were Bangladesh, Brazil, France, Italy and the United Kingdom.

Phosphate fertilizers are widely used in intensive agriculture to boost crop yields. The practice can lead to the accumulation of toxic heavy metals such as cadmium in both soil and crops. And if these are the risks downstream, the dangers upstream are far greater. The combination of extractivism and export-oriented production has compromised Gabès as a whole, to the point that it is now dubbed the “Little Tunisian Chernobyl.” 

Today, the gulf the city overlooks is polluted by phosphogypsum, an industrial by-product of phosphoric acid production. It is generated by treating phosphate rock—extracted from the Gafsa mines, 150 kilometers from Gabès—with sulfuric acid. Studies have shown that phosphogypsum contains high levels of uranium and radium, both radioactive elements.

Dying Meadows of the Sea

According to a 2021 study by Oréade-Brèche on biodiversity loss in Tunisia, every ton of phosphoric acid produced generates between four and five tons of phosphogypsum. Over the past 25 years, an estimated 70 million tons of phosphogypsum have been discharged into the Gulf of Gabès, contaminating sediments across roughly 60 square kilometers. 

Marine flora and fauna have borne the brunt of this pollution. Combined with rising sea temperatures driven by climate change, the contamination is causing the progressive disappearance of Posidonia oceanica, a Mediterranean seagrass that serves as a vital refuge for fish species, crustaceans, and mollusks. 

Posidonia also plays a crucial ecological role: it helps prevent coastal erosion and oxygenates seawater by absorbing CO₂. These seagrass meadows account for 10% of the ocean’s carbon storage capacity—twice as much per square kilometer as terrestrial forests. 

At the beginning of the 20th century, the Gulf of Gabès hosted the largest Posidonia meadows in the Mediterranean; today, phosphogypsum discharges are estimated to have destroyed around 90% of them. In their place, the invasive alien algae Caulerpa has taken hold.

The disappearance of Posidonia has dealt a severe economic blow to small-scale fisheries, causing losses that exceed the added value of Gabès’ phosphate-processing industry.

Once known for its rich fisheries, the sea off Gabès is now grappling with a drastic decline in fish stocks. Pollution has coincided with industrial trawling by large fishing vessels, progressively stripping artisanal fishers of their livelihoods. 

Suffocating Protests

Moreover, as a 2018 European Commission study on the economic impact of industrial pollution in the region illustrates, there is a correlation between rising cases of chronic bronchitis and asthma in the neighborhoods of Ghannouch, Chott Essalem, and Gabès city, and the pollution generated by GCT’s activities.

Air pollution from sulfur dioxide, ammonia, fine particulate matter, and fluorides lies at the root of the region’s cases of intoxication and asphyxiation. According to the European Commission, concentrations of these substances near the GCT plant far exceed both Tunisian and international standards. 

Confronted with this reality, the people of Gabès began to raise their voices. Already in 2012, a group of residents founded Stop Pollution, a social movement demanding the dismantling of GCT’s polluting facilities. Since then, the group has organized protests, raised awareness, and informed the public on issues related to energy transition.

In 2017, the movement achieved its first major breakthrough: then–prime minister Youssef Chahed approved a plan to dismantle the six phosphate-processing units in Gabès and rehabilitate the sites in line with international standards. Yet the decision was never implemented. Instead, the government reversed course entirely.

Last March, the restricted Ministerial Council decided to raise phosphate production from under 3 million tons a year to 14 million by 2030, including expanded transport and processing capacity. The move comes amid a surge in global fertilizer prices. The plan also sets the stage for a pilot unit to produce green ammonia in Ghannouch. 

In 2024, Tunisia signed six memoranda of understanding (MoUs) with several European multinationals for the production of green hydrogen. The national green hydrogen strategy sets an annual production target of 8.3 million tons by 2050, with 6.3 million tons intended for export to Europe. This strategy has been supported since 2022 by the German Agency for International Cooperation (GiZ) through the project “Green Hydrogen for Sustainable Growth and a Low-Carbon Economy in Tunisia (H2Vert.TUN).” 

The exported hydrogen would be transported via the SoutH2 Corridor, which will connect Tunisia and Algeria to Italy, Austria, and Germany.

Environmental obstacles were swiftly sidestepped: phosphogypsum was removed from the list of substances classified as hazardous to human health.

Meanwhile, Gabès continues to suffer. On 17 October last year, Gabès’ citizens filed a petition before the Gabès First Instance Tribunal requesting the immediate closure of GCT’s polluting units. The preliminary hearing was scheduled for 23 October; however, the examination of the case has been postponed several times. 

The next hearing is expected to take place on 12 February. Assisted by the regional section of the Bar Association and the Regional Council of the Medical Association — which will present health data collected in Gabès — Stop Pollution and the people of Gabès have launched an unprecedented legal action. As Amir Ammar, a PhD student in Law, states in Village de la Justice, this is the first class action that “directly targets a major industrial actor (and a public one at that) in order to stop environmental harm in Tunisia.”

To understand what the people of Gabès endure each day—and how upcoming industrial projects could worsen the environmental crisis—we spoke with Aziz Chebbi, researcher in international law and political science, and activist with Stop Pollution.

Nadia Addezio: How have residents’ health and the state of the environment in Gabès changed over the years? 

Aziz Chebbi: Since 1972, since the Groupe Chimique Tunisien began operating in the Gabès region, the area has suffered environmental damage across three fronts: air, land and sea. First, marine pollution: phosphogypsum waste is discharged daily into the waters of Chott Essalem in Gabès. These discharges have had a direct impact on the livelihoods of local fishers, many of whom have lost their jobs and been forced to abandon a profession passed down through generations.

Then there is soil pollution: heavy metals in the land around Gabès have severely compromised local agriculture. The region’s emblematic oases have been deteriorating steadily, and farming activities have been deeply affected for more than 50 years. Finally, air pollution has taken a dramatic toll on residents’ health. The area records very high cancer rates, as well as frequent fainting episodes among students, especially in September and October.

Pollution across these three fronts devastates daily life in Gabès, undermining people’s health, their economy, and their dignity. Every day, residents simply aspire to breathe clean air and live in an environment that respects human dignity, as guaranteed by the principles of the Tunisian Constitution.

Between 2012 and 2017, numerous grassroots mobilizations helped secure a government decree—issued on 29 June 2017—ordering the dismantling of the polluting plants in the Gabès region. However, the decree was never published in the Official Gazette by the then-President of the Republic Béji Caïd Essebsi. As a result, the authorities failed to acknowledge the scale of the harm caused by the GCT and neither acted on nor upheld that decision.

Unfortunately, from 2017 to today, no government has shown real political will to enact or advance this measure. No significant progress has been made, leaving residents in a constant state of waiting for a sincere political commitment to environmental justice in Gabès.

NA: How did you respond to the government’s decision to revive phosphate production and remove phosphogypsum from the list of hazardous substances? Do you have any direct dialogue with the government or with the GCT?

AC: For years, the government has failed to consult civil society organizations or citizens when drafting its decisions and administrative decrees. In March 2025, it adopted a measure stating that phosphogypsum would no longer be classified as a hazardous substance, paving the way for its “valorization” and for the creation of a pilot plant to produce green ammonia. Faced with this decision—which we consider extremely worrying—we organized several demonstrations.

Because the announcement came during Ramadan, we held a protest in Tunis in April 2025, followed by a large march in the Gabès region in May. At the same time, we published statements and held several press conferences to spark public debate about these government decisions. We also carried out awareness campaigns among Gabès residents to explain the environmental and health risks associated with these policies. 

These efforts culminated in September 2025, a period marked by numerous fainting incidents among students and by heightened toxic emissions from the GCT’s facilities. More and more citizens are adopting our narrative and mobilizing with growing determination toward our shared goal: the complete dismantling of these polluting plants.

NA: The paradox is that the GCT provides jobs. What do GCT workers think? 

AC: In reality, GCT workers are themselves residents of the Gabès region, with children who attend local schools. During recent demonstrations, we noticed a significant development: a growing number of workers—through their unions or individually—support our actions and take part in mobilizations on the ground. Recently, there have even been fainting incidents among workers inside the GCT itself.

NA: As you mentioned, there is now talk of a possible green transition for the industrial hub. Among the proposed projects is the production of green ammonia, part of Tunisia’s national energy strategy and its plans for green hydrogen. How is this project perceived in Gabès? 

AC: There are two essential points on this issue. The first concerns our refusal, as a social movement, of any new installation within the Groupe Chimique Tunisien complex. Establishing a new entity on that site would mean completely disregarding the citizens’ core demand: the environmental rehabilitation of the Gabès region.

The second point concerns the national green hydrogen strategy, which includes the production of green ammonia. We view this strategy as a neo-colonial dynamic, imposed by GIZ, and designed exclusively to meet German energy needs. 

Berlin is seeking to externalize its energy production to countries in the Global South—Namibia, Tunisia, Morocco, Egypt—turning them into suppliers of green energy. Producing green ammonia requires green hydrogen, which demands vast amounts of water and renewable energy. It is an extremely energy-intensive process. Tunisia does possess abundant natural resources such as sun and wind, but these resources should meet our own energy needs, not feed German power grids.

Moreover, Tunisia currently has no real domestic demand for green hydrogen within its industrial sector. If, in the future, industries arise that require it, the decision should be made collectively, through a participatory process involving citizens, experts, and civil society, based on a transparent assessment of benefits and risks. It should not be dictated by a strategy conceived in ministerial offices in partnership with a German cooperation agency that has no stake in Tunisia’s needs or priorities.

This project is therefore not an opportunity but a real threat: it risks worsening the environmental crisis in Gabès, particularly through the seawater desalination projects required for green hydrogen production. The discharge of brine into the sea will have severe consequences for marine biodiversity and for numerous local species already weakened by decades of industrial pollution.

NA: What will be the collective’s next steps?

AC: So far, the public authorities have shown no reaction. In the face of this governmental silence, we will continue our mobilizations and maintain our demand for the dismantling of the polluting facilities in the Gabès region. Residents fully support our actions and share our demands. Every time we call for mobilization, the population responds. We will go all the way to obtain a clear political decision and a concrete response from the authorities, one that meets the legitimate expectations of the region’s inhabitants.

Gabès could be a paradise on earth: the oasis system that surrounds the sea, the mountains and the desert is an exceptional national heritage that must be preserved and valued. Alternatives do exist. Agricultural development, ecological and community-based tourism, and activities linked to the sea can offer new, sustainable job opportunities.

The GCT, by contrast, brings nothing but harm and threats to the environment and health of the Gabès region. The current jobs tied to this industry can be replaced by local, sustainable and non-colonial economic alternatives.

The post Gabès Is Suffocating: Breathing Under Phosphate, Protest, and Green Colonialism appeared first on Untold.

Vicente Campos Rubira is a 54-year-old palmerero, a centuries-old craft involving the cleaning, cultivation, and harvesting of dates. Campos Rubira lives in the rural outskirts of Elche, a small town on Spain’s Costa Blanca. It is home to Europe’s largest palm grove, founded between the 8th and 10th centuries CE during the Arab conquest of the Iberian Peninsula. 

Since 2000, the urban area of the palm grove has been recognised by UNESCO as a World Heritage Site, in order to protect it and the traditional irrigation system it relies on from urban expansion and the consequent risk of disappearance. However, this recognition excluded the traditional occupations linked to the Palmeral, such as that of the palmerero. 

Today, this typical profession of Elche is threatened by the European safety regulations, which no longer allow palm trees to be climbed using traditional methods. In response, palmereros are now claiming a new UNESCO designation: to recognise Elche’s city as a World Heritage Site in order to preserve the Palmeral in its entirety, including its traditional crafts and techniques.

On a break from work, Campos Rubira welcomes us into his home, hidden among shrubs and palm trees—a dwelling that blends Gaudí-inspired modernism with eco-architecture. It seems to emerge from the very ground it stands on. The details give it a fairytale charm: a beige wall embedded with pebbles held together by mortar, rounded contours, a chimney reminiscent of a honey dripper, and a column crafted from a palm trunk. 

We step inside and gather around a well-worn wooden table in the kitchen. Holding a terracotta cup in his hands, Campos Rubira tells us his story: “When I started out, most palmereros believed the trade was destined to disappear. It was grueling work, and hardly any sons wanted to follow in their fathers’ footsteps. The tradition was breaking, and there was a widespread belief that a new generation wouldn’t emerge.”

Campos Rubira began the profession at the age of 20, after completing a workshop-school program in the Palmereria, the first course of its kind where he learned the fundamentals. For generations, the palmerero trade was passed down from father to son. For him, who lacked any ancestral ties to the profession, gaining acceptance was an uphill battle. “In their minds, if you didn’t come from a family of palmereros, you couldn’t become one,” he recalls. “For every person who supported you, ten more would rather see you fail. It was as if they wanted to watch you sink, just to see if you had the courage to rise again.”

Ultimately, he endured. Campos Rubira carried on the craft, and even became a prominent voice in the broader fight for its legal recognition. Today, he serves as secretary of the Asociación de Palmereros de Elche (Apelx), an organization founded in 2008 to bring together palm cultivators and advocates for protecting their traditional techniques.

A History of the Palm Grove

Luis Pablo Martínez Sanmartín is a historian, anthropologist, and Cultural Heritage Inspector for the Generalitat Valenciana. It was his commitment that allowed Elche’s first UNESCO recognition in 2000. Martínez Sanmartín recalls that the path to UNESCO status began with a simple question: How old is the Palmeral? Among competing theories, he was able to demonstrate that this sophisticated feat of hydraulic engineering dates back to the 8th–10th centuries CE. Drawing on aerial photography, archival images recovered from the Museo de Puçol—which documents rural life in Elche—and historical records, he concluded: “The palm grove is contemporaneous with the founding of the Medina of Elche.”

He highlights that the Acequia Mayor—the main irrigation canal—irrigates the Palmeral via numerous secondary channels, runs directly beneath the Muslim medina, even passing under the foundations of what was once the residence of the Muslim wali, the Alcázar de la Vila Murada.

The Arabs who arrived from North Africa, under the rule of the Umayyad Caliphate of Damascus, quickly figured out the limitations of the Vinalopó River—its average flow barely reached 0.3 cubic meters per second—and the salinity of its waters. This prompted them to rationalize the use of the available water resources, distributing them for both agricultural and domestic purposes, while also selecting plants and trees capable of thriving under saline conditions. Among these were date palms, pomegranates—one of the iconic symbols of Elche—and alfalfa. “A collective intelligence conceived how to make productive use of lands that, until then, had remained unirrigated,” remarks the historian.

The result was a fortified agricultural city structured around an advanced irrigation system known as the Palmeral of Elche. UNESCO acknowledgment covers only urban huertos (orchards). These consist of some 45,000 date palms spread over 144 hectares. Yet, including the rural palm groves, the number rises to nearly 200,000 palm trees. Although the largest palm grove in Europe has earned international accolades and recognition, threats to its survival are always lurking.

By the late 19th century, a railway line bisected the urban Palmeral. While this development paved the way for Elche’s rise as Europe’s leading footwear manufacturing hub, the urban expansion it triggered—particularly from the 1960s onward—put immense pressure on the palm grove. Homes, schools, and entire neighborhoods were built on land that once formed part of the huertos of the Palmeral. In response, the Law for the Protection of the Palmeral was passed in 1986, followed by the General Urban Plan of 1997, after earlier legal frameworks had proven insufficient. Still, urban sprawl continued unabated.

A Way of Life

The palmerero craft itself has also undergone remarkable changes over the past 30 to 40 years, recalls Antonio García Soto, a 53-year-old palmerero and member of Apelx: “We used to climb using esparto ropes, barefoot or wearing esparteñas—shoes made from plant fiber. A strip of cloth was all we had to protect our kidneys. Then came nylon ropes with thin steel cables inside.” 

García Soto inherited the craft from his ancestors and is now passing it on to his two sons, Alejandro (24) and Toni (20), who work by his side. “In the countryside, agriculture was always practiced hand in hand with the palm trees and all the customs that came with them. It’s always been more than work—it’s a way of life,” he notes.    

Such customs are what gave birth to the tradition of the palma blanca (white palm): each year, between late June and early July, palmereros select healthy trees and clean the base of their central shoot—the heart of the palm. They then wrap the top in an opaque sheath to block out sunlight and halt photosynthesis. Within 30 to 45 days, the leaves lose their chlorophyll and turn white. The palmereros harvest them between August and September, handing them over to artisans who transform them into intricate creations for sale or display during Palm Sunday celebrations.

Every participant in this process embodies an irreplaceable craft in the cultural fabric of Elche, and a living testament to the deep bond between these trades and the city’s palm grove.  

In the past, palmereros had no safety equipment to protect them from the serious risk of falling. Climbing and pruning tall palms was inherently dangerous. It wasn’t until the early 2000s that safety measures—borrowed from mountaineering—were introduced: harnesses, rope anchors, and climbing boots with hooks.

While these systems proved effective, European legislation added extremely stringent safety standards: Directives 2006/42 and 2009/104 of the European Parliament and Council, along with harmonised standards EN 280 and EN 280-2, constitute the legal-technical framework regulating high-altitude pruning. Under this regime, the use of aerial work platforms (AWPs) is mandatory. 

The problem is that AWPs do not always allow reaching the same heights that can be achieved through rope climbing. As a result, the palmereros no longer feel free to perform their work as they used to. This impacts not only the traditional technique of the palmereros, which should be preserved, but also the effectiveness of palm tree maintenance.

According to García Soto’s view, the legal framework is fundamentally incompatible with their practice: “Regulations designed for tree pruning have been applied wholesale to the work we do with palm trees. We’re caught in a legal vacuum,” he explains. “Our trade has a distinct identity here in Elche.”

Regulations vs. Tradition

The European directives—transposed into Spanish national law through Royal Decree 1644/2008 and other regulations, have effectively pushed the profession into a legal grey area. This is because the European directives implemented by the Spanish state include exceptions—that is, it would be possible to climb palm trees using traditional methods where mechanical means cannot be used. However, the law does not clearly define these exceptions. 

Moreover, the European directives directly clash with Law 6/2021, which seeks to protect and promote Elche’s palm grove, and explicitly recognizes the palmerero as an Asset of Cultural Interest (BIC, “Bien de Interés Cultural”). This law should, in theory, safeguard traditional techniques. Yet, a specific protection plan (Plan Especial de Protección) that would give the law concrete implementation has been languishing for years, with its approval repeatedly delayed by Elche’s municipal council.

“The city council itself is dismantling our craft,” denounces Campos Rubira sharply. “If the law declares us a BIC, and the administration is supposed to protect us as such, then it’s obvious they don’t understand what ‘protection’ actually means.”

Meanwhile, José Antonio Román Benticuaga, the Partido Popular (PP) city councillor for the environment, acknowledges the impasse: “We’re in a kind of no man’s land. I’m well aware of the palmereros’ demands, but this is national legislation—it’s not within the City’s jurisdiction. We’re trying to establish contact with the Ministry to find a way forward.”

As they await institutional change, the palmereros have begun taking matters into their own hands. They are now campaigning for Elche to be declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site, hoping to include their traditional know-how among the cultural practices deemed worthy of preservation. “With such status, we could go to the European authorities and push for a revision of the legislation—so that platforms are no longer mandatory. Not to eliminate them entirely, but to leave room for alternatives,” Campos Rubira explains, laying out a pragmatic vision.

If successful, this would mark the fifth such recognition for the Valencian town, after those already granted for the Palmeral of Elche, the double Mystery Play of Elche, and the Museo Escolar Agrícola in Puçol.

Grassroots Resistance

Compounding these issues, in 2006, the red palm weevil epidemic—originating in Southeast Asia—struck Elche as well. Between the civic awareness that emerged in the wake of the UNESCO designation and the urgency brought by the invasive beetle, various grassroots organizations sprang up, including Volem Palmerar. 

Founded by Asunción “Susi” Gomez in 2008, the association fights for the tangible protection of the palm grove. “Many people see it,” says Gomez, 65, “but they don’t really understand it. They don’t grasp why it’s so important.” A retired biologist, Gomez recalls how, during the outbreak of the insect pest, the municipal authorities mishandled the situation: “They had thought that cutting down trees in large numbers would have been enough to stop the pest from spreading. They acted without any scientific advice whatsoever.”

Fortunately, that experience never reached a level that could destroy the palm grove—on the contrary, it remains vigorous and still holds its primacy. Today, Gomez advocates for the restoration of the Palmeral to its original role: a productive agricultural zone where all the traditional knowledge it embodies is actively protected. It’s a vision shared by the palmereros themselves, like Miguel Ángel Sánchez Martínez, 45. Specializing in date cultivation,  Sánchez founded Apelx and later the Association of Date Producers.

On his extensive estate, he cultivates the local Confitera variety in a plot separate from the Medjoul, interspersing them with orange, pomegranate, and almond trees. In the context of Israel’s ongoing tragic genocide of the Palestinian people, Sánchez shares: “I now have a client with over 100 stores across Spain who used to buy Medjoul dates from Israel. As part of a boycott, they now source their dates from us—and have become our largest customer.” Busy with countless tasks, when asked about the political commitment to the Palmeral, he reflects: “To me, it seems no one truly loves the palm trees the way they should. Palms are the icon of Elche.”

For Antonio García Soto, “Politicians use the palm grove and the palmereros for their election campaigns. They showcase the city’s values, the traditional trades with big banners. But a month later, nothing remains.” Still, the future climbs alongside him. Imagining what it’s like to be atop a palm tree like a palmerero, as the city awaits recognition of its UNESCO designation, his son Toni, shares his feelings: “I like working up high. It makes me feel calm—it gives me peace.”

The post A Fight for Survival: Elche’s Ancient Palm Tree Climbers Seek UNESCO Protection appeared first on Untold.

He explains to us that climatic shifts have caused severe drought problems. “That’s why I had to find a solution to ease the anxiety caused by the lack of rain,” Al-Hajam tells us. The solution he embraced was to plant carob trees, among the other crops cultivated on his land. 

This hardy species, which has thrived in the Mediterranean for over 4,000 years, offers several advantages. One of them is its minimal water requirement for irrigation, as well as its extremely low dependency on agricultural inputs, such as fertilisers and pesticides, due to its natural resistance to diseases and pests. The carob tree takes 5 to 10 years to bear its fruit, a brown and curved pod. While this delay might seem like a disadvantage for farmers who must wait years before harvesting and selling the crop, Al-Hajam views it as a long-term investment. In fact, from his perspective, it will allow him to adapt to climate change and its related phenomena, like drought. 

A possible solution

According to a 2023 report by the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (FAO), in 42 years of daily rainfall observations in the North of the country, 22 droughts were recorded. These events lasted from a minimum of 30 days to a maximum of 82 days. By 2050, Tunisia is expected to face longer and more frequent droughts. 

“Water scarcity is the primary issue, as it is the most crucial factor for plant growth,” thunders the farmer, fully aware of the intense impact this phenomenon is having on his country. However, he looks pleased, even relieved, by the new agricultural venture. He tells that he joined the Cx6 – Corridor Caroubier Capte Carbone et Changement Climatique, a project guided by the Tunisian association Les Amis de CAPTE (“Collective of Actors for Planting and Environmental Transition”), which brings together farmers, landowners, and state institutions, such as the General Directorate of Forests. 

The goal of Cx6 is to promote the planting of carob trees to address climate change-related phenomena, such as soil erosion and drought, seeking to support small and medium Tunisian farmers. Moreover, it intends to help the regeneration of public, abandoned lands exposed to wildfires and deforestation. 

In the case of Al-Hajam, CAPTE’s support has been in the form of technical knowledge – such as how to prepare the soil for planting carob trees – as well as nurseries, equipment to protect the young saplings, and tools for “greffage”: grafting buds from female trees onto male (naturally unproductive) trees to make them bear fruit. The financial support the farmer received comes from the PPI OSCAN 3 programme of the environmental network International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN-MED), which funded the whole Cx6 project and facilitated carob tree plantations in several areas of the Bizerte governorate.

Water trouble

Hekma Achour, 39, coordinator of PPI OSCAN, observes with admiration as the carobs grow alongside the other crops in the Al-Hajam’s farmland. Achour, who specialised in International water resource law, is deeply convinced of the significance of the Cx6 project. She elucidates that “Planting trees helps improve water infiltration and increases evaporation, which in turn encourages rainfall.” In her opinion, promoting an agricultural model that enhances groundwater recharge by increasing soil water absorption has become imperative.

A recent study published in the scientific journal Nature, shows that groundwater levels are dropping globally at an accelerating rate in the past 40 years. The study attributes this acceleration to unsustainable agricultural and irrigation practices that deplete the reserves, as well as to climate change, especially droughts. 

In this regard, the National Observatory of Agriculture (Onagri) reports in its latest study from 2022, that Tunisia’s total use of underground water resources – both phreatic (shallow) and deep – reached an overall overexploitation rate of 139% that year. While the overexploitation rate of phreatic aquifers exceeds 110%, deep aquifers are being exploited at a staggering 150%. 

According to the study, intensive agriculture, driven by monocultures and the excessive use of pesticides and chemical additives, is the sector that draws the most water from deep aquifers (82%), with 40% of its water withdrawals being illegal. As for the governorate of Bizerte, which recorded the lowest level of rainfall in the past decade (349.4 cubic millimeters in 2022), its phreatic aquifer has been officially designated a “protected zone.”

“That’s why I decided to rethink my farming model and replace it with a more diversified approach,” states Imed Ouadhour, 50, president of the Bizerte section of the Farmers’ Union (SYNAGRI) and an agricultural entrepreneur. Ouadhour is deeply concerned about the dwindling water resources in his region. The overexploitation of aquifers has also led to seawater intrusion, causing soil salinisation, a process that significantly reduces soil fertility. 

Protecting the soil

Ouadhour has become convinced not only to cultivate carob trees but also to transform his farm in El Azid, nearly 20 kilometers from Aousja, into an agroforestry system: a natural agricultural practice involving the simultaneous cultivation of perennial tree and/or shrub species, arable crops, and pastures on the same plot of land. Indeed, agroforestry is the broader goal of the CAPTE association. The key word is enriching biodiversity by adopting several types of crops.

This is exactly what we find on Ouadhour’s estate, where lemon, olive, and carob trees as well as lentils, vegetables, sheep, and cattle, are carefully arranged at appropriate distances.

“Through carob cultivation, we have sought to address the problem of soil erosion by stabilising degraded land,” expounds Ghada Kortass, 27, an agronomist and member of CAPTE. 

Tunisia is particularly vulnerable to both wind and water-driven erosion, and soil degradation too. In fact, 3 million hectares of land are erosion-exposed, with 50% of them in critically severe conditions. 

Conventional monoculture farming, which focuses on maximum soil exploitation for optimised production, is a key contributor to this degradation: “This has accelerated the negative impacts of climate change,” emphasises Wajdi Dhib, 29, agricultural engineer and CAPTE project manager. “Soil is not just a medium for planting; it is a living ecosystem, rich in essential microorganisms that sustain its fertility. The chemical products’ use renders it inert, lifeless,” he adds. 

Wildfires and reforestation 

When soil is degraded, it loses cohesion, becomes brittle, and is carried away by wind and water. It also loses its ability to retain moisture, a condition that may contribute to the outbreak of wildfires. According to Global Forest Watch, wildfires in Tunisia led to the disappearance of 26,100 hectares of tree cover from 2001 to 2023. Over the same period, the Bizerte governorate recorded the highest rate of tree cover loss, amounting to approximately 431 hectares lost per year.

“Even if it burns, the carob tree has the ability to regenerate naturally thanks to its deep roots,” explains Edouard Jean, 40, co-founder of CAPTE, motivating the need for carob tree plantations as part of reforestation efforts. We see it over the Djebel Nadhour, a 291-meter-high hill that overlooks the azure waters of Ghar El Melh lagoon in the Bizerte governorate.

The agroforestry consultant from southern France leads us through the Nadhour forest that graces the hill. He explains that this forest site has been included in the Cx6 project to react to the summer wildfires that have been burning here for several years now and regenerate this naturally rich area.

Jean takes us through Aleppo pines, acacias, spiny oaks, and junipers, warning to tread carefully over rocky ground, mindful not to step into furrows. Indeed, the risk is crushing the young carob trees. “We planted them last January,” recalls Jean. Last year, Les Amis de CAPTE planted 1,000 carob trees in a collaborative reforestation effort in which the NGO Tounes Clean-Up and the collective Soli & Green took part. Now, we glimpse at these young carob trees scattered among roots and rocks of various sizes. 

A regional approach

While the agroforestry consultant inspects the delicate, newborn leaves with a keen eye, he reveals that the idea of planting carob trees came from local farmers like Chiheb Ouali. Actually, Ouali was a pioneer of innovative practices, such as the cultivation of this evergreen tree, and member of the legume family. 

The decisive meeting happened while Edouard Jean was completing his internship at the Tunisian Association for Environmental Agriculture (ATAE) in El Menzah, a residential urban area in northern Tunis. May Granier, 82, founder of ATAE, explains the choice of the association’s name: “We chose the term ‘environmental agriculture’ because we believe that agriculture must integrate into the broader ecosystem without harming the environment.” 

ATAE aspires to raise awareness among Tunisian farmers about the relevance of adopting so-called “good agricultural practices”, strategies based primarily on a deep understanding of the specific characteristics of each soil type in order to prevent it from undergoing stress. One such practice is never leaving the soil bare: “If you measure the temperature of uncovered soil in the middle of July, it can reach 70-80°C. At those temperatures, no microorganism can survive,” Granier points out.

Agroforestry is a form of environmental agriculture as well as an agroecologic vision. This agricultural practice could help not only Tunisia but all Mediterranean countries, which are among the hardest hit by drought, soil salinisation, erosion, land degradation, and wildfires, as reported in The state of soils in Europe by the European Commission’s Joint Research Centre. 

Moreover, as Konstantin Mantzanas, Greece’s delegate to the European Agroforestry Federation (EURAF) and secretary of the Greek Agroforestry Network, illustrates: “Agroforestry systems can sequester between 1 and 12 tons of carbon per hectare per year, generate yields 30% higher than monocultures, and mitigate the nitrification process caused by the intensive use of nitric acid-based fertilizers. Finally, they can contribute to job security in Mediterranean regions, helping counteract rural depopulation.”

Agribusiness and exploitation

Indeed, agroforestry is becoming increasingly central to the EU’s environmentally friendly schemes. In 2022, the European Commission launched ReForest, a project that aims to ensure food production while maintaining ecological sustainability through agroforestry systems. ReForest is a component of the larger EU-funded initiative for research and innovation Horizon Europe, budgeted 95.5 billion euros. 

Despite these good intentions, the EU often plays a key role in unfriendly environmental practices driven by agribusiness companies. According to a coalition of NGOs, the EU has contributed to deforestation by consuming products sourced from degraded land and financing companies that have profited from such exploitation. In fact, between 2016 and early 2023, EU financial institutions provided 22.1% of the total global credit to key actors in sectors posing risks to ecosystems, and they currently continue to supply 9.4% of global investments.

The EUDR was originally set to take effect at the end of 2024, but due to agribusiness companies’ lobbying, its implementation was postponed to the end of the current year. One such company is the American food multinational Cargill which operates also as a member of several European trade associations that oppose positive climate policy, such as FoodDrinkEurope.

Cargill also takes part in the American Chamber of Commerce to the EU (AmCham EU) and is currently involved in opposing the EU Supply Chain Directive (CSDDD). The latter came into force last July and aims to regulate the behavior of large corporations and their management of human rights and environmental impacts across the entire value chain. While Italy, Germany, and France tried since the beginning to block the CDDDS, the European Commission has now expressed the intention to simplify the bureaucratic process— a declaration that seems to favor the interests of corporations and EU countries with inadequate national regulations.

On its website Cargill claims that it is publicly committed to addressing deforestation with some regenerative agriculture programmes, like the agroforestry cocoa system in Côte d’Ivoire, the world’s leading cocoa producer. At the same time, however, as reported by Mighty Europe, Cargill contributed to the illegal clearing of protected forests and national parks in the West African country, converting them into cocoa farms, and purchasing and selling goods cultivated there. 

“The good, the bad and the ugly”

This situation exemplifies what is referred to as “Bad agroforestry”—or “Agrobizforestry”—: an industrial-scale approach, typically involving minimal crop diversity or simple crop rotations with limited space between. The article, Agroforestry Transitions: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, also describes “Ugly agroforestry” —or “Agrodeforestry” — as the practice where primary forests are burned to make way for an agroforestry system with a highly limited variety of crops but with market appeal. 

For those looking for profit and targeting to get EU funds, agroforestry can become a driver of deforestation rather than its solution. And generally leads to the phenomenon of “green land grabbing”—the appropriation of land and resources for environmental purposes through colonial-like mechanisms. 

As a reminder, Cargill has been labeled by the NGO Mighty Earth as “The Worst Company in the World” due to its leading role in deforestation worldwide. Despite that, it has received €34,865 for attending the Horizon Europe grant programme, while its Study Center – Cargill R&D Centre Europe – has obtained €262,620.

It is crystal clear that everything outlined so far directly contrasts with the bottom-up approach led in Tunisia by Les Amis de CAPTE. The association is, in fact, striving to chart an alternative path for environmental protection and the future of small and medium farmers, which are placed at the centre and encouraged to cooperate, both within the North African country and across the broader Mediterranean region. 

This approach serves as a counter to competition and the “Go big or go home” mentality, offering a more effective way to tackle climate change. If the agroforestry model envisioned by CAPTE is at risk of being influenced by the agribusiness mindset, Edouard Jean emphasises: “Our vision is to plant trees with sufficient spacing to allow for intercropping. This means agricultural land used for cereals or vegetables should not be taken out of production to plant trees. We’re not creating massive orchards of 1,000 hectares, but small orchards integrated with olive trees and other often-overlooked crops.”

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