As environmental damage, climate threats and questions over corporate accountability converge, the People’s Environmental Assembly in Port Harcourt is challenging a system that has too often treated affected communities as spectators in decisions about their own survival.
By Atlantic Post | Port Harcourt
For more than seven decades, the Niger Delta has helped power Nigeria’s economy. Yet, for many of the communities living above its oil reserves and along its polluted creeks, the promise of petroleum wealth remains overshadowed by contaminated land, damaged fishing grounds, threatened livelihoods and the struggle to secure environmental justice.
Now, as the region confronts the combined pressures of oil pollution, flooding, coastal erosion and a changing climate, a new question is becoming increasingly difficult to avoid: who will pay to restore the Niger Delta, and will the people who have borne the damage finally control the decisions that shape their future?
That question sits at the heart of the second session of the People’s Environmental Assembly, scheduled for 13 October 2026 in Port Harcourt, Rivers State, under the theme “The Niger Delta on the Road to Recovery: Shifting Power and Building Solidarity for Ecological Justice”.
Organised by We The People, the gathering is designed to move the environmental debate beyond documenting devastation towards accountability, ecological restoration, climate adaptation and community-led solutions.
Its message challenges an uncomfortable reality. The Niger Delta has accumulated decades of scientific evidence about the consequences of oil pollution, but evidence alone has not delivered the scale of recovery that affected communities need.
The region’s central problem is no longer simply whether environmental damage exists. It is whether Nigeria’s institutions, oil companies and the new owners of divested petroleum assets will accept enforceable responsibility for addressing it.
The scientific evidence is already there
One of the clearest warnings came from the United Nations Environment Programme’s 2011 environmental assessment of Ogoniland.
The investigation examined more than 200 locations, analysed thousands of samples and reviewed over 5,000 medical records. It found extensive contamination affecting soil, groundwater, surface water and mangrove ecosystems.
In parts of Ogoniland, the contamination extended far beneath the surface. UNEP reported that drinking water in some communities contained dangerous concentrations of hydrocarbons, including benzene, a known carcinogen. At Nisisioken Ogale, benzene concentrations in a drinking-water well exceeded World Health Organization guidelines by more than 900 times.
The assessment concluded that restoring Ogoniland’s environment could take 25 to 30 years and require sustained, comprehensive intervention.
That timetable was not a prediction that the entire Niger Delta could be restored within three decades. It was an assessment of the scale and duration of the work required in Ogoniland alone.
The distinction matters. The environmental crisis extends beyond one ethnic nationality, one state or one oil-producing community. But the Ogoniland findings provide a documented warning of what prolonged contamination can do when prevention, remediation and public protection fail.
They also establish a formidable benchmark against which subsequent government and industry commitments can be judged.
A clean-up announcement is not the same as a restored ecosystem. A remediation contract is not proof that contaminated water is safe. And a corporate transfer does not, by itself, demonstrate that historical pollution has been addressed.
Bayelsa’s findings deepen the accountability question
The Bayelsa State Oil and Environmental Commission reached similarly troubling conclusions in its investigation into the environmental and human consequences of decades of petroleum extraction.
Its published report describes widespread contamination of land, water and air, damage to ecosystems and severe consequences for communities dependent on fishing, farming and other natural resources.
The commission’s assessment estimates that as much as 40 per cent of the Niger Delta’s mangrove forests have been lost since oil production began, with substantial losses in Bayelsa.
Mangroves are more than a striking feature of the region’s landscape. They provide breeding and nursery grounds for aquatic species, support local fisheries, store carbon and help protect vulnerable coastlines.
Their destruction therefore creates a chain reaction. As habitats deteriorate, fish stocks and other natural resources come under pressure. As livelihoods weaken, households become more vulnerable to economic shocks. And as natural coastal defences disappear, communities face additional exposure to erosion, flooding and storm impacts.
These consequences cannot all be attributed to oil pollution alone. Coastal development, changes in sediment supply, dredging, overexploitation and other environmental pressures also matter. But the commission identifies oil-industry activities and associated pollution as major contributors to the region’s ecological degradation.
The result is a crisis with environmental, economic and public-health dimensions that cannot be resolved through isolated clean-up projects.
For communities already struggling with the loss of productive land and water, the question is whether restoration programmes will address the wider ecological system or concentrate narrowly on individual contaminated sites.
The human cost must be measured, not merely described
Environmental damage becomes particularly urgent when it threatens the basic conditions for human survival.
In the Niger Delta, many households depend on local waterways and land for food, income and daily living. Contamination can undermine those foundations by making water unsafe, reducing the productivity of farms, damaging fishing grounds and increasing the cost of finding alternative sources of food and water.
Women can face particular burdens when pollution disrupts household livelihoods, access to safe water and food security, while also limiting their economic independence.
The concept note identifies research commissioned by Kebetkache Women Development and Resource Centre in 2024 involving blood samples from 80 women in Otuabagi, Bayelsa State. The organisation’s published material describes its work as an investigation into the health and socioeconomic consequences of oil extraction for women.
The assembly’s account says hydrocarbons were detected in all the samples tested.
That finding deserves serious scrutiny and transparent public discussion. But a scientifically responsible assessment must distinguish the detection of a substance from proof of its source, dose, clinical significance or causal relationship to a particular illness. Establishing those connections requires the full study methodology, laboratory results, exposure assessments and appropriate medical analysis.
The same caution applies to broad claims that residents of the Niger Delta experience higher rates of cancer, miscarriage, birth defects or respiratory disease than people elsewhere in Nigeria. Such claims should be tested against reliable, comparable health data rather than repeated as established facts without supporting evidence.
This does not diminish the need for urgent action. It strengthens the case for independent epidemiological research, accessible medical services, routine environmental monitoring and public disclosure of results.
Communities should not have to choose between being believed and having their experiences examined rigorously. They need both credible evidence and institutions prepared to act on it.
Climate change is adding another layer of vulnerability
Oil pollution is not the only threat confronting the Niger Delta.
The region’s low-lying terrain, extensive wetlands and exposure to coastal processes leave many communities vulnerable to flooding, erosion and changing environmental conditions. Heavy rainfall, river flooding, sea-level rise and other climate-related pressures can compound existing damage and disrupt homes, farms, transport routes and local economies.
We The People’s concept note highlights recurring floods since 2012 and the loss of homes and settlements along parts of the coast, including areas around Ibeno and Awoye.
The scale and causes of individual disasters vary. It would be inaccurate to attribute every flood or episode of coastal erosion solely to climate change, just as it would be misleading to attribute every environmental impact solely to oil extraction.
The more important issue is how these pressures interact.
A community already deprived of productive farmland, reliable drinking water or healthy mangroves has fewer resources with which to recover from flooding. A household whose fishing income has collapsed is less able to rebuild after losing its home. And a settlement facing coastal erosion has fewer options if public infrastructure and planned relocation are inadequate.
Climate adaptation in the Niger Delta must therefore be designed around existing social and environmental vulnerabilities.
That means more than emergency relief after a disaster. It requires credible flood-risk mapping, early-warning systems, resilient public infrastructure, protection and restoration of natural ecosystems, access to safe water, and support for households whose livelihoods are under threat.
It also requires communities to participate in decisions about which interventions are appropriate, where resources should go and how success will be measured.
The divestment dilemma: who inherits the damage?
One of the most consequential developments in the Niger Delta’s oil industry is the transfer of assets from international oil companies to Nigerian operators.
Shell completed the sale of its onshore subsidiary, the Shell Petroleum Development Company of Nigeria, to Renaissance Africa Energy in March 2025. The transaction transferred control of the company’s 30 per cent interest in the relevant joint venture, in which the Nigerian National Petroleum Company held 55 per cent, TotalEnergies held 10 per cent and Agip held 5 per cent.
The change was presented by Shell as part of its decision to leave onshore oil production in the Niger Delta while maintaining its offshore and integrated gas businesses.
The transaction raises an important public-interest question: how will responsibility for legacy pollution, ageing infrastructure, decommissioning and future remediation be enforced as ownership changes?
The answer cannot be reduced to a claim that every environmental obligation automatically disappears when a company sells an asset. Nor should the mere fact of a sale be treated as proof that a buyer is incapable of meeting its obligations.
Responsibilities depend on the applicable law, the terms and approvals of the transaction, the history of particular spills, the identity of responsible operators and the findings of relevant investigations and courts.
Shell has argued that much of the pollution in the Niger Delta, including in some communities affected by oil operations, has resulted from third-party interference, crude theft and illegal refining. Communities and environmental campaigners have challenged industry accounts of responsibility in particular cases, arguing that operational failures and historic pollution must also be addressed.
The appropriate response is not to assume that every spill has the same cause. It is to investigate each incident transparently, publish credible findings, identify responsible parties and ensure that remediation and compensation follow where legally warranted.
The public must also be able to distinguish between clean-up liabilities arising from historical pollution, obligations associated with current operations and the costs of decommissioning infrastructure.
Without that clarity, changes in corporate ownership risk creating confusion over who must act, who must pay and which public authority will enforce compliance.
The crucial test is whether the transfer of assets produces a measurable improvement in environmental accountability or simply changes the names appearing on corporate documents.
From environmental promises to enforceable recovery
The People’s Environmental Assembly is being convened against the backdrop of a long-running gap between the recognition of environmental harm and the delivery of lasting restoration.
Closing that gap requires institutions capable of measuring progress independently, compelling compliance and making information accessible to affected communities.
For the federal and state governments, that means strengthening environmental oversight, coordinating clean-up programmes, enforcing applicable standards and publishing clear records of remediation expenditure and results.
For oil companies and operators, it means transparent reporting of spills, credible investigations, compliance with legal obligations and demonstrable action to address pollution for which they are responsible.
For regulators, it means ensuring that environmental monitoring is not simply a paper exercise and that affected communities can obtain meaningful information about contamination, exposure risks and remediation plans.
For communities, it means having a real role in setting priorities, monitoring projects and challenging decisions that threaten their livelihoods.
The benchmark for success must be practical. Is drinking water safe? Are contaminated soils being remediated? Are mangroves recovering? Can farmers return to productive land? Are fishing grounds improving? Are people receiving timely information about environmental hazards? Can communities verify that promised funds have been spent as intended?
These questions are more revealing than the number of meetings held, projects announced or memoranda signed.
The assembly’s alternative: communities as agents of change
A defining feature of the second People’s Environmental Assembly is its stated intention to challenge the portrayal of Niger Delta residents as passive victims waiting for government, companies or international organisations to rescue them.
The organisers want local initiatives to receive greater recognition, including indigenous ecological knowledge, community-led restoration, environmental protection, climate adaptation and collective action for accountability.
The gathering’s alternative identity, the “Eco Festival”, reflects this approach. Participants are encouraged to celebrate indigenous cultures and wear traditional attire as expressions of identity, resilience and solidarity.
That cultural dimension is more than a ceremonial addition. It places local knowledge and community organisation within the environmental debate, rather than treating them as peripheral to technical and financial solutions.
Indigenous knowledge cannot replace rigorous scientific investigation, just as scientific expertise cannot substitute for the experience of people who live with the consequences of environmental decisions. Effective restoration needs both.
The assembly’s emphasis on community leadership also raises a practical challenge: local initiatives need resources, technical support, access to decision-makers and mechanisms for holding powerful institutions accountable. Recognition without funding or influence will not be enough.
The question is whether the meeting can help convert local experience into durable programmes with clear objectives, independent oversight and measurable outcomes.
From the Niger Delta to South Africa’s Wild Coast
We The People also wants the assembly to strengthen cooperation between communities confronting fossil-fuel development and environmental damage in different parts of the world.
Its concept note describes a partnership established in 2025 between Niger Delta communities and South Africa’s Wild Coast communities, working with the Amadiba Crisis Committee. The initiative has involved exchange visits and cooperation around resistance to proposed hydrocarbon extraction and the protection of local environments.
The proposed network reflects a wider strategic argument: communities facing similar pressures can share experience, compare corporate practices, strengthen public advocacy and learn from one another’s legal and organising strategies.
Such cooperation could help local campaigns overcome isolation. It may also bring greater attention to the connections between energy policy, corporate accountability, climate risks and the rights of people living in areas targeted for extraction.
But international solidarity will matter most when it produces concrete results: better access to information, stronger community participation, effective legal advocacy and credible alternatives to environmentally damaging development.
The assembly plans to promote the network, adopt its position statement and welcome additional partners. Its impact will depend on what happens after the gathering, including whether participating groups establish clear commitments, responsibilities and ways to measure progress.
The unanswered question is who controls recovery
The second People’s Environmental Assembly arrives at a moment when the Niger Delta needs more than another catalogue of environmental suffering.
The scientific record has established the seriousness of oil contamination in parts of the region. The Bayelsa commission has documented wider ecological damage. Climate-related pressures compound the vulnerability of communities already struggling to protect their homes and livelihoods. And changes in the ownership of petroleum assets make transparent, enforceable accountability increasingly important.
What remains unresolved is how these findings will translate into a coordinated, adequately funded and publicly accountable recovery programme.
The assembly offers a platform for building solidarity and elevating community-led responses. It cannot, by itself, compel companies to pay, guarantee that governments will enforce the law or deliver the long-term investment that ecological restoration requires.
Those responsibilities must be carried by institutions with the authority, resources and political will to act.
The people of the Niger Delta should not have to spend another generation proving that their environment matters. They need transparent decisions, credible health and environmental evidence, enforceable obligations and a meaningful say in how recovery is delivered.
The ultimate measure of the Port Harcourt gathering will not be the strength of its declarations. It will be whether the communities whose land and water have sustained Nigeria’s oil economy gain greater power to shape their future.
After decades of extraction, ecological justice demands that recovery become more than a promise. It must become a programme with clear responsibilities, public scrutiny and results that people can see, measure and trust.
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