Climate change litigation

Based on Wikipedia: Climate change litigation

When Lawyers Became Climate Warriors

In the Netherlands in 2019, something unprecedented happened. A court ordered a government to cut greenhouse gas emissions. Not because of a new law. Not because of an election promise. Because citizens sued their own country—and won.

This wasn't supposed to work. Environmental activists had spent decades lobbying politicians, organizing protests, and negotiating international agreements. The results were glacially slow, often reversed by the next election cycle. But somewhere along the way, a different strategy emerged: if you can't convince politicians to act, maybe you can force them through the courts.

Climate litigation—the practice of using lawsuits to compel action on global warming—has exploded from a fringe legal theory into one of the most consequential movements in environmental law. The numbers tell the story. In 2017, the United Nations counted 884 climate cases worldwide. By 2020, that had nearly doubled to 1,550 cases across 38 countries. By the end of 2022, the count reached 2,180.

And the courtroom victories keep piling up.

Five Ways to Sue Over the Climate

Not all climate lawsuits are alike. They fall into five broad categories, each attacking the problem from a different legal angle.

The first approach uses constitutional law. Many national constitutions guarantee rights to life, health, or a clean environment. Plaintiffs argue that when governments fail to address climate change, they violate these fundamental rights. Think of it as arguing that your government's inaction is literally unconstitutional.

The second approach leverages administrative law—the rules that govern how governments make decisions. When an agency approves a coal-fired power plant or signs off on an oil pipeline, that decision must follow proper procedures and consider relevant factors. Climate litigants argue that ignoring the emissions impact of these projects makes the approvals legally defective.

The third category involves private law—suing corporations directly. This is the legal toolkit familiar from tobacco litigation: claims of negligence, nuisance, or trespass. If a company's emissions damage your property or harm your health, you might have a case. The theory is straightforward. The challenge is proving which company's emissions caused your specific harm when the atmosphere is a giant mixing bowl of pollutants from billions of sources.

Fourth, there's fraud and consumer protection. Oil companies have known about climate change for decades—their own scientists told them. Some companies responded by funding climate denial and misleading the public about the risks of their products. That looks a lot like the kind of deceptive practices that consumer protection laws exist to punish.

Finally, and increasingly, litigants invoke human rights. The argument is elegantly simple: breathing clean air and living in a stable climate are basic human rights. When governments or corporations undermine those rights, they should be held accountable. In 2024, this approach achieved a historic breakthrough when the European Court of Human Rights ruled that Switzerland had violated the European Convention on Human Rights by failing to adequately address climate change. It was the first time an international court declared that climate inaction violates human rights.

The Cases That Made History

The Urgenda case in the Netherlands set the template. In 2019, the Dutch Supreme Court ruled that the government had to reduce emissions by at least 25 percent compared to 1990 levels by 2020. The reasoning was groundbreaking: the government's duty of care under the European Convention on Human Rights required it to protect citizens from the foreseeable dangers of climate change.

The case sent shockwaves through legal systems worldwide. If it worked in the Netherlands, why not elsewhere?

In Germany, young activists led by Luisa Neubauer challenged the government's Climate Protection Act in 2021. The constitutional court's ruling was remarkable. It held that the government's climate policies violated the rights of future generations by pushing the burden of emissions cuts onto them. The court ordered the government to set clearer emissions reduction targets extending beyond 2030. The decision recognized what economists call intergenerational equity—the idea that today's choices shouldn't unfairly constrain tomorrow's options.

In Colombia, a group of children sued to protect the Amazon rainforest. They argued that deforestation contributed to climate change, which threatened their fundamental rights. In 2018, the Supreme Court did something remarkable: it declared the Colombian rainforest an "entity subject of rights" requiring protection and restoration. The ruling drew on the legal concept of nature rights, which treats ecosystems not as property to be exploited but as entities with their own legal standing.

Ireland saw a similar victory in 2020, when the Supreme Court ruled that the government's National Mitigation Plan was inadequate. The plan simply lacked sufficient detail on how Ireland would actually reduce its emissions. Vague promises, the court said, weren't enough.

Belgium, France, Pakistan—the list of countries where courts have ordered governments to strengthen their climate policies keeps growing. Each victory builds legal precedent that other litigants can cite. What starts as a novel legal theory in one jurisdiction becomes established law in another.

Taking On the Oil Giants

Suing governments is one thing. Suing Shell is another.

In 2021, a Dutch court ordered Royal Dutch Shell to reduce its carbon dioxide emissions by 45 percent by 2030 compared to 2019 levels. The case, brought by the environmental group Milieudefensie (which translates to "environmental defense"), was the first time a court ordered a major oil company to align its business strategy with the Paris Agreement.

Shell argued that climate policy should be set by governments, not courts, and that ordering a single company to cut emissions wouldn't actually help the climate since customers would simply buy oil from other suppliers. The court rejected both arguments. Shell, the judges said, has an independent responsibility to respect human rights, regardless of what governments do or don't require.

The decision sent tremors through corporate boardrooms. If Shell could be held legally liable for its emissions, what about ExxonMobil? Chevron? BP?

American cities have been testing this theory. In 2017, San Francisco, Oakland, and other California coastal communities sued multiple fossil fuel companies for the costs of rising sea levels. They lost that round. But New York City, Charleston, and Multnomah County in Oregon have filed their own suits. The Oregon case, filed in June 2023, seeks at least fifty billion dollars to study and implement harm reduction strategies, plus another 1.5 billion in future damages.

The Oregon lawsuit makes an argument that echoes the tobacco wars: the fossil fuel industry knew about climate change for decades and deliberately deceived the public. The complaint alleges that ExxonMobil, Chevron, and the American Petroleum Institute used "pseudo-science, fabricated doubt, and a well-funded, sustained public relations campaign" to undermine scientific consensus. Internal company documents, many now public, show that oil companies' own scientists warned about climate change as early as the 1970s—warnings that executives suppressed.

In Italy, Greenpeace and advocacy group ReCommon filed a lawsuit against Eni, the national energy company. Investigators from DeSmog uncovered damning evidence: a study commissioned by Eni itself between 1969 and 1970 had warned of a "catastrophic" climate crisis by 2000 if fossil fuel use continued unchecked. Another Eni-owned company, Tecneco, accurately predicted in 1978 that atmospheric carbon dioxide would reach 375 to 400 parts per million by 2000. The actual level in 2000 was around 370 parts per million—the scientists were right. Yet for decades afterward, Eni's corporate magazine ran advertisements falsely claiming that natural gas was a "clean fuel."

The Heartbreak Cases

Not every lawsuit succeeds. Some of the most inspiring efforts have ended in defeat.

Juliana v. United States began in 2015 when twenty-one young Americans, aged eight to nineteen, sued the federal government for violating their constitutional rights by promoting fossil fuels. The case captured imaginations. These weren't abstract legal arguments—they were children pleading for their future.

The plaintiffs argued that the government had known for decades that carbon dioxide pollution caused climate change, that the government's actions promoting fossil fuels contributed to climate change, and that this violated their rights to life, liberty, and property. They sought a court order requiring the government to prepare and implement a plan to phase out fossil fuel emissions.

For years, the case wound through the courts. The government tried repeatedly to get it dismissed. Lower courts allowed it to proceed. Hope built.

Then, in 2020, the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals ruled that while the plaintiffs had made their case that climate change was real and threatened their future, the courts couldn't order the remedy they sought. Setting climate policy, the court said, was a job for Congress and the president, not judges. The constitutional separation of powers meant that even when the government was causing harm, courts couldn't always fix it.

The ruling was devastating. The court acknowledged that the plaintiffs faced "an unprecedented flood of harm" but concluded it was "powerless to help."

In Australia, eight young people in the Sharma case argued for an injunction against the expansion of a Whitehaven coal mine. They too ultimately failed, though not before achieving a remarkable intermediate victory: a lower court had found that the environment minister owed a duty of care to young people when approving fossil fuel projects. That ruling was overturned on appeal, but it showed how climate litigation is pushing legal boundaries even when it doesn't ultimately prevail.

The Counterattack

Here's an uncomfortable truth: not all climate litigation aims to reduce emissions. Some lawsuits work in the opposite direction.

Fossil fuel companies and their allies have learned to use the courts too. They challenge regulations that limit emissions. They sue to block renewable energy projects. They use a legal tool called a SLAPP suit—Strategic Litigation Against Public Participation—to harass environmental activists with expensive, time-consuming lawsuits designed less to win than to intimidate.

The European Union recognized this threat and adopted an anti-SLAPP directive specifically to protect human rights defenders and journalists from such retaliatory lawsuits. But the legal battle cuts both ways. Every courtroom can be a battleground, and not every battle favors the climate.

International Courts Enter the Arena

In March 2023, the United Nations General Assembly took an extraordinary step. It asked the International Court of Justice—the principal judicial organ of the UN, sometimes called the World Court—to issue an advisory opinion on countries' legal obligations regarding climate change.

Advisory opinions aren't binding like regular court judgments. Countries don't have to follow them. But they carry enormous moral and legal weight. They articulate what international law requires, creating pressure on governments and providing precedent for national courts to cite.

In July 2025, the International Court of Justice delivered its opinion. A "clean, healthy and sustainable environment," the court declared, is a human right. Failing to protect the planet from climate change impacts may violate international law.

The ruling crystallized decades of evolving legal thought. What had once been merely an aspiration—the idea that humans have a right to a livable planet—became, in the view of the world's highest court, a legal obligation binding on nations.

Why This Matters

Climate litigation works on multiple levels. The most obvious effect is when courts order specific actions: cut emissions by a certain percentage, reject a coal mine permit, pay damages for climate harm. These direct outcomes matter.

But the indirect effects may be even more important. Every climate lawsuit forces defendants—whether governments or corporations—to publicly justify their actions. Internal documents get subpoenaed. Scientists testify under oath. The public learns what decision-makers knew and when they knew it.

The threat of litigation changes behavior before any lawsuit is filed. Corporate lawyers advise their clients to consider climate risks. Government officials know their decisions may face legal scrutiny. The possibility of being sued creates incentives to act responsibly, even without a court order.

And each successful case builds precedent. Legal systems don't exist in isolation. Judges in one country read decisions from another. When the Dutch Supreme Court rules that governments have a duty to protect citizens from climate change, courts in Germany, Ireland, and France take notice. Legal theories that seem radical in one decade become mainstream in the next.

The Shape of Things to Come

The legal landscape is still evolving. In New Zealand, the Supreme Court ruled in 2024 that a novel tort—a civil wrong—called "climate change damage" can be asserted in future proceedings. The case, Smith v. Fonterra Co-operative Group Ltd, opened the door to a new category of legal claims that didn't exist before. What other novel theories might courts accept?

Torres Strait Islanders in Australia won a ruling from the United Nations Human Rights Committee that Australia had violated their human rights by failing to act on climate change. The decision isn't legally binding in Australian courts, but it adds to the mounting international consensus that climate inaction violates fundamental rights.

In March 2025, the United States Supreme Court declined a request by Republican-led states to block Democratic-led states from suing energy companies in state courts. The decision means climate litigation will continue in state courts across America, potentially yielding significant judgments against fossil fuel companies.

The trend lines are clear. More cases are being filed each year. Courts are increasingly willing to recognize climate-related rights and duties. Legal theories that failed a decade ago are succeeding today. And international decisions are influencing domestic courts, creating a kind of global feedback loop that amplifies successful strategies.

None of this guarantees that climate litigation will solve the climate crisis. Courts can't invent the technologies we need or build the political will for deep decarbonization. Lawsuits are slow, expensive, and uncertain. Even winning a case is just the beginning—enforcing a judgment against a recalcitrant government or powerful corporation is another battle entirely.

But climate litigation has proven something important: the legal system, that dusty apparatus of precedents and procedures, can be a tool for planetary survival. When other institutions fail, when politicians equivocate and corporations delay, the courts remain. And increasingly, they're willing to act.

In the end, climate litigation rests on a simple proposition: destroying the habitability of Earth should be illegal. Courts around the world are starting to agree.