In 2009, Swiss photographers Mathias Braschler and Monika Fischer began documenting individuals experiencing the early impacts of the climate crisis. They had recently returned from China, where rapid and unregulated development had severely damaged natural landscapes. Yet back in Switzerland, the climate debate still seemed abstract. “At that time, some people denied climate change was real,” Braschler remembers. “They dismissed it as media hype.” Partnering with the Global Humanitarian Forum in Geneva and supported by Kofi Annan, the couple launched The Human Face of Climate Change, a portrait series highlighting those on the front lines of a warming planet.
Sixteen years later, the reality of climate change is widely accepted, and the focus has shifted to finding solutions. Braschler and Fischer have also redirected their work. “This is going to be one of humanity’s central challenges,” says Braschler, “and we want people to understand that displacement will be a major consequence of climate change.”
They set out again, this time to capture the disorienting experience of long-established communities—some with generations of inherited knowledge—becoming disconnected from their land. The outcome is Displaced (2025), an extensive, multi-year project spanning 12 countries and featuring over 60 portraits of people uprooted by drought, floods, desertification, rising sea levels, wildfires, and the gradual breakdown of local ecosystems. It is one of the first photography projects to document climate displacement on such a global scale, capturing both headline-grabbing disasters like California’s wildfires and slower, less visible crises—such as when a farmer notices marsh waters turning salty or a fishmonger watches the coastline erode, wondering if the next wave will arrive overnight.
One portrait shows Raquel Fontoura with her children Kelvin, Lourdes Angelina, and Kaua. They lost their home in the devastating floods that struck the Porto Alegre region of Brazil in late April 2024.
Losing a home suddenly is devastating; watching it disappear slowly, year after year, until leaving is the only option, is terrifying. After spending time with this collection, I became acutely aware of both the unique nature of each loss and their collective significance. These individuals are the brave first responders to a global catastrophe already unfolding—one that will eventually touch all of our lives. I was also struck by the raw dignity in the portraits. “We take our time,” Fischer explains. “We sit and talk with people. It’s not about snapping a quick photo.” Their approach is deliberate and meticulous, using a portable studio, backdrop, and careful lighting. “People open up when they feel you’re genuinely interested. They appreciate that level of care. And they get to see the photos. In Kenya, the Turkana people loved seeing themselves portrayed that way—they looked proud and dignified.”
Fischer, who often travels with her son, found that women especially connected with her. “Arriving as a family was a great advantage,” she notes. “Displacement often feels like a woman’s story. Losing your home, making those difficult decisions—so much of that falls on women.”
The portraits are accompanied by images of homes, marshes, hillsides, and coastlines that have been lost, damaged, or are receding. In Mongolia, former herders pose for the camera after losing hundreds of animals to a historic dzud—an extreme winter that has grown more frequent as the country warms at twice the global average. “We fought the snow from morning till night,” says Nerguibaatar Batmandakh, now working as a security guard. “Every morning, a dozen animals were dead; by evening, another dozen.” In Brazil, families displaced by the 2024 floods speak with the photographers at a humanitarian center in Porto Alegre. Standing beside her three teenagers, still…In shock, Raquel Fontoura speaks of losing her sense of purpose. “I also lost a piece of myself,” she says. Pedro Luiz de Souza, a single father in the same camp, worries about how to tell his daughter their home is gone. “She still thinks she can go back and pick up that doll, or the drawing she liked.”
From left: Raad Aoufi, Karrar Aoufi, and Rasul Aoufi, former farmers from Basra, Iraq, now work in construction.
This pattern repeats across continents. In Louisiana, high school student Alaysha LaSalle remembers watching from her window as a 2020 hurricane destroyed her town: “All we saw were the poles our house stood on, and that was all that remained. No house.”
According to Fischer, these disasters are immediately shocking, but the gradual onset of catastrophe is just as distressing: “when people lose their lifestyle—centuries of tradition are vanishing in our generation.” In Iraq’s marshlands, believed to be the cradle of civilization, the vast wetlands of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers are drying up. Rasul Aoufi, a construction worker, laments his former life as a farmer. “We had animals and could care for them—there was water and food to feed them. But now, there’s no water left, no birds, nothing.” Abbas Gurain Hubaish Alammary, a water buffalo farmer, holds his four-year-old daughter Fatima. “In the past, there was fishing, there was life in the marshes. But all of that is gone.”
Drone footage shows the damage from extreme weather in Switzerland, Mongolia, Germany, the USA, and Senegal.
It’s undeniable that wealthier countries can withstand disasters more easily—yet those disasters receive the most attention. When we discuss climate displacement in developing nations, it’s often with fear about mass migration to the West, even though most displacement occurs within national borders and people move only as far as necessary to survive. “We hear so much about illegal migration,” Braschler notes, “but we’re still talking about humans—desperate people with no other choice.”
“Our greatest wish as fishers,” says Khadim Wade from Senegal, “is to wake up by the sea.” Dina Nayeri is the author of Who Gets Believed? and The Ungrateful Refugee.
Each year, the ocean creeps further up the shore of Saint-Louis, Senegal’s former capital, submerging more land and forcing families to relocate.
Doudou Sy and Khadim Wade, fishers, lost their home and now live in the Diougop relocation camp, 10km outside Saint-Louis; they commute to their boats in Guet N’Dar. Doudou: “Our house was the ancestral family home. We were born here and only knew this place. This painful ordeal forced us to leave our land.” Khadim: “Not to live by the sea is truly sad. Our greatest wish is to wake up by the sea.”
Massène Mbaye and Penda Dieye, with their twins Assane and Ousseynou, moved in with relatives after the sea claimed their home on Guet N’Dar beach. Massène: “Every year, the sea eats further into the shore. I know we share some responsibility; we haven’t taken care of nature. Instead of keeping our surroundings clean, we add more pollution. We discard waste that can harm or kill animals. We’re causing damage to both nature and wildlife.”
N’Deye Khoudia Ka, a fishmonger, moved to the Diougop camp after losing her home to coastal erosion. “During high tides, it was very stressful. You couldn’t sleep, fearing the waves might come at night. The day we left, the focus was on survival and getting the children out as the walls collapsed. The destruction was…”The only positive outcome is that it saved our family by moving us to a new, dry place where I won’t have to worry about when the next flood will hit.
Iraq
According to the UN, conflict, climate change, and weak governance make Iraq the fifth most vulnerable country to climate change globally. The southern marshlands are especially hard hit.
Abbas Gurain Hubaish Alammary, a water-buffalo farmer, and his daughter, Fatima, were forced by drought to leave the Sinaf marshes for a nearby settlement.
“The water has turned salty, and the marshes are dry. There used to be fishing and life here, but it’s all gone now. When I return, I remember how sweet life was. Seeing what it has become feels like dying. What can we do? That’s life—today you’re in one place, tomorrow you’re forced to move somewhere else.”
Mongolia
Over the past 70 years, temperatures in Mongolia have risen by 2.1°C, nearly double the global average. Extreme cold events have driven many herders to give up their nomadic way of life.
Anartsetseg Erdenebileg, a student who relocated to Baruun-Urt in Sükhbaatar province, says:
“Life in the provincial center is very different from the countryside. The air is polluted, and I feel like we get sick more often. I miss the fresh, clean air of the countryside—it felt healthier, and I could breathe freely. That’s the life I want again, out in the open with pure air and wide land. That’s where I truly feel well. Even after everything, I still dream of being a herder and returning to that life.”
Yanjmaa Baljmaa and Nerguibaatar Batmandakh, former herders, now work as a nurse and a security guard in Baruun-Urt.
Nerguibaatar: “We had two herds of horses, 200 sheep and goats, and 10 cattle. The winter of 2023 was harsh everywhere. We sent our horses east and tried to save our cattle and small animals all winter, but it was no use. We fought the snow from morning till night. The hay and fodder we stored weren’t enough; every morning and evening, a dozen animals would die.”
Yanjmaa: “I couldn’t stop crying when I saw them dead. It was devastating to watch the animals I cared for perish like that.”
Germany
In 2021, severe flooding in the Ahr valley, west of Bonn, killed 134 people, injured 766, and left at least 17,000 with damaged or lost homes.
Walter Krahe, a lecturer whose house was next to the Ahr River, warns:
“If we don’t start taking real action, what should we call it? Decline? Downfall? With every day, month, and year that we wait and fail to take clear measures, we slide closer to uncontrollability. Yes, we fear change, but the changes from doing nothing are far worse.”
Christian and Sylvia Schauff, retirees who lost their home in Erftstadt, share their experience.
Christian: “I didn’t understand what was happening until we were outside, swimming for safety. Furniture, garden tables, even a car rushed past us, swallowed by the water. I truly thought we wouldn’t survive. Without the strangers who helped us, we wouldn’t have made it. And just like that, it was over—for now.”
Sylvia: “We drift from one day to the next. I’m fully retired now because I can no longer work. I barely sleep, and all of this is tied to losing my home. I feel uprooted—torn from the ground that once held me.”
Kenya
Drought poses a major threat to the Turkana people in the north, while floods are growing more severe in the Tana River area in the south.
Lokolong (lefTarkot Lokwamor, a former pastoralist turned farmer, lives with his children Ewesit, Arot, Apua, and Akai. They have been relocated to a refugee camp in Kakuma, Turkana. Tarkot says, “The worst part is the changing weather. There’s no rain anymore. Every year is just drought after drought. It has truly devastated us.”
Nakwani Etirae, once a pastoralist, is now a farmer, pastor, and shop owner, also living in the Kakuma refugee camp. “I used to own many animals—over 600 goats, 27 donkeys, cows, and camels. I lost them all to the drought. We relied on those animals for milk, meat, and other essentials. Eventually, we had to move near the Kakuma camp. Now, I only have 17 goats and a few chickens.”
Maryam Atiye Jafar, pregnant with her first child, has been relocated to the Mtapani camp in Tana. “Giving birth here is very difficult because the tent is too small and the huts are made of tarpaulins. It’s extremely hot. I worry about how I’ll raise my child in this heat.”
In the USA, Cameron, a town in southern Louisiana on the Gulf of Mexico, has been devastated by hurricanes, including Laura and Delta in 2020. Some residents have rebuilt multiple times, but most have left. Fewer than 200 people remain in what was once a bustling community of nearly 2,000.
Alaysha LaSalle, a student, recalls when her family home in Cameron was destroyed; they now live in Lake Charles, 40km away. “All I remember is seeing things flying outside. I was terrified. After the hurricane, I went out and saw the damage—it was severe. Only the poles that held up our house were left.”
Guatemala lies in the Dry Corridor of Central America, where unpredictable rainfall causes both drought and flooding, leading to crop failures. Climate change has worsened migration, and Guatemala ranks ninth globally for climate risk.
Maria Gonzalez Diaz, a housewife with daughters Maria Eulalia and Adelaida, fled their village for Nebaj after a landslide. “When it was time to harvest, heavy rains came, then everything dried up in the hot sun. We lost our crops. I came to Nebaj because there was no food in my village. Here, at least my children can eat—maybe not meat, but they have tortillas.”
Ruben Sanchez Perez, a farmer and father of seven from Huehuetenango, shares, “My sons Wilmer and Amilcar left for the US—there was no other way to survive. No work, no money, nothing. They risked their lives walking through the desert, but thankfully, they made it. They send a little help. Others weren’t as lucky and returned with debt and pain. It’s frightening. The land no longer provides, and as Indigenous people, we depend on it. Without rain, we have nothing. That’s why my sons had to leave; staying meant losing everything.”
Ileana Cha Lopez, a housewife with Amaoilis and Kimberly, moved to Qotoxha, Panzós, after flooding. “Year after year, the floods got worse, and our crops died. We decided to seek a better life.”
In Brazil, heavy rains in 2024 caused catastrophic floods in Rio Grande do Sul, destroying areas like Ilha da Pintada and displacing about 580,000 people. It was one of the country’s worst natural disasters.
Pedro Luiz de Souza, a general services worker, and his daughter Luizza lost their home in the floods.Brazil
Residents of Ilha dos Marinheiros were forced to flee their homes due to flooding and are now living in a humanitarian reception center in Porto Alegre.
One displaced person shared: “I don’t know how to tell my daughter that our home is gone. She still thinks she can go back for her favorite doll or drawing. But there is no home to return to. I will keep fighting for her—she is all I have left.”
Britney Louise Lima, a singer and cook, also lost her home in the catastrophic floods that hit Porto Alegre at the end of April 2024 and now lives in the same center.
She said: “When I think about the future, I picture a huge iceberg melting and all of us sinking. I believe Brazil’s coastline will vanish, with Rio Grande do Sul disappearing first. My plan is to head north and find a safe place to live.”
Bangladesh
Climate change is causing sea levels to rise, bringing more flooding, stronger cyclones, and unpredictable weather. This threatens agriculture and is forcing communities, especially in coastal regions, to leave their homes. In the southern Khulna district, vulnerable people are moving from rural coastal areas to urban slums like Notun Bazar.
Firoza and her daughter-in-law Nasima Begum, both fishers, have been displaced three times and now live in Nalian, Khulna.
Nasima expressed: “Moving so many times has left me emotionally exhausted. After every flood or storm, we have to start over. Borrowing money just to repair our house is humiliating. I used to keep goats, chickens, and even a cow—they were like family. I lost them all in the floods.”
Abdur Rashid Gazi, a laborer, is raising the ground level of his house in Nalian to protect it from future floods.
He observed: “The water never used to reach this high. Now the river keeps rising, and it feels like the land is sinking under us.”
Fatema Begum, a widow who was displaced and now lives in Notun Bazar, said: “Thinking about the home I lost makes me cry. It wasn’t much, but it was mine. It breaks your heart when the life you’ve built is destroyed. Now we live in one small rented room in a slum. The rent is 2000 taka (£12.50), and the landlord often threatens to evict us because we struggle to pay on time.”
Switzerland
In August 2024, the village of Brienz experienced an extreme rainfall event. Nearly 100mm of rain fell in less than an hour, devastating homes and businesses and severely damaging infrastructure.
Bruno Lötscher, a veterinarian who lost his house in Brienz, was pictured with his donkey Lola.
He remarked: “Yesterday we were in Berne. People there are going about their lives as usual, while over here it looks like a street bombed in Ukraine.”
Philippines
As an archipelago, the Philippines is highly vulnerable to extreme climate events. In October 2024, Typhoon Kristine struck the main island of Luzon, causing severe flooding and landslides. The Bicol region was among the hardest hit.
Ailyn Reolo Fermano, a housewife and mother of six, is now staying at the Libon evacuation center in Albay, Bicol.
She recalled: “It wasn’t a normal typhoon—the rain was much heavier and lasted longer. We never imagined it would affect us so badly, that we would lose everything we had built over so many years. I feel so sad because practically all we had is gone.”
Joan Resuena, who is living at the Libon evacuation center with her children Crystal Faye, Avie James, and Mark, shared her thoughts: “Here in the Philippines, I don’t think there’s any place that’s truly safe. In some regions, like this one, we face typhoons that trigger landslides, while other areas are prone to flooding. It feels like no matter where you go, there’s always some kind of danger.”
Frequently Asked Questions
Of course Here is a list of FAQs about the topic We had to swim to safety I didnt think wed survive Images of people escaping the impacts of climate change
General Definition Questions
1 What do these images of people swimming to safety actually represent
They are powerful reallife examples of people being forced to flee their homes due to immediate climaterelated disasters like severe flooding storm surges or sealevel rise
2 Is climate change really forcing people to swim for their lives or is it just bad weather
While a single storm is a weather event climate change intensifies these events making them more frequent severe and unpredictable Its the difference between a rare flood and a common catastrophic one that overwhelms communities
3 Whats the difference between a climate migrant and a climate refugee
A climate migrant is the general term for someone who moves due to climaterelated factors A climate refugee is a specific legal term that is not officially recognized in international law which makes it hard for people fleeing climate impacts to get the same protections as those fleeing war or persecution
Causes Impacts
4 What are the main climate impacts causing these dangerous escapes
The primary drivers are
Sealevel rise and coastal erosion Slowly swallowing land
Suddenonset disasters Like hurricanes cyclones and catastrophic flooding
Slowonset changes Like prolonged drought making land unfarmable leading to displacement
5 Where in the world is this happening right now
This is a global issue Notable examples include communities in
Bangladesh and parts of India from monsoon flooding
Pacific Island nations like Kiribati and Tuvalu from sealevel rise
Coastal communities in the USA from hurricanes like Katrina and Ian
Parts of Africa from desertification and drought
6 How does climate change make flooding so much worse
A warmer atmosphere holds more moisture leading to heavier rainfall during storms Warmer ocean temperatures also fuel more powerful hurricanes and cyclones which push massive storm surges inland
Personal Community Level
7 What do people usually lose when they have to escape like this
They often lose everything their homes personal belongings livelihoods like farms or
