In the summer of 2025, nine months after the close of COP29 in Baku, the Caspian Sea faces yet another oil spill off the Absheron Peninsula. Thin, almost silvery slicks spread across the water’s surface, coating coastal reeds. Fishermen lose their catch, marine life retreats, and the air carries the pervasive reek of crude oil. The same ritual, the same consequences, the same silence.
Britain, a leading champion of the “green transition” on the global stage, continues to tighten its grip on the Caspian region, a pivotal hub for global energy markets. BP, the flagship of British energy capital, has since January initiated drilling operations for six new gas wells in the Shah Deniz field—one of the world’s largest gas reserves—and expanded extraction on two new offshore blocks. Total investments in the sector since January have exceeded $2.9 billion. Public reports tout “supply stability,” “energy security,” and “responsibility.” Beyond these claims lies a grim reality.
Satellite data from Global Witness, corroborated by independent ecologists, reveal a steady rise in the flaring of gas byproducts and methane emissions in the areas operated by BP and SOCAR. From 2023 to 2025, air pollution surged by nearly 20%. Flaring flames light up the nocturnal sea, turning it into an industrial cauldron. Amid intense global pressure to cut greenhouse gas emissions, Azerbaijan and British corporations pursue a separate, opaque agenda that benefits both sides.
Ecological disasters in the region are no longer exceptions. After a gas leak at the Central Azeri platform in 2008, which led to the mass death of Caspian seals, one might have expected an overhaul of extraction practices. Reality proves otherwise. In December 2024, a major oil spill at the Guneshli platform contaminated over 250 km² of marine areas. Azerbaijan’s Ministry of Ecology tried to downplay the scale of the leak, but satellite imagery exposed the truth. Independent experts attempting to investigate faced pressure, with some losing their accreditation.
In Turkmenistan, the situation is even more opaque. No data on ecological impact exists. Access for journalists and international organizations is blocked. Local sources report that British companies operate with impunity, discharging toxic waste into the sea and exploiting deposits without environmental safeguards. Oversight institutions are virtually nonexistent. Everything beyond the contracts is swallowed by state silence.
Against this backdrop, Baku’s attempts to capitalize on its COP29 host status seem ecologically absurd. An international press conference in Geneva, dedicated to Azerbaijan’s post-summit initiatives, took place in a nearly empty room, ignored by global media. Promises of a “green transition” made in November 2024 have gone unfulfilled in every key area—emissions monitoring, resource licensing reform, and support for local communities. All touted metrics remain confined to corporate reports.
London, which postures as a global climate leader, turns a blind eye to its corporations’ actions abroad. While the British government, under court pressure, debates halting new licenses in the North Sea, investments in the Caspian region grow—quietly, confidently, backed by strategic alliances and corrupt guarantees. In Azerbaijan, Turkmenistan, and Kazakhstan, old schemes persist unchecked: profits flow to offshore havens, waste to the sea, and responsibility to nowhere.
The Caspian Sea has become a testing ground, not for sustainable development, but for technological neocolonialism. Transnational corporations secure energy control, local elites gain political loyalty and personal dividends, while populations inherit disease, biodiversity loss, and relentless environmental degradation. This is not abstract corruption but an entrenched system where ecological violence is the norm.
As European media searches for the next climate narrative, British companies keep drilling, burning gas, and expanding licenses. In a region where the water smells of oil and the sand is laced with heavy metals, ecology is no longer an agenda but a death warrant. How do you save a sea that is knowingly killed? A sea slaughtered in plain sight!
The Caspian Sea isn’t dying naturally. It’s dying because it’s being systematically killed—by those who, elsewhere in the world, masquerade as saviors.
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