FATE OF NCQG HANGS BY ITS TEETH AT COP30 AS PRESIDENCY ACCUSED OF IGNORING ROADMAP

Pictured: The COP29 and COP30 presidents at the Opening Plenary for COP30.

 The symbolism of Belém makes this drift all the more striking. The city sits on the edge of the Amazon, one of the planet’s greatest natural assets and a potent reminder of both our dependence on and failure to protect the environment. For the world to gather here and then neglect the very question of how to fund climate action would be an act of quiet hypocrisy. It would suggest that even as the planet burns, the machinery of climate diplomacy still struggles to fund the fire brigade 

As world leaders, negotiators, and activists gather in Belém, Brazil, for COP30, the expectations could not be higher as promises of shifting from talk to action, and from promises to delivery, hit the headlines. Central to that hope is the Baku to Belém Roadmap to US$1.3 trillion, a plan agreed upon in principle at COP29 to guide how global climate finance would finally be scaled up for developing nations. It was supposed to be the missing link between aspiration and accountability, but as the conference gets underway, there is a palpable sense that the roadmap to the New Collective Quantified Goal (NCQG) is fading from focus. 

In Baku last year, delegates left with cautious optimism. They had agreed that all actors, whether governments, international banks, and private investors, would work towards mobilising at least US$1.3 trillion annually in climate finance by 2035. This was meant to replace the outdated US$100 billion target, which had long stood as a monument to global inaction.  

But as Belém opens its doors, momentum appears to have slowed to a crawl. What should have been the centrepiece of the conference risks being reduced to a side conversation, quietly displaced by newer, flashier initiatives. The official documentation still references the “Baku–Belém Roadmap,” but the energy around it has drained away. The process, it seems, has slipped into bureaucratic autopilot. 

The idea behind the roadmap was straightforward: build a concrete plan to mobilise US$1.3 trillion a year by 2035, specify who contributes what, outline the mix of grants, concessional finance, and private investment, and establish transparent accountability. Yet, the preparatory meetings leading to COP30 yielded little visible progress. Reports indicate that fewer than 30 submissions had been received from countries and stakeholders by early October, far below expectations. The discussions that should have been sharpening the roadmap have instead been diluted by competing priorities, from forest finance initiatives to new debt-for-nature mechanisms. 

This matters deeply for developing countries, and especially for Africa. The continent’s climate finance needs are staggering. Studies estimate that African countries collectively require at least US$455–584 billion per year by 2030 to meet their mitigation and adaptation needs. Without serious reform in how finance is mobilised, those numbers will remain a distant dream. For African governments, climate finance is the difference between resilience and ruin, and every delay means another year of withered crops, flooded homes, and displaced communities. 

The NCQG, and by extension the Baku to Belém Roadmap, was meant to offer a structured, predictable system. It was supposed to guarantee that finance would flow where it is needed most, and that it would do so equitably. Yet the signs emerging from Belém suggest that this clarity may never materialise. The US$1.3 trillion goal remains aspirational, and the floor of US$300 billion per year, set as the minimum by 2035, feels alarmingly low, given the scale of global needs. Worse still, there is no consensus on where the funds will come from, or how they will be distributed. Will they be loans that deepen debt burdens, or grants that allow vulnerable countries to act without financial penalties? Will the bulk of the money come from public sources, or will private investors be left to shape the agenda according to their interests? 

Such ambiguity is dangerous. It risks turning the roadmap into yet another rhetorical flourish that is grand in title but hollow in substance. And as Belém unfolds, the warning signs multiply. Media reports suggest that although Brazil’s finance ministry produced a report on achieving the US$1.3 trillion target, it may not even appear as a formal agenda item. The official UNFCCC materials mention “consultations” and “outreach” but contain no firm commitments, no delivery timelines, and no monitoring mechanisms. A roadmap… without milestones… is not a roadmap. 

Without a credible roadmap, developing nations will lose leverage to hold donors accountable. They will once again be left to navigate a patchwork of fragmented initiatives and unpredictable funding channels. The fragmentation would be especially damaging as each new initiative, no matter how well-intentioned, comes with its own terms, reporting standards, and bureaucratic demands. The end result is confusion rather than coordination, and, inevitably, inequity. 

There is also the question of trust. The global climate finance system has already tested the patience of developing countries to its limits. The US$100 billion promise, first made in 2009, became a running joke in climate circless. If the Baku to Belém Roadmap ends up being another mirage, the political damage could be severe. Why should developing nations continue to raise their climate ambition if the financial architecture underpinning it remains unreliable? Why should they keep faith in a multilateral system that so often delivers only rhetoric? 

To avoid this outcome, African approaches Belém with urgency and precision, and the continent’s position centres on three non-negotiables. First, COP30 must deliver a firm work programme that turns the US$1.3 trillion ambition into a clear and time-bound pathway. That means annual milestones, explicit allocations for public and private sources, and clear differentiation between grants, concessional loans, and market instruments. Second, the process must be transparent. The number of submissions received, the content of those submissions, and the method of incorporating them into the roadmap must be publicly disclosed. Anything less risks turning the exercise into an opaque, donor-driven process. And, third, the roadmap must anchor itself in public, grant-based finance, particularly for adaptation and resilience in Africa and other vulnerable regions. Private capital can play a supporting role, but it cannot replace public responsibility. 

Yet, even as these negotiations take shape, other issues are competing for attention. Forest finance, for instance, is climbing up the agenda. Brazil and several partners are promoting mechanisms such as the “Tropical Forests Forever Facility,” which, while valuable in its own right, threatens to overshadow the broader finance conversation. The problem is not forest finance itself, but the growing tendency to prioritise niche mechanisms over systemic reform. When the overall climate finance structure remains broken, adding more instruments only multiplies the cracks. 

The symbolism of Belém makes this drift all the more striking. The city sits on the edge of the Amazon, one of the planet’s greatest natural assets and a potent reminder of both our dependence on and failure to protect the environment. For the world to gather here and then neglect the very question of how to fund climate action would be an act of quiet hypocrisy. It would suggest that even as the planet burns, the machinery of climate diplomacy still struggles to fund the fire brigade. 

In the end, the question confronting COP30 is disarmingly simple: will Belém deliver a roadmap that defines who pays, how much, and by when, or will it deliver yet another round of grand promises that evaporate by the time delegates board their flights home? For Africa, and much of the developing world, the answer is not academic. Without real money, there can be no real action. And without a roadmap, there can be no direction.