It was 12 October 2023 when Italian researcher Gianluca Grimalda was fired from the Kiel Institute for the World Economy (IfW) in Germany for refusing to board a plane back from Bougainville, Papua New Guinea, at the end of a field research project. With that decision, Grimalda chose to turn his civil disobedience against the climate emergency into a concrete act, paying a heavy personal price for his choice. Nearly two years on, his book "A Fuoco" is now available from Feltrinelli, in which Grimalda recounts his slow, profound journey through Papua New Guinea. Through intense encounters with local people, their resilience and their responses to a crisis that is literally burning the planet, the narrative becomes direct testimony and reflection on global challenges and the importance of courageous choices. We at LifeGate sat down with him for an interview.

Gianluca Grimalda, what is A Fuoco about?
Some people have said that A Fuoco contains several books within it. And that's true, in a way. First and foremost, it's a travel diary: the account of my return journey from Papua New Guinea to Europe without taking any flights, covering a total of 28,000 kilometres. At its heart is also my personal story — the dismissal I suffered from the Institute where I worked. According to some — and even an artificial intelligence confirms this — I may have been the first employee ever to be fired for a reason traceable to what I call "climate conscientious objection".

That said, I tried not to place myself at the centre — or at least not exclusively. My story serves as a backdrop to a broader narrative, in which I give voice to the people I met in places along the so-called global periphery. The book alternates between travel writing and essayistic reflections, in which I try to explain — in an accessible way, and through the conversations I had along the road — some fundamental concepts related to the climate crisis, such as tipping points and the greenhouse effect.

Why a book?
Writing a book about my travels had been a dream of mine for a long time. When Feltrinelli proposed that I tell my story, the offer came at the most symbolic of moments: my first meeting with the editor took place on the very same day I received the dismissal notice by email.

For me, A Fuoco is an extension of my activism. I believe the heart of social protest lies in talking to people — trying to shake them, to raise their awareness and increase the pressure for concrete climate action. Just as had happened with the film I made together with Paolo Casalis, I thought a book could reach a new, broader audience than the one you encounter during protest actions.

Finally, there is also a creative dimension that matters greatly to me. I tried to write a beautiful book, with small stories woven into every chapter, to make the reading experience engaging from a narrative point of view as well. And so far the feedback has been positive: people tell me it reads well, despite being 370 pages long. Maybe they're being polite — but I prefer to think they're not.

What do people ask you at book events?
One thing that has emerged strongly — unsurprisingly, yet thought-provokingly — is a keen interest in the local dimension. In the book I tried to maintain a global perspective on the climate crisis, because it is a systemic crisis, but at events many people have wanted to share concrete experiences of local adaptation. And that is very positive: it's often said that mitigation is a global problem, while adaptation is local.

There is, however, another reaction that has given me pause. At almost every stop, when I talk about the advantages of renewable energy — pointing out that it is already more efficient than fossil fuels today and far less harmful, including in terms of human lives — someone invariably raises objections related to the landscape. I included a graph in the book showing mortality per terawatt-hour produced by different energy sources: renewables (and nuclear as well) have the lowest impact, while coal and oil are by far the worst, with coal having an impact 600 times greater than renewables.

I understand that there are legitimate concerns about the construction of energy infrastructure, and that there are also questionable practices — such as certain cases of opaque land deals — but what is often missing from the debate is an awareness of the urgency. If we continue to obstruct every form of transition in order to protect the landscape, we risk having no landscape left to defend. We need a long-term vision. Obviously, the answer isn't to install wind turbines in Piazza della Signoria, but to find shared solutions that respect local territories. And that is a conversation that needs to be had, not avoided.

In any case, one of the most frequent questions is: "What can we do, concretely?" Usually people mean at an individual level, so I mention the most impactful actions: reducing meat consumption, avoiding flying where possible, choosing heat pumps and electric vehicles. But what I always emphasise is that individual action, however important, is not enough. The greatest impact comes collectively: joining a movement, bringing your concern into the public sphere, transforming personal awareness into social action. That, today, is the most powerful thing any of us can do.

Will you return to Bougainville? And how is your research career evolving?
Yes, I have plans to return to Papua New Guinea in July to complete a research project I began five years ago. It is part of a broader initiative, conducted alongside roughly fifty researchers around the world, that studies the evolution of wealth and social networks in various indigenous communities. It is a longitudinal study that allows us to understand how these elements change over time and across different cultural contexts.

In order to dedicate myself to this project without external pressures, I chose to remain without a contract this year: it has allowed me to travel slowly towards Papua — in the most sustainable way possible — without the anxiety of academic deadlines. But from next year I will take up a structured position: I will begin working as a senior researcher at Masaryk University in Brno, Czech Republic.

During these months, however, I have not stopped doing research. On the contrary, I have continued working at full pace, and will likely be able to publish an article shortly in what I consider the most prestigious journal in the field of economics.

Right now, for instance, I am in London to attend the Global Tipping Points Conference in Exeter, where leading names in the field are present, including Tim Lenton and Johan Rockström. For me it is particularly stimulating because the discussion covers not only environmental tipping points, but also social tipping points — those breaking points in social dynamics that could trigger a radical, collective shift towards decarbonisation. A theme I feel very close to and that is central to my own work.

In your book you recount encounters with people living on the front lines of the climate crisis. What do they ask you? How do they react?
During the journey I found that almost everyone recognises climate change as a real threat, but awareness of its causes and of the scale of change required remains vague and underestimated. This is perfectly mirrored in Bougainville, Papua New Guinea. The words "climate change" are on everyone's lips, but an understanding of its roots is often lacking. Many people believe it is caused by natural events or by some form of divine punishment. It falls to me, during my presentations, to make clear that global warming is neither cyclical nor inevitable: it is driven largely by the consumption patterns of high-income countries — above all Europe and the United States — which together are responsible for roughly half of all historical emissions.

The reactions to these explanations are striking. In rare cases, there is astonishment and something close to indignation: "If you caused the problem, why haven't you fixed it yet?" people ask me. But in most cases a constructive attitude prevails. Community leaders — often men, known as big men — take the floor at the end of my presentations to say: "We must do our part by preserving the rainforest." For them, the forest is vital not only for local survival, but also for the balance of global ecosystems.

This sense of collective responsibility strikes me deeply, especially when compared to what I see in Western countries, where there is often a tendency to shift responsibility onto others: "Let India and China move first, then we'll follow."

Many of the people I met are profoundly concerned about the future of their lands. I show them the projections from Coastal Central, a website that highlights the areas that could end up below sea level within a few decades, and I can see how closely it touches them. They often ask me what they can do in concrete terms, and I reply that it will be a collective choice. Some communities that are already having to deal with rising seas today — with high tides flooding the village by up to half a metre — still choose to stay. Migration, for them, is truly the last option.

There is also a strong dignity in the way they face these scenarios. They do not want to feel like victims, nor to be labelled "climate refugees" — a term many reject. They prefer to see themselves as active agents, perhaps as "skilled migrants", rather than as people forced to flee. It is an attitude that reflects resilience and self-determination.

Your experience is an emblematic story of civil disobedience. What do you think of this topic, also in light of the new security decree?
Indeed, at the heart of my book there is an entire chapter entitled Satyagraha (after the ethics of disobedience theorised by Gandhi, ed.), devoted precisely to my direct experience of civil disobedience and to a review of the scientific literature on the subject that I had the chance to explore in depth — paradoxically — only after I had begun to practise it. That study gave me even more strength and conviction: civil disobedience is not only a legitimate tool, but also a powerful one for shifting public opinion.

The scientific literature offers us at least two fundamental insights. The first concerns the effectiveness of non-violent protests: there are rigorous studies demonstrating that non-violent actions — including acts of civil disobedience — can genuinely shift public opinion. But it is crucial that the actions are not only non-violent, but also perceived as such. When violence occurs — or if the action is read as aggressive — a boomerang effect is triggered: instead of gaining support, you lose it. This is a central, non-negotiable point.

The second insight concerns the role of scientists. It is a debate that is still very much alive: should they or should they not engage personally, even in radical actions? Well, very recent research shows that scientists who put themselves on the line personally, even through acts of civil disobedience (that is, by definition, outside the law), are perceived as more credible by the public. This adds to another study — older, from 2016 — which showed that scientists who live consistently with what they preach (for example by avoiding flying) are also perceived as more trustworthy.

All of this is even more relevant when we consider that scientists are among the public figures people trust most. Their words and actions carry amplified weight. This is why I believe the repression of civil disobedience is a severe blow to democratic debate.

The security decree, in Italy, goes exactly in this repressive direction. And it is not an isolated case: in England and Germany too, penalties are being tightened, particularly for road blockades. It is a worrying trend. Civil disobedience serves precisely to fill a democratic void: when institutions fail to act, a group of citizens decides to break the law in order to draw attention to an unjust law or an ignored emergency. In this sense, civil disobedience is a direct dialogue with the community. If this dialogue is stifled by draconian penalties, democracy itself is weakened.

I experienced this myself: for a completely peaceful action in Germany — we glued ourselves to the floor in the Porsche pavilion to denounce the climate impact of luxury — I was sentenced to one month in prison, later commuted to a fine of one thousand euros. But it is legitimate to ask whether such an act — gluing oneself to the floor, damaging nothing — can truly justify a custodial sentence.

As Michael Forst, the UN Special Rapporteur on the protection of climate rights defenders, has also observed, there are Just Stop Oil activists sentenced to five years in prison. These are sentences comparable to those handed down in Uzbekistan to people who criticise the government: we are truly at that level. Fortunately, in Italy, the security decree has prompted a significant response, with demonstrations and public statements. In Germany and the United Kingdom, on the other hand, I have perceived far less reaction, and this is worrying: it seems people prefer a quiet life rather than confronting their own responsibilities.

But this is a classic example of cognitive dissonance: one avoids confrontation with the "Jiminy Crickets" who remind us how unsustainable our lifestyles are. Yet the transition we must undertake is radical: not only switching to renewables, but drastically reducing consumption, retrofitting buildings with heat pumps and, ultimately, bringing fossil fuel use to zero.

In this context, how do you see the future of participation in decision-making and political processes, and the role of grassroots society?
Despite everything, I continue to be inspired by the "optimism of the will". I am convinced that, although today seems like a moment of regression, a growing demand for climate action is taking shape. We can see this from opinion indicators: concern about the climate is rising. Admittedly, it has not yet translated into sufficient action, but I believe a tipping point will soon arrive — an "avalanche effect", as happens in non-linear social processes.

We are still far from that point, but crises — such as the heatwaves we face every summer — will eventually make it impossible to deny the evidence. And even if climate denialists are skilled at distorting reality, I believe the urgency of events will ultimately prevail.

The problem today is that public opinion is informed, but not aware. As a recent survey by Stantcheva and colleagues shows, most people underestimate the scale of the actions required: they believe that halving fossil fuel use would be enough to stop the rise in temperatures, when in fact we need to eliminate it entirely. This is why it is essential to keep on talking, explaining, and engaging. Only in this way can we build a social base ready to support truly effective policies. Because, as Max Weber said, politicians do what is needed to be re-elected — and if the electorate is not ready, they will not move.

So let me ask you the question people raise at your talks: in concrete terms, how can we raise awareness among more people?
For me it is essential to engage the population: a stronger social demand is needed, greater participation. On the issue of participation in bottom-up decision-making processes, this is a central question for movements such as Extinction Rebellion, which promote, for example, the establishment of citizens' assemblies.

In general, I am in favour of this tool. I know there have already been some experiments, and I have also been in contact with researchers who have studied their effectiveness. Nevertheless, I still have some doubts: many of these studies seem to me to be characterised by a strong self-selection effect. Those who participate in citizens' assemblies, in fact, tend to have a progressive profile, so I wonder about the genuine representativeness of these tools. To give an example: if a citizens' assembly were convened in the United States toda