It was a late Friday evening, and I was still at the office, racing to meet the EU ETS compliance deadline for reporting 2025 emissions—ironically, for a vessel that had long since changed hands.
The process had been grueling. Where was the missing metric tonne of fuel? Why was there a 0.5-tonne discrepancy in CO₂ emissions? And how did a 0.1 tCO₂ variation throw off the total EUAs? Emails, calls, and endless clarifications bounced between the ship, the verifier, and classification societies. Every number was scrutinized, rechecked, and uploaded into THETIS, only to be cross-referenced again with MOHA.
What struck me most wasn’t the numbers—it was the system itself. Designed by capable minds, it often feels unnecessarily complex for those tasked with implementation. For me, it’s a nightmare.
From a shipowner’s perspective, the focus is straightforward: reduce fuel consumption. After acquiring a vessel, discussions revolve around LED lights, advanced hull coatings, engine optimizations, and energy-saving devices. Each improvement shaves off a few tonnes of fuel, a modest reduction in emissions—just enough, perhaps, to maintain a favorable CII rating. Yet, even this is precarious. A poorly planned voyage, delays at anchorage, or cargo issues can easily undo these gains.
And while we debate decimals, ships are burning—literally.
Recent attacks in regions like the Red Sea and the Strait of Hormuz have exposed the vulnerability of merchant vessels. A burning ship, engulfed in thick black smoke and roaring flames, is not just a safety crisis but an environmental catastrophe. A typical handysize vessel carries around 1,500 tonnes of fuel, with larger ships holding even more. When such a vessel burns uncontrollably, the emissions released in mere hours can erase months of meticulous efforts to reduce carbon footprints.
As of now, over 25 ships have been targeted in recent conflicts, with nearly 100 incidents when combining the Red Sea and Russia–Ukraine crises. Ships are easy targets, and a burning vessel sends a powerful, symbolic message. Once a fire ignites, it spreads rapidly. I’ve witnessed firsthand how a small spark can escalate into a full-blown disaster.
This issue isn’t confined to ships. Recent images from Tehran showed dark clouds and black rain after fuel depots were bombed. Millions of liters of fuel burned, releasing an estimated 1.9 million tonnes of CO₂. In just a short span of conflict, emissions soared into the millions of tonnes.
The war in Ukraine paints an even grimmer picture. Estimates suggest the conflict has generated around 230 million tonnes of CO₂ equivalent emissions—more than the annual emissions of several European nations combined. These emissions stem from burning infrastructure, fuel depots, pipelines, and the reconstruction that follows.
Globally, military activity accounts for approximately 5.5% of total emissions. Yet, much of this goes unreported and remains outside climate frameworks. Why? It’s hard to say. These emissions exist but are excluded from the system.
In shipping, we measure everything. We reconcile 0.1-tonne discrepancies and question minor variations. Yet, emissions from conflict—amounting to millions of tonnes—are overlooked. This imbalance is glaring.
The shipping industry is moving toward net-zero emissions under the guidance of the International Maritime Organization, with further discussions expected later this year. The direction is clear, and the intent is commendable. But the cost is significant.
Under the EU ETS, the current carbon cost is estimated at €60–100 per tonne of CO₂, adding $2–10 per tonne of cargo in bulk shipping. As green fuels—costing two to four times more than conventional fuels—become the norm, freight costs could rise by $10–40 per tonne.
For consumers, this translates to small increases: a few extra dollars on products, a 1–3% rise in retail prices, $5–15 more per tonne for food grains, or $100–300 more for heavy goods like cars. But across global trade, these incremental costs accumulate, driving inflation, raising energy and raw material prices, and disproportionately impacting developing economies.
The cost of decarbonization doesn’t rest with shipowners—it’s passed along. Freight rates rise, and ultimately, consumers bear the burden. But here’s the question: when emissions stem from conflict, who pays? No one. These emissions aren’t priced, reported, or accounted for. They simply enter the atmosphere.
This isn’t an argument against decarbonization—it’s essential and must continue. But it cannot be viewed in isolation. The atmosphere doesn’t distinguish between emissions from compliance and those from conflict, yet our systems do.
We measure grams with precision but ignore tonnes without question. And therein lies the real gap.
Source: https://splash247.com/burning-ships-smoke-and-the-limits-of-decarbonisation/