By the time negotiators from around the world gathered in the Amazonian city of Belém in November to discuss the future of climate action, the world had already experienced an alarming year: near-record global temperatures, unprecedented heat waves across continents, and extreme flooding that scientists say would have been virtually impossible without human-driven warming.

The U.N. COP30 climate conference was supposed to signal a global recommitment to cut emissions of greenhouse gases. Since oil, gas, and coal produce most of these, a group of countries pushed a plan to phase out fossil fuels. But in the face of opposition from oil and gas producers, the words fossil fuels did not appear in the final text.

The COP30 outcome offers an illustration of the fractured, complicated state of climate action in 2025. Some countries continue moving forward when it aligns with short-term economic and political realities. Others, most importantly the U.S., have refused to participate entirely.

When President Donald Trump took office in January, many feared a dramatic global pullback. Instead, we’ve entered a messy moment with different countries pursuing a range of strategies based on perceived self-interest, and companies moving ahead with sustainability efforts when they advance the bottom line. At the end of the day, decarbonization will continue based purely on economics, but what that looks like from place to place varies wildly. At the same time, it’s unclear how much of the growing cost of climate change can be avoided.

After Trump's inauguration, many of climate advocates’ darkest fears were realized—and worse. Trump brought the offshore wind industry to a halt as his Administration froze projects with pre-existing approvals. It cut federal support for electric vehicles, along with wind and solar power, as it worked with a Republican Congress to dismantle a law that subsidized clean technologies. And the Administration launched an assault on the science of climate change with a Department of Energy report challenging its basic premises and, by extension, federal authority to address the issue.

These efforts will be mitigated somewhat by economic realities. Power demand is growing in the U.S. for the first time in decades—driven in large part by the rapid growth in AI data centers—and renewable energy has become the lowest-cost, easiest technology for utilities. At the same time, the U.S. retained some of its tax incentives for technologies like nuclear power and energy storage (think of batteries). All of this means the U.S. is doing its own thing—at home and abroad. Unlike those of many other developed countries, its emissions are expected to flatline instead of decline. And America’s global climate influence will continue to dissipate as it steps back.

But the U.S. is the source of only 12% of global emissions. Cheap renewables and storage mean more green energy around the globe. China has become a clean-tech superpower and is keen to export its products. Chinese solar-cell exports increased 73% in the first half of the year as prices hit record lows, according to data from energy think tank Ember. For countries eager to develop, renewables have become irresistible.

All of these developments are happening against the backdrop of escalating climate disasters—and, for that reason, the world has increasingly turned to the issue of climate adaptation. In climate lingo, that means taking preparatory measures and climate-proofing infrastructure.

It’s long been a debate among climate experts about how much to emphasize adaptation in comparison to cutting emissions. This year may have tipped the scales. “Even in the best-case scenario, we need to adapt,” says Dave Sivaprasad, a climate-focused managing director at global consulting firm BCG. “But the effectiveness of adaptation dramatically reduces once we get into more severe climate scenarios.” In 2025, as costs began to stack, it has become increasingly clear that we will need a lot more of both. And the clock is ticking.