On the sandy shores of Vaiaku, as coconut trees sway gently in the breeze, Tekafa Piliota sits in his small classroom and dreams of becoming a doctor. The 13-year-old, who lives in Tuvalu’s capital Funafuti, knows that would mean leaving his homeland. There aren’t any universities in the small Pacific island nation, which lies between Australia and Hawaii. The country has another problem: it is predicted to be one the first countries to become uninhabitable due to rising seas.
“I would like to go to Australia to study. There is higher ground in Australia, and it might be safer during natural disasters,” Piliota says.
In the years to come, he could see that dream become a reality. This week the first ballot opened that allows Tuvalu citizens to apply to move to Australia. It is part of a world-first agreement the two countries signed in 2023 that creates a visa in the context of the climate crisis.
The agreement, known as the Falepili Union treaty, will allow up to 280 Tuvaluans each year to migrate to Australia and obtain permanent residency, and move freely between the countries. The treaty also contains other provisions to deepen ties, including security guarantees and disaster assistance.
Tuvalu’s prime minister, Feleti Teo, described the agreement as “groundbreaking, unprecedented and landmark”.
“There’s a lot of excitement around the migration pathway, both in Tuvalu and among our diaspora,” Teo tells the Guardian. “It doesn’t mean you have to live the rest of your life in Australia. You can go in and come out as you wish.”
Yet as the historic treaty stirs hope among some Tuvaluans, it has also raised fears that the flow of people out of the country of around 11,000 people will create labour gaps and lead to a loss of cultural knowledge. Others have criticised the treaty’s sovereignty implications and questioned how it was negotiated.
“It was done in a secretive manner, kept away from the people, kept away from parliamentary process,” says Enele Sopoaga, a former prime minister of Tuvalu and renowned climate diplomat.
“You cannot take people away and pretend nothing is happening on the ground. That’s a daft way of thinking. [It’s] modern-day colonialism at its worst,” Sopoaga said.
‘We need a way out’
Tuvalu is one if the smallest countries in the world, with a total land mass of about 26 sq km. Funafuti is the capital of Tuvalu and a low-lying atoll of more than 30 islets, home to about 60% of the country’s population. Encircling the vast 275 sq km Te Namo lagoon, much of Funafuti’s land is less than one metre above spring high tide levels. This makes the atoll acutely vulnerable to climate threats such as sea level rise, saltwater intrusion and coastal erosion, which already affect freshwater supplies and increase flooding during high tides. Scientific projections suggest that by 2050, half of Funafuti could be submerged during high tides, with up to 95% of the land regularly flooded by the end of the century.
To confront these escalating risks, Tuvalu’s government is working with international agencies on a series of adaptation projects. The Tuvalu Coastal Adaptation Project has built 7.8 hectares of raised, flood-resilient land and reinforced 2.78km of shoreline using seawalls, groynes and natural buffers. Work is expected to be completed later this year. Another project aims to reclaim 3.6 sq km of elevated, climate-resilient land for the relocation of residents and key infrastructure beyond 2100.
Yet in this environment, many living in Funafuti think about their options for the future – and whether to stay or go.
Among them are Piliota and his classmate Hope Aoga Kofe, who attend Natui primary school in the village of Vaiaku in Funafuti.
Hope Kofe also has dreams of one day studying in Australia.
“I want to become a flight attendant because I love travelling and I enjoy helping and serving people,” she says.
“I think the idea of moving to Australia is good, especially for getting a better education. It would be easier to find jobs there. Life here in Tuvalu is harder, but if I got a good job in Australia, I could always come back and visit.”
About 800 children study at Natui primary school. Principal Kainaki Taula works hard to make sure her students are ready for the future, but acknowledges there aren’t enough job opportunities.
“We try our best to equip them with the knowledge and skills to survive and thrive wherever they go,” Taula says.
Letiu Afelee, a father of five young boys, sees the Falepili pathway as a necessary option for families like his, seeking opportunity beyond Tuvalu. His eldest son is a student at a nearby high school, who hopes to work in land planning and dreams of playing Australian rules football.
“If the predictions are true, and in 50 years Tuvalu is underwater, then we need to have a way out,” Afelee says.
“If we are granted permanent residence, they can go to Australia, live there, and still come back to Tuvalu when they want.”
Adriana Pedro Tausau, who is in her final year of high school in Funafuti, is excited about what a move to Australia could bring now – and years down the track.
“This is a great opportunity. The Falepili pathway would help my family access health, education, and jobs, not just for me but for my future children too,” she said.
‘Nothing to protect Tuvalu’
The inaugural ballot for the Falepili pathway opened on 16 June 2025 and is due to close next month. Successful applicants will be chosen at random. Australia’s foreign minister, Penny Wong, said it would enable “mobility with dignity, by providing Tuvaluans the opportunity to live, study and work in Australia as climate impacts worsen”.
The scheme differs from other migration programs in the Pacific. Unlike temporary labour pathways, successful applicants will be granted permanent residency before departure, meaning they gain access to health, education and other services as soon as they arrive in Australia. They will also be free to travel to and from Australia, to maintain connections with Tuvalu. It is wider than other migration programs, with no restrictions on age or disability.
Still, some in Tuvalu have concerns about the way the treaty was formed, and Sopoaga criticised its implementation.
“It was done almost under the influence of one partner over the recipient,” the former prime minister said.
“If you look at the treaty text, there’s nothing in there to protect Tuvalu. Nothing to deal with the impacts of climate change. Nothing,” Sopoaga says.
Anna Powles, associate professor in security studies at Massey University, also notes the treaty was negotiated quickly and “in secrecy”. She says that provisions in Article 4 “effectively give Australia veto power over Tuvalu’s national security decision-making”.
“Bundling climate assistance with military or defence-related commitments poses significant security risks for Pacific nations, as illustrated by the Falepili treaty between Australia and Tuvalu. Such agreements risk eroding sovereignty,” she says.
Others are worried about the drain of people and resources out of Tuvalu. Pacific labour migration researcher FotuoSamoa Tiatia says the treaty could lead to a substantial flow over time.
“These individuals often hold important roles in their churches, villages and families. Their absence creates gaps not just in labour, but in the transmission of cultural knowledge,” Tiatia says.
Prime minister Teo challenges these concerns, arguing the pathway is intentionally two-way and “doesn’t mean you have to live the rest of your life” in Australia.
He describes the treaty as a “serious elevation in terms of our relationship with Australia”.
“Australia is now the first country to legally recognise the continuity of our statehood despite climate change and sea level rise,” Teo says, while stressing it “does not go as far as sovereignty within Australia in the event of full land loss”.
“It simply recognises future statehood in relation to where we are right now. With this elevated relationship and the opportunities that the treaty provides, I hope the people of Tuvalu can take full advantage, especially of the migration pathway.”
Students like Tekafa welcome the chance to consider a different future.
“I love the freedom here. I can go anywhere I want without fear,” he says.
“But I also think about the opportunities elsewhere. It might be hard to leave, but it could also be a good decision.”
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