In a stark revelation that underscores the deepening chasm between global climate pledges and financial realities, a coalition of major international banks has funneled $2 billion in direct financing to oil and gas projects within the Amazon rainforest since the start of 2024, exacerbating one of the planet’s most acute ecological crises. This influx of capital, detailed in a comprehensive October 2025 report by environmental watchdog Stand.earth titled “Banks vs. the Amazon,” arrives just weeks before COP30 in Belém, Brazil—the first United Nations climate summit to convene in the Amazon itself. The funding, which supports extraction activities in Brazil, Peru, Colombia, and Ecuador, has ignited outrage among Indigenous leaders, climate activists, and scientists, who warn it accelerates deforestation, biodiversity loss, and the rainforest’s potential tipping point into a carbon source rather than a vital sink.
The Amazon, spanning nine countries and covering 6.7 million square kilometers, is Earth’s largest tropical rainforest, harboring 10% of global biodiversity and regulating planetary climate through its absorption of 2.2 billion tons of CO2 annually. Yet, it faces existential threats: 2024 saw deforestation rates surge 22% in Brazil alone, driven by agribusiness, mining, and now intensified fossil fuel operations. Oil and gas extraction not only emits greenhouse gases but carves seismic lines, builds access roads that enable illegal logging, and contaminates waterways with spills—over 4,600 documented in Ecuador’s Amazon from 2006 to 2022. Stand.earth’s analysis, drawing from a database of transactions involving 330 banks, reveals that since the 2016 Paris Agreement, financiers have injected more than $15 billion into Amazon oil and gas, with the recent $2 billion spike representing a 13% increase over prior years. Over 80% of this fresh capital targets just six companies: Brazil’s Petrobras and Eneva, Canada’s Gran Tierra Energy, Swiss trader Gunvor Group, and Peruvian ventures Hunt Oil and Pluspetrol Camisea, notorious for the Camisea gas project that has displaced Indigenous communities and polluted rivers.
At the forefront of this financing surge are powerhouse institutions whose sustainability rhetoric clashes with their actions. Brazilian giant Itaú Unibanco leads as the top offender, disbursing $378 million—primarily to Eneva’s controversial gas fields in Amazonas state, despite the bank’s public commitments to “socioeconomic development and environmental conservation.” North American lenders follow closely: JPMorgan Chase, the world’s largest bank by fossil fuel exposure, contributed $162 million, while Bank of America ramped up to $150 million, a significant escalation from 2023. Canada’s Scotiabank and Peru’s Credicorp also boosted outlays, with $120 million and $95 million respectively, often through syndicated loans that obscure direct accountability. Citibank, HSBC, Banco Santander, Banco Bradesco, and Goldman Sachs round out the “dirty dozen,” collectively accounting for 75% of the $15 billion historical total. These banks, many signatories to the UN Principles for Responsible Banking, defend their involvement as “transitional” energy support, but critics like Stand.earth’s Martyna Dominiak argue it locks in emissions for decades, contradicting the International Energy Agency’s call for no new fossil fuel projects to limit warming to 1.5°C.
The crisis manifests brutally on the ground. In Peru’s Loreto region, Pluspetrol’s operations at Camisea have led to over 100 oil spills since 2011, contaminating the Urubamba River and causing health epidemics among 30,000 Indigenous residents, including elevated cancer rates and miscarriages. A 2025 study by the Peruvian Society of Environmental Law documented mercury levels in fish exceeding WHO limits by 500%, forcing communities like the Shipibo-Conibo to abandon traditional diets. In Brazil, Petrobras’s newly licensed drilling at the Amazon River’s mouth—approved in October 2025 despite environmental impact assessments flagging risks to mangroves and endangered manatees—threatens the Foz do Amazonas basin, home to 1,200 fish species. Gran Tierra’s Putumayo block in Colombia has displaced Waorani people, sparking violent clashes and a 2024 UN rapporteur report decrying “systematic human rights violations.” Gunvor, meanwhile, faces U.S. charges for bribing Ecuadorian officials to siphon $4 billion from state coffers between 2013 and 2020, funds that propped up Amazon drilling.
This financing boom coincides with a broader reversal in banking trends. After two years of declining fossil fuel support—dropping from $922 billion globally in 2021 to $707 billion in 2023—the sector rebounded to $869 billion in 2024, per the Banking on Climate Chaos report from Rainforest Action Network and allies. U.S. banks alone committed $289 billion, with JPMorgan Chase topping the list at $53.4 billion, a 39% hike. In the Amazon context, European banks like BNP Paribas and HSBC show glimmers of restraint: BNP’s Amazon-specific exclusion policy since 2023 slashed its ranking to 45th with just $4 million in new loans, while HSBC’s fell to 17th at $12 million. Yet loopholes persist—HSBC indirectly funds Petrobras via bonds, and no bank has fully divested. Goldman Sachs and Santander, despite declining direct ties, underwrite corporate debt that frees capital for extraction.
Indigenous voices amplify the human toll. Leoncio Arévalo Quema, a Shipibo leader from Peru, testified at a 2025 Inter-American Commission hearing: “Our rivers run black with oil, our children born deformed. Banks in New York and London sign checks that kill us slowly.” The Amazonia for Life initiative, backed by 700 Indigenous organizations, demands “80% protection by 2025,” explicitly calling out fossil finance as a barrier. COICA, representing 3.5 million Amazonians, has petitioned the UN Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues for binding resolutions, echoing calls from the 2023 Belém Declaration. Activists on X (formerly Twitter) have mobilized under #StopAmazonExtraction, with posts like ResourceRightsAfrica’s October 22 share of the Stand.earth scorecard garnering thousands of views and calls for boycotts. Dr. Paul Dorfman, a Sussex University climate expert, tweeted: “JP Morgan, BoA, Citi—worst offenders in $2bn Amazon destruction fund. COP30 must end this hypocrisy.”
Economically, the stakes are immense. The Amazon generates $8.2 billion annually in ecosystem services for global agriculture via rainfall, yet extraction promises short-term windfalls: Petrobras eyes 3 billion barrels from Foz do Amazonas, potentially $200 billion in revenue. Banks reap underwriting fees (1-2% of deals) and interest, but face escalating risks—stranded assets could cost $1.4 trillion by 2030, per Carbon Tracker. Regulatory pressures mount: The EU’s 2024 Corporate Sustainability Due Diligence Directive mandates deforestation-free supply chains, exposing U.S. banks to fines up to 5% of global turnover. Brazil’s 2025 National Oil Agency has paused auctions amid lawsuits, but President Lula’s “green growth” pivot clashes with industry lobbying.
As COP30 looms, the $2 billion infusion symbolizes finance’s forked path: perpetuate collapse or pivot to restoration. Stand.earth’s scorecard urges “frontrunner” policies—full Amazon oil/gas exit by 2026, Indigenous free prior informed consent (FPIC) integration, and transparency in indirect funding. Success stories like BNP’s policy-driven retreat offer blueprints, but laggards dominate. In Dewsbury, England—where transatlantic supply chains link local supermarkets to Amazon soy—residents like those in the user’s community feel the indirect bite through rising food prices from disrupted weather. Global divestment campaigns, amassing $40 trillion in assets, target these banks, demanding alignment with the $1.3 trillion annual climate finance COP30 seeks for the Global South.
Ultimately, this crisis tests banking’s moral compass. As Dominiak warns: “Banks hold the purse strings to Amazonia’s fate—fund destruction, or forge survival?” With 2025’s wildfires already scorching 10 million hectares and methane leaks from rigs rivaling coal plants, the $2 billion isn’t mere investment; it’s a bet against the biosphere. For the 40 million Amazon dwellers, it’s life or loss. COP30 could catalyze change, but only if financiers heed the forest’s final plea: divest, or watch it burn.
The broader implications ripple far. Fossil expansion here amplifies global extremes—2025’s European heatwaves, intensified by Amazon drought, cost €20 billion in damages. Yet alternatives abound: Redirecting $2 billion could seed 500,000 hectares of reforestation, per WWF models, yielding 100 million tons of CO2 sequestration. Banks like Triodos, with zero Amazon exposure, prove profitability sans peril. As Indigenous elder Txai Suruí told COP27: “The Amazon doesn’t need saving—it needs us to stop destroying it.” In 2025’s ledger of hubris, that $2 billion stains not just balance sheets, but humanity’s shared horizon.
