 Ydw i chi'n fudio, ac ydych yn gallu fyddion ar gyflym i gweinno. Mae'r unrhyw o'ch flwyddyn o'ch fadeifydd a ydych yn gweithio rydym chi'n gobeithio r匯fawr pwysig yn amlwg a'r unrhyw o'ch blaen y flwyddyn o'r blaen yma sy'n credu hynny. Mae'r unrhyw o'ch chaell ar gael ei rhoi hwnnw cylinderu rhaid i chi, aser mae'r unrhyw i gweithio i gweithio'r flynyddoedd ddaeth eu cyfraithu a phyn则 o'i ffoswlltio. Now we've all known for a while that big banks like HSBC and Barclays are out of control and they continue to recklessly pull money into climate wrecking projects around the world all the time whilst hiding behind empty net zero pledges. But today we've also been casting an eye onto a more hidden target in the form of The Bank of England and we've been calling on Andrew Bailey, the governor, to step up and meet our demands to help tackle the climate crisis. yn cyflwydoi at sowersol iawn a'ch gyflwydoi'r cyflwydoi'r ysgrifemwyeth sydd wedi'i gyflwydoi, cyflwydoi ar gyfer y gynhyrch gylam, lle mae eich brifysgau cyllideb, ac rwy'n cael eu gynhygrifioott y cyflwydoi a'r cyflwydoi'r cyflwydoi hefyd yn gan nesaf yno a'n cael eu bod ni'n gweithio ar gyflwydoi a'r gyflwydoi a'r cyflwydoi a'r gweithio, ac mae'n o'n meddwl i'n arddangos llwyddi. yn roi'r hyfforddiadaniaeth ar ôl gwneud o fe wneud am dweud yn gwefru'r cwmwyaf yma. Rwy'n rhaid i'n ddweud beth onid ein bod nhw'n gweithio'n gweithio arart o'r deswmannaeth o'r ddechrau, ac yn unabyddio allu i chi gwybod, ac roedd yn gweithio'n gweithio o'r dda forts. Rwy'n rhaid i'n gweithio i chi i'w pwys Newsgysig. Ac mae'n gweithio cais i'r gweithio fel algod tŷr cymryd o'r gweithio cei ar droi 350. It's been amazing that today we've been able to take action with anti-wracking activists from Argentina, with the Pacific Climate Warriors and organisers from London to Glasgow. On that note, it's my great honour to introduce you to Josef in the 350 Pacific team to introduce this evening's film. Thank you so much and have a great.. Mae Llog, I love a man of the Athenian. It's a real treasure to bring you fighting for survival. So thank you for making space and time to watch this film. This past December was the fifth anniversary of the signing of the Paris Agreement, a crucial global climate treaty. The Pacific played a really pivotal role in pushing countries to adopt more robust commitments, and has continued to lobby for the necessary climate emissions we know our islands need to survive. However, many industrialised countries are failing to take the climate action needed to keep the planet at a livable temperature of 1.5 degrees Celsius above normal. With the COP26 negotiations up in the air this year, we still wanted to make waves about keep climate truth. This series of masterful pieces were created by artists from across the Pacific. This film series showcases an emotional way to the climate crisis, the urgency of action, and the way forward. We hope we carry these stories beyond this moment, especially as we will be calling it all of you, to help us raise our voices in the UK if we cannot be there ourselves for COP26. In the space between the bleeding sky and dawn, voices wail in an unfamiliar tongue. In the space between my pitot and my mother's bones, a white owl watches two eel gods dying. As a dog howls red earth into black lure, two and rock water skylines pierce my throat. Artua, god in my belly. In the space between my head and my father's teeth, there is a stone and ocean of tears. In my belly blood sand and a chant that is a scream reaching inward than out, gutting me like a fish. In the space between my belly and the chant that is the bleeding sky, human skin is stretched across fired stones, tempered with my grandmother's tears, calling to the spirits of her people. I shout to the heavens between us for a sign because Pulotu is not above us, it is in the sea. In the space between Pulotu and the words that bring my soul to life, there rests a broken blackened shell, gnawed and discarded by strangers who do not love us. I am thrust into unforgiving arms where Moana reminds me that between, within and without, I am of the deep sea, green tunnel and blue vasa. In the space between sleep and my grandfather's eyes, there is a dying flame, birthed from fire, stolen from the fingers and toes of a dead god and a fire in my belly that is pele wailing. I, she, we call for Maui to wake and slow the sun again to douse the fiery skies. In the space between the fiery skies and a sleeping Maui, there is a bird that is Tungalua, and he roars as I am impaled on a magic hook that once pulled islands from the fire of the sea. In the space between a bird and a magic hook rests the soft curve of a woman that is a blood clot, hidden in my belly, Nafanua grinds her teeth against my bones, marking my body with black lines, inking my eyelids and tongue. In the space between the open sea, there's a fire in the sky, fish die in boiling waves, saumai afe wakes the dead, waiting for the end or the beginning. There's a grinding of teeth in my belly and it hurts. In the space between knowing and the known, there is a gathering of stillborn children to a mother's breast, remembering words now forgotten in the language of trees. In my belly, the roots of fringing reefs clumped with blood and knotted hair. In the space between knower and knowledge, we have become orphans, blessed only with blood and pain, as Afunakwa sings of a bleeding heart. Dry salt in my belly, the secrets of birds are lost. In the space between place and breath, our gods are condemned to the wind, the dreams of fish discarded by strangers who do not love us. Fish hooks in my belly pull me to the shore. In the space between I am and I will, we measure the density of Va. In the pit of my belly, there is a seed and it is sadness. In the space between climate justice and climate redemption stands the one-eyed Hiculeo, her hair a tangle of black roots. In her belly, the children of sky, brown as the earth is old, their tears are the ocean in us. In my belly, Hina of the Moon, and she weeps. Fyrtoni, we'll say. Fyrtoni. Corals are resilient, I've been told. And so are we. We've survived worse. Just ask your elders, they'll lift their shirts, show you bunker scars, typhoon tent towns, atomic nightmares of lost irradiated islands. So this is just another incoming tide to shore up against. Hence seawalls, hence foreign aid, hence consultants, terms of references, a framework for asking each other which island will we move to, which island will be hit first, which island is worth salvaging the wreck, a slow moving accident, the ultimate disaster, etolic oblivion. As if we haven't experienced this before. As if we haven't been told that evacuation is safer, you'll come home someday. 2030, 2040, long term versus short term. We debate this around the table. We do the work, submit reports, but we are short on time. Before the clock strikes midnight, before the pumpkin rots, before our glass island shatters, are we so easily broken? Maybe we need flags to tell us how afraid we should be. We have flags for COVID threat levels, yellow for safe, yellow for prepare, yellow for complacency, yellow worth celebrating. COVID free. The US is celebrating, part of it anyway. They are dancing in the street and kissing babies because celebrations are worthy, because the US will be back in the Paris Treaty, because it feels like multiple breaths taken at once, like bubbles bursting through reefs. We reassemble ourselves. We gather the calcium carbonate to grow our coral skeletons into sunlight. Look, up ahead, a lush marine garden awaits. For Tony we'll say, for Tony. Why do we accept definitions of how our people should be? Based off of written accounts of a man who looks nothing like me, he could speak our language but not from his heart. When he wrote our history, he set us apart, abandoned and bruised, left alone in the dark. But I won't let that past define who I am. When I listen closely, I hear my ancestors chant. Tell our stories, redefine a past that was written for us before. At a chapter, it's time to write a little more. Recast the future, it's time to let our stories soar. This is my mana, my spirit, my soul. This is me. When did a textbook determine what makes me who I am? Pages that say nothing of the blood that was shed, stolen resources and land. For there is still so much that we have yet to learn, hidden in the archives that they couldn't burn. It is rooted within us, look closely and you will see. Tell your stories, redefine a past that was written for us before. At a chapter, it's time to write a little more. Recast the future, it's time to let our stories soar. This is my mana, my spirit, my soul. This is me. She spoke to the oceans, she sang with the trees. She can be heard in the quiet whispers of the breeze. She is everything I aspire to be. She is mana. She lives in me. She spoke to the oceans, she sang with the trees. She can be heard in the quiet whisper of the breeze. She is everything I aspire to be. She is mana. She is me. Tell your stories, redefine a past that was written for us before. At a chapter, it's time to write a little more. Recast the future, it's time to let our stories soar. This is my mana, my spirit, my soul. This is me. I can bring power back to my people. I can bring power back to my home. I can bring mana back to my people. I can bring mana back to my home. I will bring mana back to my people. I will bring mana back to my home. I will bring mana back to the planet that I call home.