Ali Hussein Jaloud, a 21-year-old Iraqi who lives next to one of BP’s biggest oilfields, was meant to ask a question at the company’s annual shareholder meeting today. He was going to challenge the CEO on why his company continues to poison his neighbourhood with cancer-causing pollution. But, just a few days ago, Ali died of a form of leukaemia that has been linked to chemicals released by the burning of fossil fuels. His grieving father will ask why BP did not use its vast profits to help save his life. Over the past two years, my fellow investigator Owen Pinnell and I got to know Ali while making a documentary for BBC News Arabic, Under Poisoned Skies, which revealed the deadly impact of gas flaring in southern Iraq, including at BP’s Rumaila oilfield where Ali lives, surrounded by oil company-patrolled checkpoints. We also found out that Rumaila has more gas flaring than any other oilfield in the world. Routine gas flaring is a wasteful and avoidable practice used by oil companies to burn off the natural gas expelled during drilling. The process releases both greenhouse gases and dangerous air pollution. The gas could be captured instead and used to power people’s homes, saving them from dangerous emissions. But for more than a decade, BP and its partners have failed to build the necessary infrastructure. Since the Iraq war, BP has extracted oil worth £15.4bn from the country. BP said it was “extremely concerned” by the issues raised by our film (and in February said it was working to reduce flaring and emissions at Rumaila) but announced record profits from the oilfield in the year we launched the film. A keen footballer, Ali was diagnosed with leukaemia at 15. He had to drop out of school and his football team, and embark on two painful years of treatment. His family had to sell their furniture and take donations from their community to pay for it. “Sometimes I wished I would die so that I could stop torturing my parents,” he told us. But, miraculously, Ali survived. He was too old to return to school, so he set up a small mobile phone shop. Ali had been told by doctors that pollution had probably caused his cancer, and he quietly started advocating for a greener Iraq, one where children could breathe clean air. In his last Instagram post, just days before his death, Ali called for the oil companies to stop routine gas flaring and “save the youth of the country from kidney failure and cancer”. Rumaila, the town where Ali was living, is heavily guarded and journalists are denied access, so we asked Ali to record video diaries documenting his daily life. In the first scene of our film, he opens his front gate to reveal a towering black cloud of smoke, just a few hundred metres away, beneath which children play hopscotch. In Iraq, the law states that gas flaring shouldn’t be closer than 10km (6 miles) from people’s homes. “These children are happily playing, they’re not aware of the poison that is coursing through their veins,” he says over the video. In the next shot, he loads his cute five-year-old nephew, Abyas, on to the front of his motorbike and they scoot off, passing the primary school, which is also engulfed in thick black smoke, before arriving at a spot by the canal where gas flares punctuate the skyline in every direction. When we showed that footage to David Boyd, the UN’s special rapporteur on human rights and the environment, he called it “a textbook example of a modern sacrifice zone, where profit is put above human life and the environment”. Ali helped us uncover high levels of the cancer-causing chemical, benzene, produced by gas flaring, in the air and bodies of children living in his community. Benzene is known to cause acute myeloid leukaemia (AML) – the cancer from which Ali and many other children we met were suffering. After our documentary appeared, the Iraqi government acknowledged, for the first time, the link between the oil industry’s pollution and the local population’s health problems. In December 2022, we found out Ali’s leukaemia had returned. His doctor in Iraq said that his only option was palliative care. But his father, who described Ali as his best friend, refused to accept this. He found a doctor at Columbia University who said that Ali could be eligible for experimental T-cell therapy. A supporter of the film, Callum Grieve, began a fundraising campaign to try to raise the £70,000 needed to send him to India. The donations were steady, but relied on the generosity of ordinary people with only small sums to give. I began to notice in our calls with Ali that his face looked bloated, and his cheekbones hidden because of the effects of steroids. But I had no idea we would lose him so soon. On Friday 21 April, the first night of Eid, we received the terrible news that Ali had died. We had already lost to cancer three of the children we got to know while making this film. A Guardian investigation found that nine million people a year die as a result of air pollution. Getting to know Ali helped to make that feel like much more than a statistic. Despite the barren and apocalyptic landscape Ali grew up in, he was a keen gardener. He used to send us videos of him watering the tiny, sparse patch in his front yard where he grew a handful of small palms and some unusual species like the “bambara” or white mulberry tree. When we showed him pictures of the countryside in England, he marvelled at the greenery and the clear skies. It contrasted so starkly with the constantly orange and acrid sky he was used to. Companies like BP are still breaking Iraq’s law by gas flaring illegally close to people’s homes. If you are looking down on us now, Ali, please know that your death will not be in vain. Britain’s biggest pension fund, Nest, and other investors are launching a shareholder rebellion against BP for rolling back on its climate targets. They told us their actions were partly inspired by our film. And this story could help secure justice for the thousands of lives put at risk by pollution from fossil fuel companies. Jess Kelly is a documentary film-maker and journalist. Owen Pinnell also contributed to this piece.