I’ve got a confession to make. I’m tired. I’m tired of the posturing, of the chanting, of the myriad ways the same issues can be endlessly bandied about. Rich vs. poor, north vs. south, 1.5 degrees vs. 2 degrees, who pays, who’s responsible, talk of “real deals,” evasive answers from Yvo, and the gauntlet of NGOs pushing the same piece of paper in my face they did yesterday (as of several days ago, if an organization doesn’t have information I can read online, they’ve lost me).
We’re all fired up. We’re all full of passion. We all want to change the world (well not everyone). But at the end of the day I wonder what all this will mean when we look back in ten years time, or twenty.
By mid-week last week, the international press corps for the COP15 climate conference was said to be the largest ever assembled in Denmark (and that was last week). As of this morning, NGO organizations have restricted access to the building because there’s just too damn many people vying for a bit of the vibe, to do their part, and to be able to tell the next generation they did all they could to - oh God how I hate this phrase – help save the planet.
As if anybody could. The best we can hope for at COP15 (or COP16, 17, 18…) is that we save ourselves from ourselves.
The star of the show for me thus far is David Fry, heading the delegation from Tuvalu. He simply wants a place for his children to stand in twenty or thirty years time:
Image credit: Matthew McDermot, Flickr