Recollections by Joel Dignam

December 5th. It’s the 318th anniversary of Mozart’s death, it’s International Day of the Ninja, it’s 0°C, and I’m stepping off a plane in Copenhagen, Denmark. I get through customs in moments, taking the line marked out for COP15 participants, board an overpriced train to the city, and set out through the cold towards the Copenhagen YMCA. Lost, four drunken locals point me on my way, and I soon arrive, heavy bag in tow, after 25 hours of flying, at the conference of youth. In two days, the UN Climate Conference is to begin.

The UN Framework Convention on Climate Change was first signed in 1992, but in 2007 the Bali Road Map instituted a process aiming to create a binding global treaty limiting CO2 emissions from 2012. The situation could hardly be more urgent, with the most up-to-date science telling us that to have a 2/3 chance of avoiding global warming of more than  2ºC, we can only emit 650 gigatonnes of  CO2 – a budget that at current rates would be consumed in two decades. John Schellnhuber, Director of the Potsdam Institute for Climate Impact Research, called this event “the most important meeting in the history of the human species.”

I’m at Copenhagen as part of the Australian Youth Delegation (AYD), a group of 20 young people representing a broad cross-section of Australians as part of the Australian Youth Climate Coalition. Having had no idea what my involvement would involve, since my selection I had been engulfed in a slowly accelerating snowball of conferences, strategy weekends, international networking, media work, fundraising, and information gathering. The process could be compared to what Neo undergoes when he is released from The Matrix. That is to say, I came to know climate kung-fu.

In the weeks leading up to my departure, friends filled me with words of support. Some were long-time climate advocates, who had spent considerable time working on this issue. Others were closer to spectators regarding the climate crisis, but who trusted me in what I was doing. Less than a week before I flew out, a friend of mine who had attended the Montreal negotiations shared the contents of her notebook from that trip. I soaked it in and thought about the notebook that I would soon be crafting, the people I’d meet, the actions I’d undertake, the victories and the defeats that I would face. I had no idea.

December 7th, 2009: the conference begins and I’m looking around in wonder. Inside the massive Bella Center, delegates line up for their passes and I humbly accept a security pat-down as I enter. As it’s the first day, it’s not too frantic yet, but it’s still a whirlwind around me. I glance at badges as people pass, seeing reporters, party negotiators, and heads of international NGO’s. It’s all a bit much.

On this day I lead a ‘flash dance’, a staple of the youth climate advocate. Gathered outside the plenary hall, just as the delegates are leaving, hundreds of youths from around the world move in glorious sync. “Ooh, it’s hot in here.” As I pivot and thrust atop a chair, struggling to maintain my balance, I’m surrounded by a battery of video cameras. “There’s too much carbon in the atmosphere.” A horde of bodies copy my recently-learnt dance moves. “Take action, take action, and get some satisfaction.”  I’m in an absurd, surreal sea of people – media, professionals and negotiators from all over the world. “Take action, take action, and get some satisfaction.” Damn right, us young people are making our presence felt.

Over the next ten days, I take part in a bed-in on the anniversary of Lennon’s death, and a  picture of two American girls and me preparing signs ends up on Reuters. We meet Louise Hand, Australia’s chief negotiator, and later Penny Wong, whom I neglect to tell about the time I took part in a sit-in in her Adelaide office. We do, however, show her our Abbott spoof video, and she laughs appreciatively. When Tuvalu, facing rising sea levels, walks out of the negotiations in objection to the lack of transparency, a swarm of us takes part in an unpermitted protest supporting them. I am filmed putting a ‘350′ sticker on the back of Lord Monckton, probably the most refuted disinformer there is. Will Steffen (Executive Director of the ANU Climate Change Institute) shares a cheeky grin, and we agree that it has gotten past the point where we can pretend that climate sceptics have any sort of credibility. We make a video that rapidly attracts hundreds of vitriolic comments, and over 28,000 views, including a video response that the creator was so kind -that is, creepy- as to send to me personally.

On the 12th, about 100,000 people march through the streets of Copenhagen in support of ‘climate justice’. The march is peaceful, vibrant and creative; it features bands the envy of Womad; eerily well-made picket signs; and inexplicably, somebody dressed as Frank from Donnie Darko. It is so long that one can stop in a bakery, grab a bite to eat and then join back in. Rapt, I mill through the crowd, climb a pole and am awed by the numbers, passion, diversity, and sheer humanity of this gathering. That evening, I hear how the police arrested over 900 protestors – all but a handful are eventually released without charge.

The centre can hold 15,000 people, but 45,000 have been accredited for admission. In the second week, as Heads of States arrive, everybody except for party delegates and the press has its admission numbers cut. With our reduced access, we cluster in a distant hall, watching the conference on large screens.

Then it happens. I’m at Klimaforum, the people’s climate conference, dancing to the best musical combination of accordion, saxophone, clarinet, trumpet and drums I’ve ever heard, when my phone rings. I’m not sure what’s happened, but it’s urgent – some sort of pathetic deal has been reached. There’s no time to lose.

I farewell my dancing buddy, sneak one last look at this amazing band, and make my way back to our accommodation. I have a mental image of the AYD, a network of sky-blue dots spread out across central Copenhagen, rapidly converging on our hostel. We convene and get down to business, hardly 20 minutes after the Accord was even announced. It has hardly hit the news, nor reached the ears of all the negotiating parties.

After two years of preparation, after two weeks of negotiations, Obama flew in, and the USA, India, China, Brazil and South Africa went outside the UN process to produce the ‘Copenhagen Accord’ in the last two hours. The three-page document makes for disappointing reading. I’d realised a while ago that the climate crisis is the epitome of the ‘tragedy of the commons’, where countries won’t act individually without short-term benefit,  but I’d harboured a hope that they’d all come together and use this opportunity to actually aim at a scientifically adequate response. No such luck.

Hunched over on her bed, a fellow delegate begins crying into her hands in what has to be the most poignant moment of my life. My heart is breaking.

Her response brings home the implications of the Accord – I’d been so busy thinking about how to respond that I hadn’t given myself a chance to actually think about the consequences. The Accord could potentially mean that those on low-lying islands would lose their homeland and culture; the already egregious impacts of food and water insecurity would be exacerbated; our world would likely become beset by war as conflicts broke out over resource shortages. More people would die, more people would suffer.

So seventeen of us roll up our sleeves, open our laptops, and get to work. Some are ringing Australian media so that Anna Rose, AYCC co-director, can provide comment, and her soundbite is played on Triple J straight after Obama and before Abbott. Others are planning actions, gathering intel, or helping island nations to get a response together. Two rapidly film a video for the AYCC database. I make a tepidly-received suggestion that perhaps we can refer to the event as ‘accord-gate’. Twitter is ablaze with comment. In these wee small hours of the morning, we learn that Kevin Rudd was in the room as the Accord was drafted, Kumi Naidoo, CEO of Greenpeace, describes the city as a “climate crime scene”, and a few hundred grimly determined, grimly cold protestors take up station in the cold outside the centre, bearing witness to the travesty that has just occurred. Eventually, I at least feel I have done everything useful that I can, and retire, resigned.

Waking a few hours later, it’s morning and I am witness to the aftermath of a battle. A dull snow is falling from the sky. The atmosphere in the hostel lobby is mournful. It’s over. Maybe it had to be this way. The casualties will be untold.

For the AYD, it’s our last day together, and we spend most of it in Øksnehallen. That afternoon, we sit and share our experiences and reflections. There is laughter. There are tears, recollections, admissions. Hopes and fears are divulged, revelations and realisations told. None of us are unscarred, but we have been hardened and, aware of the work that remains, we are every one of us ready for it. We’re not done yet.