“How was Copenhagen?” someone asks. “Aside from the whole utter disappointment part, that is,” she adds. Since the climate change talks ended in mid-December to a booing civil society pitted against tepid government responses, every other conversation I had began this way. I put on a weary smile, and tell them about my experience as a U of T student delegate at the United Nations Climate Change Conference.
All the mounting hopes from the past two years came to an abrupt halt as the major economies of the world drafted a watered-down version of the treaty many had hoped for in a closed-door session spearheaded by President Obama. The Copenhagen Accord was then introduced to the rest of the plenary, or as a negotiator from a developing country remarked in an informal scrum just after the release, “forced down our throats.” After painstaking hours of deliberation that saw many journalists rushing for the airport in a mad scramble, the Accord was finally “taken note of”—the UN climate chief’s words, not mine—by the remaining 180 or so countries at the convention.
Even without policy expertise, it was evident immediately how lacklustre was the resulting document. The three-page Copenhagen Accord contains no numbers, no deadlines, and no reference to the science that serves as the building blocks of this multilateral effort. It is, in essence, an aspirational document meant to kill time while the world leaders figure out how to best remedy the current stalemate. It’s political filler.
Many are far from pleased with the outcome, and youth are at the forefront of those voicing their opinions in earnest. The International Youth Climate Movement, some 800 young activists from around the world, converged in Copenhagen to ensure that their voices would be heard on the international stage.
And youth have been speaking out for some time. In 1992, the environmental community witnessed a young activist commenting on the urgent need for global action on climate change at the Rio Earth Summit. Then 12-year-old Severn Suzuki mentioned the lessons taught in kindergarten—to share, to respect others, to talk things out—and chastised the adults who refused to budge.
“I am only a child, yet I know that we are one family, 5 billion and 30 million species strong,” she added, before concluding on a hopeful note that the negotiators might come to agree on the need to tackle climate change in a collaborative and efficient manner.
Seventeen years later in Copenhagen, Taryn McKenzie-Mohr, member of the Canadian Youth Delegation and a first-year student at U of T, made a similar call. In a public hearing, McKenzie-Mohr made an open plea to Canada’s chief negotiator, Michael Martin, asking for action on curbing dangerous man-made climate change. She expressed her embarrassment towards Canada’s obstructionist position at such UN negotiations, and called on Canada to do more.
If you expand the definition of youth activism, you will spot young academics contributing policy analysis to think tanks, who will then advise governments on their national environmental strategies. You will also find recent graduates working as assistants to negotiators from marginalized economies. There will be young new media experts blogging, tweeting, and mobilizing the online masses.
And it is through these creative avenues that youth activism is redefining and reasserting itself in a world that is seeking a renewed equilibrium that is truly fair.
In the final hours of COP15, many, including Ban Ki-Moon, cautiously pondered out loud whether Copenhagen might mark the beginning of a new way of diplomacy. That what we deem a failure will perhaps become the way of the future.
It is too soon to tell whether this claim holds any truth, but after witnessing their passionate cries in these past few weeks, I am assured that youth activism will carry itself well into the next era of environmental pursuits.
