Coping with Copenhagen: We are not waiting for a document, we are the document.
In the closing hours of 2009, people from around the world gathered to witness and attempt to influence the activities of the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change and the 5th Meeting of the Parties (COP/MOP 5) to the Kyoto Protocol.
Current Green called into Copenhagen each day to get the perspective of activists, policy experts, and environmental enthusiasts.
We circled 'round and asked the people we interviewed to check back in with us and give us their 20/20 perspective on their experience. Our first entry comes from Kevin Buckland, the art ambassador for 350.org, Kevin was featured in a crowd pleasing segment that featured...dancing penguins.
Kevin's update:
In the cold memory of Copenhagen there is a story the delegates never saw. They missed the story that is writing itself in the arms and eyes of those who shall inherit this earth. And they are not meek. The future is not being written for them, but by them – and they are not waiting for permission because they are not asking permission. You do not need permission to survive.
As the lines of the illiterate UN documents sprawls across the pages of years, as the UN debates, as the oceans warm, as nothing changes the changing – there is no need to wait for permission, because there is no question to be asked. For no question can be asked aloud without the same carbon and oxygen breathe that answers itself. You do not ask about survival, you survive. We survive.
In Copenhagen the past attempted to create the future, but this is not the way things work. The past does not create the future; the future becomes the past –stories get written backwards, and retrospectively. For all their planning and pouring over the careful words that led to a long declaration of nothing, the delegations missed the future slowly claiming the present.
As the delegates rang for room service – the future was sweeping the years from abandoned factory floors. The dust lay deep, but many hands cleaned the many windows and let in the light air of change. They cleaned the floors where thousands of unknown but caring bodies would come to sleep; bodies that had hitched through winter days, slept on trains, piled into cars and across illegal borders. They came because they knew they had to, because the future is in motion, like a flock of birds it steers the wind.
As the delegates’ carbon planes landed and oil limousines idled outside airports, the future walked their backpacks and bodies the last few kilometers to a place where they had been told they could sleep: for the promise of a roof to house their dreams of change.
If the delegates had to clean the floors they slept on – if they had to sweep up the broken glass and cover the broken windows with broken cabinets – would they have come to repair this world?
The past sat at long tables, claiming each day another day of the present to past. Consuming time until it became their own; while their eyes in Peru watched the dry corn leaves brown, their hands in Bangladesh pulled again at the mud, and their feet in Kenya had to walk away; they all breathed in, and that silence resonated loudly throughout the conference center. They breathed out and formed a song that they sang in the streets of Copenhagen, that tells of a story writing itself in brooms and wood-ovens and paint. This is not the story of the UN document – that is a story that doesn’t say anything. It is the story being told in the empty spaces between the lines of their text.
As the delegates were served their foreign fruits and cheeses – fresh from Peru with pesticides from America and picked by barely paid hands, as they cut another slice—all over the city the future was searching - jumping into dumpsters and finding so much fruit it took three trips on the bicycle just to bring it all back.
As the delegates handed their bank card to the waitress, vast and free communal kitchens served long lines waiting in the cold. Who would hold a full plate and sit on the floor of the large hall, and eat with a metal fork the stew and kernels of sharing, where all eat the same and there are more people than plates.
As the delegates signed-off and put their computers to sleep, the future sang and painted shields long into the night – warmed well by so many hearts and a woodstove they had made from the old oil drums of an unimaginably wasteful world.
As the future stood, arms linked and singing within sight of the Convention Center, their songs drifted in to fill the spaces between the lines of the UN document. As the future was beaten by police, as the future was put into cages…
The future is free, because they are the ones who decided to create change. They were not paid like the police to stand in their lines and protect something, they were not chauffeured from dinner to the hotel. They were moving themselves, and moving history. The past cannot hold back the future with their brackets and clauses, because the future is not a question. The future is writing itself already. We are not waiting for a document, we are the document.
Related content:
Kids vs Global Warming: Alex Loors gives the low down from Copenhagen
Youth stage sit in inside the Bella Center: Kimia Ghomeshi calls in from Copenhagen
Photojounalist Kris Krug on documenting the Copenhagen protests
Current Green called into Copenhagen each day to get the perspective of activists, policy experts, and environmental enthusiasts.
We circled 'round and asked the people we interviewed to check back in with us and give us their 20/20 perspective on their experience. Our first entry comes from Kevin Buckland, the art ambassador for 350.org, Kevin was featured in a crowd pleasing segment that featured...dancing penguins.
Kevin's update:
In the cold memory of Copenhagen there is a story the delegates never saw. They missed the story that is writing itself in the arms and eyes of those who shall inherit this earth. And they are not meek. The future is not being written for them, but by them – and they are not waiting for permission because they are not asking permission. You do not need permission to survive.
As the lines of the illiterate UN documents sprawls across the pages of years, as the UN debates, as the oceans warm, as nothing changes the changing – there is no need to wait for permission, because there is no question to be asked. For no question can be asked aloud without the same carbon and oxygen breathe that answers itself. You do not ask about survival, you survive. We survive.
In Copenhagen the past attempted to create the future, but this is not the way things work. The past does not create the future; the future becomes the past –stories get written backwards, and retrospectively. For all their planning and pouring over the careful words that led to a long declaration of nothing, the delegations missed the future slowly claiming the present.
As the delegates rang for room service – the future was sweeping the years from abandoned factory floors. The dust lay deep, but many hands cleaned the many windows and let in the light air of change. They cleaned the floors where thousands of unknown but caring bodies would come to sleep; bodies that had hitched through winter days, slept on trains, piled into cars and across illegal borders. They came because they knew they had to, because the future is in motion, like a flock of birds it steers the wind.
As the delegates’ carbon planes landed and oil limousines idled outside airports, the future walked their backpacks and bodies the last few kilometers to a place where they had been told they could sleep: for the promise of a roof to house their dreams of change.
If the delegates had to clean the floors they slept on – if they had to sweep up the broken glass and cover the broken windows with broken cabinets – would they have come to repair this world?
The past sat at long tables, claiming each day another day of the present to past. Consuming time until it became their own; while their eyes in Peru watched the dry corn leaves brown, their hands in Bangladesh pulled again at the mud, and their feet in Kenya had to walk away; they all breathed in, and that silence resonated loudly throughout the conference center. They breathed out and formed a song that they sang in the streets of Copenhagen, that tells of a story writing itself in brooms and wood-ovens and paint. This is not the story of the UN document – that is a story that doesn’t say anything. It is the story being told in the empty spaces between the lines of their text.
As the delegates were served their foreign fruits and cheeses – fresh from Peru with pesticides from America and picked by barely paid hands, as they cut another slice—all over the city the future was searching - jumping into dumpsters and finding so much fruit it took three trips on the bicycle just to bring it all back.
As the delegates handed their bank card to the waitress, vast and free communal kitchens served long lines waiting in the cold. Who would hold a full plate and sit on the floor of the large hall, and eat with a metal fork the stew and kernels of sharing, where all eat the same and there are more people than plates.
As the delegates signed-off and put their computers to sleep, the future sang and painted shields long into the night – warmed well by so many hearts and a woodstove they had made from the old oil drums of an unimaginably wasteful world.
As the future stood, arms linked and singing within sight of the Convention Center, their songs drifted in to fill the spaces between the lines of the UN document. As the future was beaten by police, as the future was put into cages…
The future is free, because they are the ones who decided to create change. They were not paid like the police to stand in their lines and protect something, they were not chauffeured from dinner to the hotel. They were moving themselves, and moving history. The past cannot hold back the future with their brackets and clauses, because the future is not a question. The future is writing itself already. We are not waiting for a document, we are the document.
Related content:
Kids vs Global Warming: Alex Loors gives the low down from Copenhagen
Youth stage sit in inside the Bella Center: Kimia Ghomeshi calls in from Copenhagen
Photojounalist Kris Krug on documenting the Copenhagen protests
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