My friend and I decided, on a whim, to go to the Copenhagen Climate Summit in December. We wanted to witness a historical moment...this banding together of governments in the interest of people all over the world. They were supposed to have our best interests and heart - to put aside their differences and come out with a plan. Something that would change the way the world is run. We're still waiting to see the final outcome of the meeting - from the ground, it looked like another expensively run summit with little to show at the closing ceremonies save a little pomp and circumstance.
As journalism students without any press credentials, we had no chance of actually entering the building. The conference organizers had distributed press cards months earlier without, apparently, thinking of how many people could actually fit inside Copenhagen's Bella Conference Centre. So, by the end of the two week summit, no one who wasn't directly involved in negotiations was even allowed near the building.
The people outside the building spoke of a lack of fairness. Their sense was that the organizers and the world leaders had lost sight of finding solutions and had fallen to bickering and posturing. They figured there must be something fishy going on inside if there wasn't any information getting out.
That feeling of hopelessness culminated at a protest outside the Bella Centre on the third-to-last day of the summit. We originally came as spectators, but got caught up in the spirit and figured that, since we were young lefties anyway, we may as well join in. Something like "Participatory Journalism." This isn't to say that we agreed with everything that was being said, or that we had lost hope entirely in the process of a democratic solution to the world's biggest challenges. It's just that, without being allowed near the decision makers, the protest was our story.
We made it to the front of the battle lines. The stark contrast between the colourfully-dressed protesters and the black-booted Danish police was striking. Signs vaguely demanding 'Climate Justice' or 'Women's Rights' were reflected in the mirrored helmets of the lines of officers protecting the gated entrance behind which conference delegates negotiated.
There was a point at which people were yelling and screaming at the cops. Their outrage at these seemingly immune and faceless guards was palpable. The guards seemed unable or unwilling to grasp what the crowd saw as the importance of getting inside. And then, suddenly, it calmed down. The protesters walked away a little and there was a sense of stalemate.
We spoke to some of the Danish cops about the crowd. I asked them questions they wouldn't answer, but apparently we developed a rapport...because one of the older ones leaned over to me and said "You better get out of here now if you don't want to get arrested." And I said "What?" And my friend in blue said "In a few minutes, this protest (which had been entirely peaceful) is going to be declared illegal and we'll have to start arresting people."
A few weeks before the conference, Danish Parliament pushed through a bunch of laws upping the power of the police, particularly when it came to crowd control. He'd gotten a message on his ear piece that they were going to start exercising those new powers. And, he wanted to warn me. Thanks, I guess.
So, we got outta there. It was cold and our feet were wet. Our spirits had been dampened. Until we saw the news a few days later, we wouldn't know that Obama had rushed in to save the day - to come out with a deal to make a deal...later. At that point though, with the memory of the dogged faces of the frustrated protesters fresh in our minds, it seemed like no one inside was listening.
