Legacy

“I dug my keys

into the side

of his pretty little souped up

4 wheel drive

and carved my name

into his legacy”

So croons Carrie Underwood as she describes her revenge on her boyfriend after discovering him cheating on her with a “bleached blonde” who gets drunk after “only one whiskey”.  The delegate from Angola seated beside me is bopping away in time to the music, and through the windows of the VIP luxury mini-bus – complete with white leather seats and cream satin accordian blinds – I see groups of men playing cricket in an abandoned patch of dirt.  The last time I heard this song I was perched on a tractor in Ontario but here I am, it’s Friday morning in Doha, and the Qatari weekend has begun.

COP systematically moves through the continents and each year is held in a different country.  Last year it was in Africa. This year it is Asia’s turn and Qatar is hosting with a vengeance.   In a startling departure from UNFCCC tradition, everything is organized.  Meeting rooms have enough chairs and neither delegates nor observers have found themselves seated on the floor.  Instead, the rooms echo, and only a smattering of the vast technological  resources at hand are being used. Seated in the informal consultation of SBI 37 agenda item 13 (c) I count 19 flat screen televisions – each roughly 2 x 3 feet – carefully positioned around the room.  Overhead metal beams hold two dozen massive adjustable spotlights.  None of this is in use.  Instead, across the room the delegates of China, India, Egypt, Argentina, Indonesia, and several others are in a “huddle” with their microphones turned off.  Their voices are swallowed by the grey plush carpet covering the high-school gymnasium sized room.

Qatar is in a frenzy of growth.  During a tea break at the oppulent Diplomatic Club – one among dozens of utterly indistinquishable luxury hotel venues splayed across the city – I wander outside and see 13 cranes finishing a spread of elaborate highrises on the artificial island, “the Pearl” recently built in the Doha harbour.  Luxury, grandeur, and consumption are the bywords of this place.  In Durban I had to supply my own toilet paper.  In Doha the bathroom of my “budget” hotel is larger than my old living room and there are three chandeliers in my bedroom alone.   I ask my Indian taxi-driver if there is anywhere smaller and simpler to stay.  He laughs, “no-no, not possible” he says, “only landmarks here in Doha”.  He pauses for a second, then continues,  “Too much money.  Too much gas”. 

The juxtaposition of the Durban and Doha COPs is striking. While delegates from developing countries continue to argue that development is a crucial issue, their messages feel distanced by the air-conditioned luxury venues we are smoothly ushered in and out of.  There is no opportunity for any upsets.  Security personal are discreet, meetings rooms well organized, venues comfortable and spacious.   For the first time in my (admitedly short) COP-life, there is not an alternative people’s forum of any kind.   There has been very little angst in the leadup to this COP – most people did not even know it was happening – and yet, maybe this is exactly what makes this a dangerous COP.  If we allow outselves the luxury of forgetting what is at stake, what exactly is the legacy that will be left? 

Carrie Underwood’s cheating partner not withstanding, I expect that few of us would be satisfied with a legacy consisting of nothing more than a souped up 4 wheel drive. Of course, if the parking lots of Doha’s deluxe shopping centres are any indication, perhaps I am wrong.