Who speaks and who listens? Experiences from the first day of COY7 in Durban

COY7 stands for “Conference of Youth”, which happens as a gathering of youth organisations before the start of COP in order to give different youth organisations a chance to network and learn from each other, as well as about the COP process.

So, appropriately, our COP17 experience begins here: with the youth. And youth there were – 300 or so, packed into a lecture theatre at UKZN’s Howard College, bustling and waiting for the day to begin. Our team – about 6 of us – were feeling equally inspired after helping with registration and meeting a ridiculous number of delegates from around the world.

Diversity seems key – we learn from each other, share experiences and difference. But at the same time, unity forms an important underlying theme of the “global international youth climate movement”. It’s necessary for lobbying governments, for advocating change and forming a coherent force. But whose unity?

Conference of Youth plenery session, UKZN Durban

Treating the conference as an anthropological exercise raises many interesting questions about what I’d like to call (albeit rather snobbishly) the “politics of articulation”, or, the way in which stuff gets said, who says it, and who listens to it.

Impressingly there are lots of COY delegates from Africa – about half the delegation – with representatives from South Africa, Kenya, Malawi and many other countries. I was proud at this fact and felt a sort of entitled solidarity with the “African movement”, if it can be reified as such. Even though the people running COY sessions were mostly Austrailian or international, at least a lot of the delegates were local, I thought to myself.

But what does locality mean in the face of a global movement? Who speaks, and who gets listened to? In a lot of senses, “Africa” (the continent is sadly still not being diversified, even by myself) is being represented in global talks and movements around the world, just as it is at COY. But does this mean that “African” voice gets listened to in the same way in which other organisations from the global north get listened to?

I think that in a lot of ways, our ways of knowing and expression are listened to but not fully acknowledged or comprehended at these kind of gatherings. There are lots of African voices speaking out, but there is something very uncomfortable about the way in which we are ‘facilitated’ to speak by others, and the way in which they in turn listen to what we have to say.

Of course, the “global north”, in their experience and monetary advantage, do have a lot to teach us and “build capacity”, especially at the kind of political gatherings such as COP which require a specific kind of articulation to be taken even remotely seriously. And that’s what we need.

So perhaps, the “politics of articulation” debate is one to engage with at a deeper level, and not just the immediate proceedings over the next few days. In the long run, we need to be aiming to get African voice actually listened to, and not just heard, and we may need to put that on pause for the upcoming COP. But I’ll certainly be looking at how these ideas play out in the official delegation and civil society meetings next week.

The Meaning of Activism

"This is the largest social movement in all of human history. No one knows its scope, and how it functions is more mysterious than what meets the eye. What does meet the eye is compelling: coherent, organic, self-organised congregations involving tens of millions of people dedicated to change."  - Paul Hawken in Blessed Unrest.

 I'm writing this after making a giant polar bear head. True - after googling "climate change activism", creating a wire frame, some sketches, and some fluffy white material later - I'm the owner of my own polar bear. In stitches of laughter, I ramble around the house. My sister is sceptical. "Is this what COP17 is really about?" she sighs, clearly embarrassed at my antics.

"Of course! If you're serious about protesting about climate change, you have to dress up as a polar bear!" I laugh, ironically. But it's a good question: What the hell does dressing up as a polar bear mean in protesting about climate change? How does the average African citizen relate to such an expression, if at all? 

Indeed, polar bears and melting icecaps - which have somewhat characterised the environmentalist movement in the past - have little relevance for personifying the movement in Africa. Still, there’s something special about getting ready to be part of the global “climate camaraderie” around COP17. Wearing a polar bear outfit seems something of a rite of passage into the world of environmental activism; a ritual of solidarity in a global environmental movement. 

It’s a sad thing, I think to myself, that we still seem to thinking about climate change and sustainability in such ice-cap-melting metaphors of the West. Does our dressing-up point to larger systems of hegemonic dominance? And if so, what does it mean for me to adopt this system when representing Africa at COP17 in a week’s time?

Yes, the movement in Africa is manifest in ways much more practicable and appropriate than melting ice-caps. Our “polar bear” is more: it’s blood-red sunsets, it’s gorging rivers, it’s Wangari Maathai’s muddy hands, it’s seeds, and roots, and animals. Mostly, it’s hopeful, and diverse, and fundamental. 

And yes, I’ve made a polar bear. But it’s not necessarily a subservience to the west that made me do it. It’s a sign of solidarity; a connection to the global movement, which doesn’t take away from the fact that the movement in Africa is as alive and relevant – in fact, quite the contrary. 

In a weeks time Africa’s youth will join hands for what they believe in, and if it’ll help to be dressed as a bear, then that’s how they’ll do it.