A reflection on the final hours of COP climate negotiations
Author: The Kernel & Vladislav
I open my eyes in that giant bowl of steel and concrete that pretends to be a hall but really is an Olympic stadium in disguise, its curves hidden behind white panels and makeshift halls, as if we’ve collectively agreed to ignore the running lanes under our feet and spectator seats lurking just behind. It is Saturday afternoon but time is just a droplet suspended in midair, a glitch in the schedule that should have ended on Friday, yet here we are.
The digital signage is blank, no text, no lines, just empty blue screens staring back with a silent grin. Rumors swirl in corridors—maybe a COP bis in Bonn if nothing is agreed, maybe they only gavel some items and leave others hanging by rule-16ing while the quorum still stands. Some are said to have moved departure tickets to Tuesday, anything can happen after already more than 30 hours of extension, like a half-finished puzzle where pieces keep changing shape.
It’s a strange feeling in these final hours. The venue is deserted. No more fancy national dresses, no shiny pins glowing in unique collections, no more blue pro-nuclear t-shirts. I could see them everywhere until yesterday. Just one day and no more nuclear community members walking briskly through side events, discussing grid mixes, large scale plants, stable baseload generation and NPP project timelines. Now I see none. They have melted away with the crowds, vanished as pavilions are dismantled and stands stand empty. Not just them—nearly everyone has dispersed in these final hours: the key unattended moments of each COP. Outside the negotiation rooms we were so visible, a vibrantly-adorned elephant full of festive energy, but inside the actual pages of these negotiations, inside the final lines where words shape the world—who is truly there?
But that’s not surprising.
Article 6—those elusive provisions of the Paris Agreement that chart the global map of carbon trading and cooperative action—has been finalized in some shape or form: no more building the cathedral they say, we must inhabit it. The rules for cooperative approaches under 6.2 and the Paris Agreement Crediting Mechanism under 6.4 are set. Methodologies, baselines, downward adjustments to ensure no nonsense offsets, a whole new language that we nuclear folk have barely learned to speak. Those who trade forest carbon credits know this language intimately, but us?
We remain stuck in our own jargon, used to talking about gigawatt capacity and fuel supply chains, not about corresponding adjustments or issuance and authorization of internationally transferred mitigation outcomes. We must adapt if we want to fit into this cathedral, or build our small niche, a hidden chapel for big low-carbon infrastructure. And what if we build the jewel of the cathedral, the most beautiful chapel anyone will be willing to visit?
The final text under Article 6 references mandatory sustainable development tools and we talk about environmental integrity and human rights: perfect, we can work with that. Nuclear supply chains are known, stable and heavily regulated. No risk of reversal like forests burning down. Emission reductions from nuclear: measurable, predictable. The building blocks are there, but no one will push them into the system for us. Just because the rules are finished doesn’t mean nuclear credits will appear. We must engage, translate our logic into UN format. Speak of corresponding adjustments and first transfers, talk about registry interoperability and standardized baselines that include large non-emitting dispatchable capacity. The others have done it for years, they know how to place their cards on the carbon table. We must learn to do the same. Otherwise the cathedral’s doors will remain half-shut.
Meanwhile, the big fight continues. The first gavel touches the wood, a sharp crack shooting through plywood walls, provoking hesitant applause—some cheer uncertainly; as if unsure whether this is a leap forward or a trap door beneath their feet. High risks of loopholes lurking somewhere. Yet at the beginning of a new journey everyone is full of enthusiasm, with that worried look etched on their faces. The room cherishes but doubts, applauds but protests. And hours pass. An interminable night, hours get lost in between the white panels. As the stadium behind white and green walls, so is the night progressing: unfelt, silent.
The New Collective Quantified Goal on Climate Finance. At least $300 billion by 2035 from developed countries from a wide variety of sources; public and private, bilateral and multilateral, including alternative sources. And then decides, affirms, recognizes, acknowledges, and recognizes again, and underscores, and on and on. All of this because it calls on all actors to work together to enable to facilitate to make possible to create the occasion for the scaling up of financing to developing countries for climate action from all public and private sources to at least USD 1.3 trillion per year by 2035. And calls again, acknowledges high costs of capital, the need for concessional instruments. Multilateral Development Banks must shift risk appetite, break down barriers.
Perfect conditions for nuclear—if we are willing to join the fray. No explicit mention was needed. Technology neutrality is there. If a developing country seeks a proven technology that can supply reliable electricity and free them from the fossil roller coaster, why not nuclear. Costs are high, but then again, isn’t it up to each country to decide where transformative investments matter most? At scale, with proper public support, we can imagine a future where a small island state builds a modular reactor cluster, stable grids no longer at the mercy of diesel deliveries. The text says “at least USD 300 billion per year by 2035.” That’s capital to shape entire energy systems. Let’s not stand aside.
Just a few hours before, in the early afternoon, what feels like an eternity ago, an informal meeting tries to solve the NCQG puzzle. A text circulating on chats, WhatsApp, Telegram, just about everywhere besides the official UNFCCC website. Some groups say they were never consulted. The text does not even represent a starting point. It’s now 3 years of negotiations, 2 weeks of COP, 11 Technical dialogues, 3 Ad Hoc Work Programmes. And positions haven’t changed a bit. Nor have civil society’s.
250 billion on the table, so shy of the 300bn gavelled 12 hours later at the plenary. The presidency tries to force the discussion, deaf to the objections, so proud of having brought AOSIS to Baku, so much attention given to LDCs! But the narrative of a successful COP, of a knowledgeable presidency, overcomes everything: what of dialogue and participation, what of multilateralism in face of the Annales of COPs. No one wants a second Copenhagen and still every single step is being repeated. Point of order: either we are listened to or we leave the room. The discussion stops, after 3 years, 2 weeks, 11 TEDs, 3 MAHWPs: no acceptable draft text.
The presidency faces closed doors. Stress, tension. Back to closed meetings, gossip and rumors. Hours pass. Nothing on the screens except a solitary “CSO meeting” line in the all too familiar Meeting Room 25 – Article 6’s one. I enter, half curious, half bored by the waiting. A circle of partially familiar faces echoing the same narrative, distrustful of outsiders who might hold different views. I keep listening quietly, nothing special, just confirmation bias sessions. Suddenly a voice pipes up: “Is there a Vladimir who shouldn’t be here? If so, please leave.” They scan the room, suspicious eyes darting left and right. A witch-hunt is in the air. I wonder if they mean me or if this Vladimir even exists. I stay still, silent, not raising any suspicion. The awkward moment passes, they continue as if nothing happened.
I leave early to get a much-needed coffee. I’m sipping my flat white when the meeting ends. I’m still wondering what’s the difference from a latte. I understand why outside of Italy people drink cappuccinos and their imitations even past midday: espressos and americanos swirl in a dark void of lack of existence that captures you, takes your attention. I miss the pungent sip of espresso, so meticulously tasted after having accurately mixed it with the teaspoon, sugarless. A routine, a tradition. And I get a notification on WhatsApp. Taken back to the venue, to the whitest dark night in a long time.
“I am not sure if the person in the cross-constituency strategizing was referring to you. If she addressed you, please respect this space.” How do I react to this? Is GenA not CSO? Am I no longer a YOUNGO member? Anger and frustration overtake me for an instant. Have I done anything wrong while just sitting? The more I think about it, the more I read this message, the fewer answers I have. Is this the inclusive space so much vociferated?
The silent night continues, lonelier than before. A third part of the plenary after the second part begins. One part, then another, texts appear and vanish, some items get gaveled, others get Rule-16ed. I can see the presidency running for a closure, the fear of lacking quorum bigger than the fear of a bad deal. Item 11a gaveled. “It is so decided” – ah, these procedural details, or the lack thereof. It feels so odd. COP president after COP president will recite this formula with such an aulic voice. It will feel aulic. But not this time: the race to close overtakes even the procedures. A funny image for the presidency in general.
Among many perplexed faces some erupt in joy. Applause—short-lived, uncertain claps. The perplexed faces realize item 11a is the NCQG. And here we go with national statements. India erupts: “I regret to say that this document is nothing more than an optical illusion,” slamming the NCQG outcome as insufficient. Others furious that their objections were not respected. The presidency no longer tries to hide this clumsy process. People talk about the fiasco, the deadlines long passed, trust evaporated. But does it really matter? The presidency will reflect in the final report the observations. Will anyone read the COP report in 2035? No. It’s just words, and what matters is the text. Every single word of this 2617-word text will have repercussions for years. New discussions, interpretations, views, proposals, iterations will be built on these words. Whereas the ink spent on statements will fade away quickly.
And what does it mean for nuclear. The texts stand as they are. The NCQG decision and the Article 6 frameworks made it through these messy hours. The cathedral is built, cracks visible, finance numbers maybe illusions. We nuclear advocates must move fast, show feasibility, demonstrate additionality, prove nuclear fits under these rules. If we fail, others fill the vacuum, capital flows to what they know. At least $300 billion per year by 2035, a chance to channel stable, dispatchable clean energy from nuclear, freeing developing countries from unstable fossil markets, providing reliable baseload and building local capacity.
Next year, COP30 in Brazil. Another chance. Another dance. Time to prepare. The corridor lights flicker as I leave, and I imagine us returning with better language, better strategies. The final memories: a blank screen in an empty stadium that once pretended to be a hall. A layered memory of days spent waiting and whispering. Outside, a windy dawn approaches. We must reappear next year stronger, speaking their code, pushing open the door they left ajar.
