The UN climate talks have become too big for their own good

If you’re still heading to this year’s UN climate conference in Belém, Brazil, I hope you booked early. Hotels long sold out, and latecomers face extortionate rates — or the prospect of a dubious “love hotel”.

The incredible cost and variable quality of accommodation have sparked outrage. It’s been the subject of high-level meetings and dialogues. But it’s also a symptom of a wider problem: These climate summits have grown so large they’re no longer fit for purpose.

I have been to 11 of these summits over the years, and follow them closely for my academic work, and with the Earth Negotiations Bulletin — a free, curated summary of global environmental negotiations. COP30, which started on November 10 in Belem, is the first I have missed since COP18 in Doha in 2012.

I have seen first hand how these annual negotiations and accompanying summit and events (together, broadly called COPs) have grown. They are now MegaCOPs — enormous conglomerations of events, parallel workshops, receptions, exhibitions and photo ops that attract over 50,000 people. They are the largest events on the UN calendar.

Even with a population of 1 million, Belem is too small. Most cities are. Only a handful of wealthy countries can hope to host them. Many negotiators from poorer countries, along with Indigenous and civil society groups, simply can’t afford to attend this summit.

All this means power is subtly shifting further towards those with the money to participate and host. This bodes poorly for global climate governance.

Prestige & power, for those who can pay

Cities and countries big enough to host a COP gain some soft power in exchange for the large bill they foot. For instance Paris hosted 25,000 people for the summit in 2015, which cost around €187 million (£164m). In return, the city got its name on a climate treaty we’ll be talking about for decades.

Other MegaCOP hosts have also pushed to have an outcome with their name, like the UAE Consensus or Glasgow Climate Pact. It’s hard to imagine a Majuro Pact simply because the Marshall Islands capital won’t be hosting 50,000 diplomats anytime soon, despite the island nation’s climate leadership.

The host countries also set the themes for high-level events and gain support for political declarations of their choosing. The UAE-hosted Cop in 2023 featured declarations on health, renewable energy, peace and gender (among others). None mentioned phasing out fossil fuels. This was no accident — the UAE was reluctant to push its fellow oil-producing states towards such language in the negotiations.

Recent Cop hosts have been oil-producing and exporting states such as the UAE, UK and Azerbaijan. It’s perhaps little wonder that they spearhead declarations outside the negotiation space on peace or forests, and not fossil fuels.

Too big for small countries

Far fewer declarations have focused on loss and damage (UN jargon for the permanent consequences of climate change), at a time when lives and livelihoods are at risk. Small island states — some of the most climate-vulnerable nations in the world — could get this message across, but these efforts require diplomatic capacity.

Successful COP hosts have networks of ambassadors or professional diplomats to sound out ideas from negotiators. They can rally consensus in negotiations and support for the president’s various legacy initiatives and declarations. Small countries often lack this capacity. Last year, 39 small island states together sent 261 negotiators to the summit (an average of six or seven people each, compared to the UK’s 37 diplomats).

COP hosts sometimes find donor money to hire consultants to manage public relations and provide legal and technical advice. Many of these consultants are from developed countries, which has led to questions about their influence.

Inequality in pavilion

It’s a pervasive myth that a bigger COP is a more inclusive COP. It just means more people. At COP27, there were twice as many fossil fuel lobbyists as Indigenous peoples’ representatives, for instance.

Richer COP participants can also pay to get their messages across. In Brazil, space in the pavilion — the exhibition zone that runs alongside the main negotiations — starts at $1,250 (£856) per square meter, excluding additional costs for audio and visual equipment, coffee machines, and decor. These pavilions are offered on a commercial basis by the host countries to help recoup costs.

Governments, corporations and NGOs with deep pockets buy space to host events, distribute their reports, and push their preferred solutions. From the WWF’s Panda Hub to the Gulf Cooperation Council’s space, the pavilion usually focuses on the issues of richer countries and organisations.

In smaller spaces, youth and Indigenous peoples are afforded their own pavilions, paid for by donors or donated by the COP presidencies. These groups are disproportionately affected by climate change. Yet they struggle to be heard above the din.

Read more: The UN climate summits are working – just not in the way their critics think

If the global climate process could shed its obsession with ever-larger COPs, it would be to its benefit. Smaller countries could help set the agenda, and climate-vulnerable voices might not be outnumbered or outspent.

One practical solution would be to split up the three different events: the main negotiations, the summit for political leaders, and the exhibition zone. Negotiations could take place somewhere smaller and less glamorous, perhaps the UN campus in Bonn, Germany. Political summits and climate action showcases could rotate or sometimes be held online.

We could also limit delegation sizes and centre the talks on implementing the rules we already have rather than new rule-making. These changes would reduce costs and make it easier for smaller and poorer countries to have their say. True climate equity demands a rethink of the very process meant to deliver it.

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