“Are We Running Out of Hope?” Reflections on COP29 By Carlos Tornel & Pablo Montaño
The Anti-COP meeting held in Oaxaca, Mexico by Carlos Tornel
"Since I do not believe in the future, but in the eternity of the present, I can afford to be optimistic." –Raimon Panikkar
As the dust settles, the landscape of what lies ahead becomes clearer. We write these lines between three "COPs" (United Nations Conferences of the Parties on Climate Change) that sharply delineate the two paths to follow in the face of capitalism's bifurcation. On one hand, COP16 in Cali, Colombia, despite mobilizing a significant number of Indigenous groups and reaching some important agreements—such as ensuring a permanent voice and vote for Indigenous peoples on the use of genetic resources—the operational tools of the COP, now rebranded as "innovative solutions," remain the same proposals aimed at market integration through credits and the value chains of capitalism. The transfer of credits and the flow of financing are those infamous tools of the master that, as Audre Lorde reminds us—sometimes as a mantra and sometimes as a sword of Damocles—will not allow us to dismantle the master's house.
COP16 was held in Cali, Colombia. Source
In the same vein, COP29, held in Azerbaijan, once again highlights the contradictions of these gatherings, taking place in a country deeply dependent on hydrocarbon exploitation. After nearly 30 international summits, greenhouse gas emissions have increased by almost 70%, underscoring the ineffectiveness of the agreements reached and the model in which they are sought. With 1,700 delegates from oil companies participating and almost 500 carbon capture representatives it is unsurprising that current targets project a global temperature rise exceeding 2.7°C by the end of the century—far beyond the 2°C limit, let alone the 1.5°C threshold, which has already been surpassed in practice. If current trends continue, developed countries would need 220 years to achieve absolute zero emissions without resorting to false solutions like geoengineering or carbon markets/credits. Moreover, they would need to allocate one trillion dollars annually to compensate for their climate debt to the Global South. Despite the gravity of this crisis, COP29 began with a speech from Azerbaijan's president, who described fossil fuels as a "gift from God," sparking criticism from figures like Ban Ki-moon, Christiana Figueres, and Mary Robinson. These leaders declared that the COP has failed to fulfill its objectives—something many of us have been pointing out for decades.
COP29 is taking place in Baku, Azerbaijan. Source
In the midst of these two events, Donald Trump’s election emerged as a looming shadow, revealing an increasingly troubling landscape with significant implications for the climate crisis and the Global South. While his victory represents a fascist threat, it is not a popular mandate for fascism but rather a symptom of a worn-out political system. The Democratic Party has confined itself to a superficial adherence to identity politics, while the Republican Party has embraced a reactionary neoliberalism disguised as populism. The rejection of the Biden administration reflects more than just support for Trump; it exposes not only Biden’s active complicity in facilitating genocide in Gaza but also his inability to address multiple crises: ecological, democratic, institutional, climatic, and existential. This discontent highlights the lack of alternatives to neoliberalism, which persists in both its inclusive version and its authoritarian and reactionary form. Blaming racism or sexism alone for the rejection of figures like Kamala Harris ignores the deeper problem: the failure of democratic liberalism to respond to the structural crises it faces and its adherence to an increasingly violent form of capitalism as an unshakable foundation.
Far from signaling the end of neoliberalism, we are witnessing its evolution into more authoritarian and destructive forms. This "reactionary neoliberalism" seeks to transition from biopower—the control of life—to geopower, an attempt to dominate planetary systems, with war increasingly central as a tool for accumulation. Decisions by the U.S. Supreme Court, such as reversing the Chevron Deference case—which required federal courts to defer to government agency interpretations of laws or statutes—marks a new phase, granting corporations absolute freedom to dictate their own science. Similarly, initiatives like the Inflation Reduction Act, Biden’s flagship reconstruction proposal, allocated nearly $300 billion but demonstrated, as Peter Gelderloos argues, that investment grew hand in hand with increased fossil fuel production. This reveals that the entire national and international framework around climate change is designed to fail.
Anti-COP march in Oaxaca, Mexico. Source
Between these two processes, an ANTI-COP was held in Oaxaca, México—a gathering of various peoples, communities, activists, and organizations aiming to denounce militarization, the advance of megaprojects, the commodification of life, and the inaction of governments and international organizations in the face of the climate crisis, which constitutes a war against peoples and nature. Reviving the anarchist slogan "All Cops Are Bastards," the ANTI-COP reframed it as "All COPs Are Bastards," denouncing the range of false solutions that technocapitalism proposes as answers to climate change. Unlike other COPs, the path offered by the ANTI-COP seeks to weave resistances and build alliances, breaking free from the borders imposed by the nation state. The ANTI-COP advocates for organizations rooted in the local, without falling into parochialism, and for fostering a different relationship with technology, territories, and nature—one that must be profoundly relational, plural, and hospitable.
What’s Next? Care Embodying Dignified Rage
Talking about hope in this context might seem naïve or disconnected from reality. We are witnessing a profound reconfiguration of capitalism, where its omnicidal nature takes center stage. Extractivism, now disguised with a thin green veneer, presents itself as "humanitarian capitalism," with mining companies leading the so-called energy transition. Meanwhile, territories previously overlooked by capital are becoming the new frontiers of extraction and exploitation.
The genocide in Gaza symbolizes the collapse of liberalism and the loss of its legitimacy, a process that has been unfolding over the past 30 years. During this time, we have seen a globalization of rebellion and a rejection of neoliberal capitalism. The Zapatista ¡Ya Basta! in the Lacandon Jungle resonated globally; in 2001, Argentina shouted ¡Que se vayan todos!; in 2008, Greece and Spain proclaimed ¡Mis sueños no caben en sus urnas! and ¡No nos iremos hasta que se vayan ustedes!; while Occupy declared: We have no demands because asking something from this system is validating it. In Mexico, the 2014 cry of ¡Fue el Estado! remains relevant, and in 2021, the Zapatista journey to Europe reaffirmed the importance of learning to weave diverse struggles together. Subsequent movements, such as those that emerged after the COVID-19 crisis, the protests following George Floyd’s murder, and the university-led denunciations of Israel and the genocide industry, demonstrate that global resistance is alive and well. It is fueled by a hope that arises from doing what makes sense, rather than from the expectation of what we wish would happen.
Although it was difficult to take our eyes off the spectacle of partisan politics in the United States, Trump’s victory underscores the importance of disconnecting from electoral politics and reaffirms our stance: to observe what happens up there but build from below. This is not about seeking truces with capitalist modernity—as international negotiations and much of the environmental movement still attempt—but about cultivating a different relationship between ourselves and nature. The recent turn toward artificial intelligence, geoengineering, and other technological solutions reinforces the modern logic that separates and subordinates nature to a narrow vision of progress. This crisis of meaning demands a rethinking of the present and an abandonment of the terms of the "megamachine" to propose a radical pluralism that allows us to move beyond capitalist modernity. For the Kichwa peoples of Ecuador, a transaction is not a step toward a "better future" but a way of walking with the past in front of us. As Gustavo Esteva reminds us, it is archaeology, not futurology, that connects us with the present. The uncertainty that defines our era requires us to recognize the total war imposed by capitalism, to reject it with dignified rage, and to return life and care to the center.
Writings to organize hope by Gustavo Esteva. In Bajo Tierra Ediciones. Source
It is urgent to redefine our concept of hope, moving away from unattainable parameters. We chose to open with Pannikar's phrase because perhaps the greatest mistake in our struggles is continuing to think in terms of utopias—u, meaning "no," and topos, meaning "place," literally a "no-place"—that we hope will somehow, almost miraculously, be achieved one day. Eutopia, on the other hand, offers another path: a focus on the present, on a "good (eu) place," on what is already here and makes sense. Our challenge is to organize, listen, and come together around what we are doing today, because we know it makes sense, rather than fueling expectations of an uncertain future. The U.S. election and the continued failure of the COPs invite us to disengage from these processes—without ignoring them entirely—and redirect our energies toward building other possible worlds from our territories and processes. This means weaving our struggles together and forging alliances capable of challenging the imposed narrative that there is no path beyond the one dictated by the powerful. Their power is nothing more than violence and their ability to suppress our imagination and dreams. The eutopia we seek already lives among us; our challenge is to nurture it, pollinate it, expand it, and defend it.