Belem Braces: An Amazonian COP Like No Other
There is a particular kind of heat in Belem that feels like an invitation and a warning at once—a heavy, humid breath off the river that coats your skin and seems to make the air itself conspiratorial. The city, a gateway to the Amazon, is pulsing with preparations. Banners are being strung across narrow streets, volunteers practice welcome lines in university halls, and, improbably, two cruise ships are anchoring off the harbor to answer a demand for beds that the city’s hotels simply cannot meet.
For the first time in COP history, the summit of heads of state will be held a few days before the main climate talks. From 6–7 November, presidents and prime ministers will gather; the full COP30 runs from 10–21 November. Brazil has said fewer than 60 world leaders have confirmed for the pre-COP summit—57, according to Mauricio Lyrio, Brazil’s chief negotiator—far fewer than the 75 leaders who attended COP29 in Azerbaijan last year.
The numbers behind the bustle
Belem, a city of roughly 1.4 million people, expects about 50,000 visitors for the two weeks of negotiations. More than half of its residents live in informal settlements, and the sudden influx has exposed brittle urban infrastructure. Traditional hotel rooms were gobbled up months ago; organizers have scrambled to repurpose university dormitories, school classrooms and private homes. Even floating hotels—those cruise ships—have become temporary solutions. Prices for accommodation and basic services have shot upward, prompting criticism that COP30 risks being “the most exclusionary in history,” a phrase environmental NGOs have used to describe a conference made inaccessible to many civil society participants.
President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva has been an outspoken champion for hosting the talks in the Amazon—an unmistakable symbol of what’s at stake. In February he brushed off accommodation worries with a memorable line: delegates could “sleep under the stars.” Whether that was rhetorical theatre or an unorthodox plan, it captured the mood: Brazil wanted the world to come to the Amazon, feel its weight and its urgency.
Local life: hospitality, hustle, and concern
Walk the Ver-o-Peso market at dawn and you can taste this place. Vendors hawk steaming bowls of tacacá, pouches of açaí, and ripe mangoes beside fish stalls where the catch glints pink and silver. A woman with a weathered face and a tattoo of a small river on her wrist—Maria Costa, 46, who runs a street-food stall—shrugs when asked whether the city is ready.
“We welcome people. We are proud,” she says, flipping a tapioca on a hot griddle. “But this will change prices for us. The bread will get heavier to buy, the bus will be full. For two weeks we get money, yes—but after, what?”
Her ambivalence is echoed across Belem. Students rent rooms to visiting delegates; a local pousada owner, Rafael Mendes, says he has raised nightly rates by 40% to cover increased costs and demand. “There are ways to show the world our forest,” Mendes says, “but it shouldn’t be at the expense of our neighbors.”
Creative solutions—and strain
Organisers have rolled out imaginative fixes: repurposing stadiums for press centers, turning university dormitories into provisional hotels, and deploying a fleet of buses to shuttle participants from ships anchored 20 km away. Yet the improvisation underscores an uncomfortable truth. Belem was not built for this scale of global diplomacy; it was built for river-laced daily life, for markets and family gatherings, not for international media throngs and armored convoys.
Who’s coming—and who’s quiet?
So far, a modest roster of heads of state has confirmed attendance. European leaders including those from Germany, the United Kingdom, the Netherlands and Norway have signaled they will come, alongside delegations from Colombia, Chile, Cape Verde and Liberia. Ireland’s Taoiseach Micheál Martin is also expected. China has said President Xi Jinping will be represented by Vice Premier Ding Xuexiang. Notably absent from confirmed lists are the United States and Argentina: neither country has said who, if anyone, will attend the leaders’ summit—an omission that fuels worry about whether geopolitical storms will drown out the climate conversation.
- Confirmed leaders (high level): Germany, United Kingdom, Netherlands, Norway, Colombia, Chile, Cape Verde, Liberia, Ireland (Taoiseach Micheál Martin)
- China: Vice Premier Ding Xuexiang to represent President Xi Jinping
- United States and Argentina: no confirmation at time of publication
- Main COP30 conference: 170 delegations accredited
Fewer leaders walking the red carpet has consequences. High-level summitry can catalyze finance pledges and political momentum. Without it, delegates fear negotiations will become technocratic, focused on minutiae while the global narrative moves elsewhere.
Voices from beyond Belem
“The symbolism of the Amazon is enormous. If leaders don’t show up, it sends a signal,” says Dr. Aisha Bello, a climate policy researcher at the University of Cape Town. “But symbolism without action is hollow. We need measurable commitments to finance conservation, slash emissions, and support Indigenous stewardship.”
Local activists are not waiting. João Silva, coordinator with a regional NGO, says grassroots groups will swarm the outskirts of official venues: “We will create our own stage. Indigenous voices, riverine communities, youth—they will make sure the Amazon’s people are seen.”
Access and equity—an international debate
There is growing disquiet that COP30 could be tilted toward elite access. Many civil society groups are priced out or lack logistics to travel. The cost of flights, accommodation, and registration can run into thousands of dollars—money that small NGOs and Indigenous associations often do not have. That raises a critical question: What does it mean for a global climate summit to convene in the Amazon if the people who live closest to the forest—the stewards, the communities—cannot take part?
“We’re not tokens,” says Ana Pereira, a young Indigenous rights advocate traveling from the interior. “We are the ones who have been protecting this forest for centuries. If leaders and big donors come here just to be seen, without listening, we’ll be holding them accountable.”
Bigger picture: The Amazon on the global stage
This more intimate, messy COP in the Amazon forces a broader reckoning. The world has long leaned on the image of the Amazon as a carbon sink and a font of biodiversity. Yet deforestation, fires and climate change are eating away at that role. Global politics are fractured—trade wars, conflicts, and shifting alliances make high-stakes cooperation harder. That is precisely why this COP matters: it is an opportunity to tether geopolitics to planetary limits.
Will the global north translate rhetoric into robust financing for conservation and transitions? Will commitments respect Indigenous sovereignty and prioritize community-led conservation? These are not just policy questions; they are moral ones.
What to watch for
- Which leaders actually attend the heads-of-state summit, and what pledges they announce.
- Whether funding for forest conservation and loss-and-damage measures is scaled up meaningfully.
- How accessible the conference remains to Indigenous and grassroots voices—and how they are centered in negotiations.
Belem will soon be a crucible. The city’s narrow streets and riverfront markets will host a global argument about survival, responsibility and justice. As night falls and the chorus of insects rises from mangroves and back alleys, ask yourself: if the world can convene in the lungs of the planet, will it listen? Will leaders turn presence into policy? Or will the Amazon, once again, be a dramatic backdrop for politicking rather than a partner to be protected?
For those who will be there—delegates, journalists, activists, and the people of Belem—the coming weeks are a test of imagination and solidarity. The Amazon deserves nothing less than the kind of collective action that recognizes not only its global value, but the dignity and rights of the people who call it home.
