TeaTimeTreats: Baku Summit

 When the World Gathers in Baku: Why a Tiny Town’s Summit Matters to All of Us

By Shaheen P Parshad

 

The first time I heard that the United Nations was moving its climate talks to Baku, Azerbaijan, my mind drifted to a desert‑kissed skyline I had only seen on a travel documentary. It felt far removed from the daily rhythm of my own life—checking emails, juggling assorted tasks, and trying to find a quiet moment to read a novel. Yet the date on the calendar—November 2025—felt oddly personal, as if the planet were about to hold its breath in a corner of the Caspian Sea and I, like millions of others, had been invited to listen.

 

Why should a climate conference, however important, matter to a teacher in Mumbai, a carpenter in Lagos, a student in São Paulo, or a retiree in Vancouver? The answer, I think, lies in a simple truth: climate change is the only problem that writes its story on every page of our lives, regardless of language, profession, or age. When the COP29 agenda talks about a new $300 billion climate‑finance target, it isn’t just a line in a diplomatic brief; it is a promise that the farmer who watches his fields dry out each summer might finally see a drip‑irrigation system funded by the global community. When negotiators discuss a rulebook for a worldwide carbon market, it is the small‑scale entrepreneur in a coastal town who could gain access to affordable green loans to retrofit his workshop. When the final text mentions “loss and damage” for vulnerable nations, it is the elderly woman in a flood‑prone delta who might finally hear a word of relief after years of watching her home disappear.

 

We all have that moment when we try something for the first time, and it doesn’t go as planned—a recipe that collapses, a gadget that won’t start, a language phrase that comes out wrong. Those setbacks remind us that not every attempt lands the first time, and that sometimes the best lessons come from the failures we don’t expect. When we switch to a simpler approach—whether it’s a basic flatbread, a straightforward app, or a modest garden plot—we often discover a hidden skill or a helpful hand from someone nearby. Those unexpected gifts teach us that perseverance often invites surprise, and that the same principle applies on the world stage. Nations that have long been told they must “catch up” are now being offered a seat at the table, a chance to shape the rules rather than merely follow them.

 

The ancient image of a tree planted by a stream comes to mind, a picture of a community drawing life from a shared source. In Baku, leaders are trying—imperfectly, yes—to plant that kind of tree on a global scale. They are negotiating how to channel water—money, technology, expertise—toward the roots that need it most. The outcome may be messy, the commitments may fall short, but the very act of gathering, of recognizing that we all sit under the same sky, is a step toward that enduring shade.

 

What can any of us do when the negotiations feel distant? Start with the small, tangible actions that echo the larger conversation. Plant a tree, even if it’s a seedling in a pot on a balcony. Choose a locally‑sourced meal and ask where the ingredients travelled from. Write to a local councillor about the importance of green spaces. These gestures are not grand; they are the leaves that collectively form a canopy.

 

In the evenings, when a cool breeze slips through the city streets, I imagine that same wind sweeping through the avenues of Baku, carrying with it the hopes of a world that decided—finally—to act together. Whether you are a student drafting a petition, a chef planning a menu that wastes less food, a retiree sharing stories of past floods with your grandchildren, or a CEO evaluating a renewable‑energy investment, the conversation in Baku is your conversation too. The world may be meeting in a distant town, but the ripples of that meeting will touch every shore, every field, every home.

 

So, as the Caspian Sea reflects the setting sun, let us remember that the decisions made there are not just about carbon numbers or financial pledges. They are about planting the kind of future we all want to sit under—a future where the fruit of cooperation is sweet enough to share with a child, a neighbour, a stranger, and even a tree that sprouted where we never expected it.