The smell of stale coffee lingered in the conference room as I watched diplomats shuffle papers and whisper to their aides. It was just past midnight in Busan, South Korea, where I’d been covering the final hours of what many hoped would be a historic breakthrough on plastic pollution. Exhausted negotiators from nearly 200 countries had been working for ten days straight, their faces showing the strain of marathon discussions that would determine whether humanity could finally begin to address the estimated 400 million tonnes of plastic waste generated globally each year.
“We’re closer than we’ve ever been, but the hardest parts remain,” whispered a Canadian delegate who’d stepped out for air. The talks had officially gone into overtime, a telling sign of both the complexity and the stakes involved in creating the world’s first legally binding treaty on plastic pollution.
The negotiations, which began in 2022 following a UN Environment Assembly resolution, were supposed to conclude by the end of 2024. But as the clock ticked past midnight in Busan, it became clear that significant hurdles remained in reconciling competing visions for how to address a crisis that touches every corner of our planet.
Walking along Haeundae Beach the morning before the extended sessions began, I spotted what has become an all-too-familiar sight: tiny fragments of plastic nestled between grains of sand. A local environmental volunteer I interviewed, Min-ji, had been documenting the debris for years.
“Ten years ago, we counted larger pieces – bottles, containers,” she told me, sifting through the sand with gloved hands. “Now it’s these microplastics that you can barely see. They’re everywhere, even in our bloodstreams.”
She’s right. Scientists from the University of Amsterdam recently detected plastic particles in human blood samples, while other researchers have found microplastics in placentas and breast milk. The ubiquity of plastic pollution has transformed from an environmental concern into a human health emergency.
Back at the negotiation venue, the fundamental disagreement remained between two approaches. Many Global North countries, including Canada and the European Union nations, pushed for production caps and global restrictions on certain polymers and chemical additives. Meanwhile, the United States, Saudi Arabia, and other major plastic-producing nations advocated for national action plans without binding global targets.
“The divide isn’t simply North versus South,” explained Dr. Jenna Richards, an environmental policy expert with the University of British Columbia who has been tracking the negotiations. “It’s between those who believe we need to turn off the tap at the source by reducing production, and those who see the solution primarily in better waste management.”
Indigenous representatives at the talks consistently emphasized the disproportionate impacts on their communities. When I spoke with Sámi delegate Ella Nilsson from northern Sweden, she described how microplastics have been discovered in traditional food sources.
“Our people have survived for thousands of years in harmony with the land,” she said. “Now we find these synthetic particles in the fish, in the reindeer meat. This isn’t just about pollution – it’s about cultural survival.”
The negotiations in Busan represented the fifth round of talks, following previous sessions in Paris, Nairobi, Ottawa, and Punta del Este. The goal was to produce a draft that would be finalized at a diplomatic conference later in 2024. But as hours stretched into days of extended talks, the likelihood of a comprehensive agreement began to dim.
Environmental groups observing the process expressed growing frustration. “We’re watching history repeat itself,” said Marco Torres from the Break Free From Plastic movement. “Just like with climate negotiations, we see fossil fuel interests delaying meaningful action while the problem grows exponentially worse.”
The plastic crisis presents a particularly thorny challenge because it encompasses the entire lifecycle of these materials – from the extraction of fossil fuels used as feedstock, through production and use, to waste management and pollution. According to the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD), only 9 percent of plastic waste is successfully recycled globally, while about 22 percent is mismanaged, often ending up in oceans and waterways.
What makes these negotiations different from previous environmental treaties is the explicit recognition that plastic pollution connects to multiple crises – climate change, biodiversity loss, and environmental justice. For the first time, human health impacts have taken center stage alongside ecological concerns.
Dr. Patricia Villarrubia-Gómez from the Stockholm Resilience Centre, who has advised several delegations, told me that the talks represent a potential paradigm shift. “We’re not just talking about cleaning beaches anymore. We’re questioning the entire take-make-waste model that has dominated since the mid-20th century.”
As dawn broke over Busan on what should have been the final day, negotiators emerged bleary-eyed from another all-night session. A draft text had materialized, but it was riddled with bracketed text – diplomatic language indicating unresolved issues.
The central tensions remained: Would the treaty include global production reduction targets? Would it create a scientific body similar to the IPCC for climate change? Would financial mechanisms be established to help developing nations transition away from plastic dependency?
For communities on the frontlines, the technical details matter less than concrete action. In Manila Bay, Philippines, where mountains of plastic waste wash ashore during monsoon season, waste picker Maria Santos told me during my reporting trip there last year: “They talk in these big meetings, but the plastic keeps coming. Every year there’s more, not less.”
The extended negotiations in Busan may not have delivered the breakthrough many hoped for, but they have clarified the battle lines. As I packed up my notebooks and recording equipment, I thought about Min-ji on the beach and Maria in Manila – two women separated by thousands of kilometers but connected by the same persistent problem.
Whatever emerges from these diplomatic efforts will ultimately be judged not by the elegance of its legal language, but by whether it stems the tide of plastic washing up on their shores. The path to that outcome, like the negotiations themselves, promises to be neither straight nor simple.
As one veteran diplomat told me while we waited for our respective flights home: “Treaties are just the beginning. The real work comes after the signatures dry.”
