By The Viscount Monckton of Brenchley in Copenhagen
It’s snowing desultorily. I’m standing outside the conference center, an ugly, incoherent clump of ill-designed, depressing modern shacks on a blasted, treeless, semi-industrial wasteland minutes but light-years away from the charm that is the old city of Copenhagen.
As my fellow-delegates and I – Ministers, senators, negotiators – stand and wait in the bitter cold beneath the grimy elevated railroad from the city, the driverless trains grind and hum overhead. But they’re not stopping at the conference center’s station.
The Danish police, normally accustomed to dealing with a docile, over-socialized and even supine population, are suddenly up against some of the world’s best-trained international-Left agitators, who have gotten into the conference center under the umbrella of recognized non-government organizations, nearly all of which are handsomely taxpayer-funded, and have staged a riot. (more…)