The air in New Delhi is thick. Usually, it’s the smog, but this week it’s the high-octane scent of desperation and expensive catering. World leaders, tech CEOs, and a small army of policy wonks have descended upon the city for yet another summit, all hoping to sign their names to something called the "Delhi Declaration."

It’s a fancy name for a memo.

We’ve seen this script before. Last year it was Bletchley Park. Before that, it was various "frameworks" and "principles" cooked up in Brussels or DC. Now, India wants its turn at the wheel. The goal is to create a unified set of rules for how the world handles artificial intelligence. Or, more accurately, to pretend we’re all on the same page while we secretly try to outmaneuver each other for the last remaining Nvidia H100 chips.

The declaration itself is a masterclass in diplomatic hedging. It talks about "safety" and "inclusion" without actually telling anyone to stop what they’re doing. It’s the international equivalent of a "Please Clean Up After Your Dog" sign in a park where no one follows the rules. Everyone agrees the mess is a problem. No one wants to be the one holding the plastic bag.

The friction here isn't just about ethics; it's about the bill. There is a massive, simmering resentment between the Global North and the Global South that the summit organizers are trying to paper over with free Wi-Fi and gala dinners. The West, led by the US and the EU, wants guardrails. They want to talk about existential risks and "alignment." India and its neighbors? They want the compute. They see a world where they’re expected to follow safety rules written by the people who already cashed the checks.

It’s a $100 billion gap. That’s the estimated price tag for the infrastructure needed to keep these nations from becoming mere data colonies for Silicon Valley. The Delhi Declaration might mention "equitable access," but it won't mention who is handing over the credit card.

Don't expect the big tech players to offer any real concessions. They’ll be there, of course. They’ll nod solemnly during the panels about "algorithmic bias" while their lobbyists in the hallway work to ensure no actual laws get passed that might ding their quarterly earnings. To them, these summits are just a tax on their time. A necessary bit of theater to keep the regulators from getting too twitchy.

The real tension in the room isn't between humans and machines. It's between the "Open Source" crowd and the "Closed Model" giants. India has been a vocal proponent of sovereign AI—building models that aren't beholden to a single corporation in California. But building your own model is expensive. It’s energy-intensive. It requires a level of hardware that currently has a year-long waiting list.

So, we get a declaration.

It’s easier to sign a piece of paper than it is to build a data center. It’s cheaper to host a summit than it is to subsidize the electricity needed to train a massive language model. The delegates will pose for a group photo, shaking hands in front of a backdrop featuring a stylized circuit board. They’ll use words like "harmony" and "cooperation" while their respective trade ministries prepare the next round of export bans.

The draft of the declaration currently floating around the press room is predictably vague. It calls for "responsible innovation." It suggests we should "mitigate risks." It’s a document designed to be impossible to disagree with because it doesn't say anything specific enough to be wrong. It’s a Rorschach test for tech policy. The Europeans will see a call for regulation. The Americans will see a green light for industry. The Indian government will see a win for their "Make in India" initiative.

By Friday, the tents will be packed up. The motorcades will vanish back into the Delhi traffic. The "Delhi Declaration" will be uploaded to a dozen government websites where it will live out its days in digital obscurity. Meanwhile, in a windowless room in San Francisco, an engineer will push a line of code that does more to shape the future of the species than any of these three-day conferences ever could.

We keep looking for a global consensus on a technology that moves faster than a diplomat can clear their throat. It’s a nice thought. It makes for good headlines. But at the end of the day, you can’t govern a hurricane by signing a treaty with the wind.

What happens to the declaration once the air conditioning in the Bharat Mandapam gets turned off?