Five days inside the contradictions of the United Nations

AI Summary

This article reflects on the symbolic and physical environment inside the United Nations headquarters in New York during the 81st General Assembly. It highlights sculptures and artwork that represent peace, conflict, and human unity while covering the global deliberations on international peace and security.

UNITED NATIONS: Only at the United Nations can a journalist walk through a corridor and suddenly find himself face to face with a prime minister, pause before a sculpture symbolising peace, read the words of a Persian poet written on a wall, and then rush outside to report on a protest against a war thousands of miles away. For five days, I lived inside that extraordinary contradiction while covering the high-level debate of the 81st United Nations General Assembly in New York. The official high-level week brought heads of state and government from around the world to the UN headquarters between September 22 and 26. The first thing one begins to notice at the United Nations is the art. There are sculptures, statues and works donated by countries that seem to confront you at every turn. They are reminders of peace, humanity, war and the hope that nations can somehow learn to live together. Even before you enter the United Nations, the place begins to tell its story. As you approach the Secretariat Building, you encounter Barbara Hepworth’s Single Form, the large abstract bronze standing beside the circular pool. Donated by Jacob Blaustein, it rises quietly against the building, its simple, powerful shape inviting a visitor to pause before entering a place where the world’s conflicts are debated. Nearby stands St. George Slaying the Dragon, a sculpture presented to the United Nations by the Soviet Union. The familiar image of St. George defeating the dragon takes on a different meaning here, surrounded by the flags and institutions of an organisation created in the aftermath of war. And then there is Antun Augustinčić’s Peace Monument, the mounted figure holding a sword and an olive branch. The Yugoslav/Croatian sculptor had wanted its silhouette to be visible from the East River, so that the idea of peace could announce itself even before a visitor reached the building. Further along is Carl Fredrik Reuterswärd’s Non-Violence, the bronze revolver with its barrel tied into a knot, a gift from Luxembourg. Nearby, Evgeniy Vuchetich’s Let Us Beat Swords into Ploughshares shows a man transforming a sword into a tool for cultivating the earth. Taken together, these sculptures seem to form a kind of preface to the United Nations: the human figure, the struggle against violence, the rejection of weapons and the hope that instruments of destruction can be transformed into instruments of peace. And then you enter the building, where the symbols continue. On an entrance are the words of the great Persian poet Saadi, reminding us that human beings are parts of one body, created from the same essence — and that when one part suffers, the others cannot remain at peace. And then, inside the building, you encounter the words of Saadi, the great Persian poet, written on a wall. His famous lines describe human beings as parts of one body, created from the same essence. When one part suffers, the others cannot remain at peace. I kept returning to those words during these five days. Because almost everywhere I looked, I saw the world struggling with the very idea they express. Iran and the United States were at the centre of intense diplomatic activity. Gaza dominated conversations inside the building and protests outside it. The war in Ukraine continued to draw attention, while India and Pakistan brought their familiar confrontation to the international forum. The United Nations seemed to contain the whole contradiction of our age: an institution built on the idea that humanity can act together, confronted every day by evidence of how difficult that remains. Outside the gates, protesters gathered in large numbers as Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu arrived to address the UN General Assembly. Inside, delegations walked out during his speech. And there I was, moving between the demonstrations, the diplomatic meetings, the press conferences and the Assembly hall, doing what journalists do — watching, listening, asking questions and trying to understand what was happening behind the carefully prepared language of diplomacy. At one point, I actually bumped into Netanyahu. It was not a planned interview or a formal meeting. It was simply one of those extraordinary moments possible only at the United Nations, where presidents, prime ministers, diplomats, security officers, journalists and interpreters are constantly crossing one another’s paths. The security arrangements themselves became part of the story. During the US president’s stay in New York, security around the United Nations was extraordinarily tight. Motorcades moved through sealed streets, access was restricted and every movement of a major leader seemed choreographed. The arrival of leaders such as the Syrian and Turkish presidents added to the atmosphere. Then the intensity would ease. A major leader would leave, the barricades would move, the corridors would become less crowded, and suddenly the United Nations would feel almost ordinary again—until another mot