College . 06/17/2008 12:35 AM . Jennifer Carden

“We must remember that our work does not end when we leave this room,” I said, infusing my voice with all the emotion as I could muster.

“In every corner of the global community, the vulnerable —our children— cry out from the arms of those unable to care for them. Our women pray for proper medical attention in the throes of diseases we are able to treat, and our men watch their families suffer, unsure how they can help.”

I paused, punching each word of my “hold-on-to-your-apathy” closing statement.

“We. Are. That. Help.”

As I gathered my notes, I searched the eyes of my audience. The Jamaican representative from Amnesty International was near tears. The Palestinian delegate gave me an affirming nod. Even Somalia looked affected, and she had made it abundantly clear in the past week that she would have nothing to do with me or my voting bloc.

Had they really bought it?

I had been more emotional than a delegate from Japan had any right to be, but this was my final speech, and since I was last on the speakers list, it had to be memorable. I’d only had a few minutes to prepare.

I’d begun to expect this kind of experience as a delegate at the National Model United Nations conference. Forming an opinion about things I didn’t care about. Acting informed about situations and people groups far outside of my expertise.

During the past few days, I’d seen a lot double talk and double crossing—much like the real UN, I would venture—but I’d been learning to care about things I’d never known and empathize with the plight of people I will never meet.

As the conference drew to a close, I realized I wasn’t acting any more.

GETTING STARTED

The purpose of the National Model United Nations program, according to its sponsors, “is to provide an interactive educational experience that teaches in an interesting and enjoyable way about the United Nations.”

It’s intended to impart an understanding of foreign policy and diplomacy to college students from across the world, give them a taste for international affairs and a knowledge of the problems and needs of the global community. It allows students to unravel the mystery of what, exactly, the UN does, and for me, personally, why, even with its problems, it’s actually necessary.

I spent the six months before the conference learning more than I’d ever wanted to know about Japan, the country we’d been assigned, and enough about the UN to teach the rest of the class, since I’d been elected Head Delegate. We were preparing to attend the National Model United Nations (NMUN) conference in New York—one of the largest UN simulations in the world. Last year, there were 4,051 student delegates in attendance. Over 50% of the delegates were from outside the US ( which meant, I found, that nearly EVERYONE smoked ).

Each student on our NMUN team was assigned to a committee and given the three topics to be addressed at the New York conference. My committee, the United Nations Population Fund, would deal with the following: Enhancing Family Planning Capabilities and Educational Programs, Ending Child Marriage, and Addressing Sexual Violence in Emergency Situations.

Obviously, these aren’t your typical dinner conversation topics.

Very few college students are authorities on child marriage, not to mention emergency conflict zones. I didn’t know what an IDP (internally displaced person) was a year ago, had no knowledge of tribal rituals and their relation to family planning, gave very little thought to microcredits, rural community motivation programs, or the best ways to educate Muslim women about birth control alternatives.

I know now.

I know a lot now, in fact. After six months of preparation, during which time I wrote a position paper detailing Japan’s position and experience with each of my topics, I had processed a lot of information. After a week in New York, I’d learned even more.

DISCOVERING DIPLOMACY ( or POLITICAL PASSIVE AGGRESSION )

While I’d been preparing to play my role as a Japanese diplomat, students from across the world had been preparing to represent their assigned country. Preparing a lot.

No, I mean a lot.

As I introduced myself – “Good morning, honorable delegate from Palestine, I’m Japan” – round our caucus (meeting) room on the first day, I caught sight of the binders taking residence under various chairs in the room. They filled most of the real estate under the chair, and looked, generally, like a compilation of 4-5 college textbooks, or maybe just HOURS UPON HOURS OF WORK.

I clutched my own binder, filled with blank notebook paper, my position paper, and a speech, and gaped. Openly. These people, I realized, were intense. After a little prying, I found out my friend Palestine, the biggest binder’s owner, had attended a 3 hour class every week taught by an actual UN diplomat.

I had taught my class.

She had been required to write ten papers over the course of the semester on various topics related to the UN and her assignments.

I, um, hadn’t.

She was incredibly and genuinely passionate about the work we were there to do. Never once did she break character—not for the entire conference. I never learned her name. She didn’t use the word “I” once. She believed in what she was there to accomplish, and when I was around her, I felt like our simulation had a purpose.

I may not have had her preparation, but I fought for Japan’s ideals with all the pseudo-diplomacy I could muster.

“Diplomacy,” by the way, simply means telling people to go to hell in a manner that leaves them looking forward to the trip.

Accordingly, I charmed and smiled and spoke through gritted teeth to get my way, my wording, my pet project… I couldn’t afford to make any enemies. We were the United Freaking Nations, after all.

My “bloc” of likeminded countries seized upon an idea I had proposed and in a beautiful display of cooperation, co-wrote an extensive 8 page resolution. We were an unlikely group: the beautiful Italian girls from Senegal, the Texans representing the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, Portugal. Bangladesh, Russian Federation, Palestine, Spain, and me, Japan.

We spent over 20 hours together, discussing every word choice, every clause, and every detail, debating offshoots, creating solutions. When we finished, we had framed a program that could, actually, be instated—could help people better their lives and the lives of those around them. Most of the working papers on the floor were around 2 pages ( quantity over quality ). Ours was 8, with 10 pt. font.

As it typically goes in the NMUN process, a few other member states attempted to poke holes in our working paper, citing state sovereignty, spiritual differences and other garbage. Our little team fielded question after question, fighting for our ideas and the futures they could improve.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t inspired.

Because, as we sat in the hallway, coming up with new solutions for dilemmas we weren’t old enough to comprehend, I realized why the United Nations exists. Palestine, Somalia, Ecuador… These aren’t international superpowers. They are developing countries whose interests could easily remain unheard, since they can’t afford to pay for power. In the context of the United Nations, they have a voice. They have a vote. They can share concerns. They can write position papers, propose solutions, share needs, and keep their developed counterparts’ power plays in check.

If the United Nations didn’t exist, where would they go?

Yes, the UN has its inefficiencies, flaws, and failures (all of which were made more clear as a result of my NMUN experience). But it also has value, and what’s more, it’s not going away. As former UN Secretary-General Daj Hammarskjold once said: “Everything will be all right when people stop thinking of the United Nations as a weird Picasso abstraction and see it as a drawing they made themselves.”

I may not have been a part of the drawing, but I can definitely learn to read between the lines.

WALKING AWAY

On Saturday morning, four days after my arrival in New York, I sat in the Great Hall of the United Nations. Surrounded by exotic accents and enthusiastic energy, I waited for the NMUN closing ceremonies to begin. Although the room was filled to capacity, I saw many familiar faces—there was Portugal, there was Canada, there was Greece. I’d worked with them. I knew them, their countries’ interests and concerns.

After the awards were announced and the last address was given —one urging us to change the universe at our fingertips, of course— I left the auditorium, walking alongside many men and women who will, undoubtedly, walk back into the building fifteen years from now and try to be the change they want to see in the world.

And just like many diplomats before them, they’ll remember the day they stopped acting and began to care.

. . .

To find more information about starting a NMUN chapter at your university, please visit www.nmun.org.

Jennifer Carden is the editor of Kritik.



<