Yesterday, President Obama spoke to the United Nations General Assembly for the first time. Not coincidentally, it took us an hour to get home from hockey via bus and subway last night. Maddeningly, the first thirty minutes of that time were spent on the M23 crosstown bus traversing a mere six blocks from Chelsea Piers to 6th Avenue. (Almost the exact amount of time it takes to drive from our cabin on Whitefish Lake to the Northwest Sports Complex in Spooer, WI where the kids played hockey this summer.) We could have walked faster, but the kids were tired and hungry and we'd tricked ourselves into thinking it wouldn't be all that bad. Ha! When the U.N. General Assembly first opens it is nearly impossible to get from point A to point B. Midtown is utter gridlock and it ripples across the island. Everyone is late. Everyone is cranky. Everything takes forever.
Walking down Park Avenue earlier today, I may have seen Obama pass. If not him, it was someone else who certainly warrants a full motorcade of black SUVs, a stretch limo, and national gaurdsmen in bullet proof vests sporting M-16s.
Nine blocks further uptown than we were at this time last year we aren't in the thick of things to the extent that we were when we lived on 56th a mere half mile or so from the U.N. itself, but there's still a great deal of noise, congestion and chaos.
Here is my post from exactly one year ago today:
New York Minute #4: A Brief History of the United Nations
24 September, 2008
The United Nations was founded in the wake of WW II on October 24, 1945. Its purpose, in the broadest and most general sense, as outlined in Chapter 1 of The United Nations Charter, is to maintain international peace and security; to develop friendly relations among nations based on respect for the principles of human rights and self determination; to foster cooperation in solving international problems; and to be a “centre for harmonizing the actions of nations in the attainment of these common ends.” There are currently 192 United Nations member states––virtually every recognized independent state in the world––including the Republic of Montenegro, the most recent U.N. member state, which was formally recognized as such on June 28, 2006. Whatever your political and/or philosophical leanings, to stand in front of the U.N. General Assembly building on a gloriously sunny day and see all 192 flags fluttering in the refreshingly chilly breeze we Midwesterners love, is truly awe inspiring.
Last week, for the first time, I was lucky enough to experience this moment myself.
The key words here are “last week.”
Before the 63rd General Assembly of the United Nations officially began.
Before Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, President Bush, America’s favorite new Tina Fey look-alike Sarah Palin and Filip Vujanovic––the President of Montenegro–– arrived.
See, the United Nations complex sits on the banks of the East River where it runs along First Avenue from 42nd to 48th streets in the “Turtle Bay” neighborhood of Midtown Manhattan, 8-14 blocks south of “AKA Sutton Place,” our new home since September 1, 2008.
Filip Vujanovic is staying in the penthouse apartment at AKA Sutton Place.
He arrived last Sunday night.
Since that time the lobby of our building has been full of guys in dark suits with not-so-subtle-bulges exactly where one might holster a large, menacing sidearm if one were, in fact, to wear a large, menacing sidearm. Guys who wear ear pieces, speak into the cuffs of their starched white shirts and never, ever smile. Guys who carry honest-to-God-I saw-them-with-my-own-eyes briefcases with antennas. (Guys who are probably reading this right now.) Guys who, nonetheless, still quite enjoy a chocolate croissant in the morning as much or more than anyone else as evidenced by the stunning lack of such pastries since they’ve arrived. (Sorry guys, it’s true. You’re busted.)
So, needless to say, there’s a certain tension in the air. A certain tension one quickly and fully experiences when one, for example, groggily shuffles to the garbage chute first thing Tuesday morning with a bag full of several bottles [Brett Favre and the Jets played Monday night, you do the math] and throws down said bottles with a loud, whooshing crash only to be met in the hall seconds later by a hyper-alert-looking Slav in the requisite dark suit with the requisite not-so-subtle-bulge exactly where one might holster a large, menacing sidearm, etc. etc.
I almost peed and/or crapped my pants and/or threw up.
And that’s just inside the building. Outside, on the streets and sidewalks, the chaos is approximately 192 times more intense. Cops are everywhere.
Hundreds and hundreds of them.
Trust me, ever since Monday morning––with blatant disregard for Chapter 1 of The U.N. Charter––traffic around our apartment has been anything but “friendly,” “cooperative” and “harmonizing.” An entire lane of Second Avenue, our daily route back and forth to school, is completely coned off to provide a virtual expressway for anonymous yet high ranking dignitaries in their bullet-proof black limousines and attendedant bullet-proof black SUVs, the imminent arrival of which is heralded by the blaring, persistent sirens of dozens upon dozens of squad cars.
Everything else stands still.
We are all forced to stop and watch as a seemingly endless stream of vehicles whizzes by.
Like anything else, the first time or two it’s intriguing––Look, kids, there’s an emblem of the Turkish flag in the window! Or, Hey, that one’s from Senegal! But once you’ve seen it a dozen times, it’s just flat-out annoying. I mean, Does the Costa Rican delegation really warrant 13 separate vehicles? Come on! Everyone loves Costa Rica. Who’s out to get Costa Rica? They could go by on a float waving to the crowd. Why do they need protection?
What’s worse, the U.N. General Assembly’s daily schedule seems to mirror almost exactly that of a Manhattan’s grade-schooler (i.e. Will and Anna). Typically, we try to leave the apartment at 8:25 to walk the 8 blocks to school. School starts at 8:40. The walk usually takes about 12 minutes.
Perfect.
Not this week.
Almost every morning we’ve either been trapped east of Second Avenue, on the wrong side of north-south U.N. Expressway, or south of 57th, its less glamorous east-west cousin. And the cops, with their bright orange POLICE vests and conspicuous right-out-there-in-the-open large, menacing sidearms seem to absolutely delight in playing “Up is Down, Left is Right” by sending the motorcades screaming through every possible red light with uncanny timing. WALK means DON’T WALK and DON’T WALK means RUN LIKE HELL BEFORE YOUR CRUSHED BY THE SENAGALESE DELEGATION––HURRY KIDS, I MEAN IT!!!
Still, standing up on 43rd Street looking down at U.N. Plaza and the 192 flags of the member nations with the U.N. flag towering above them all while the U.N. General Assembly actually meets at that very moment as I did with the kids earlier today after school, it helps to remember that there is more which brings us together than there is which divides us. Together, we can accomplish great things. Commonality. Unity. Togetherness. Those are the hallmarks of civilization. Just ask the NYC cops. Every night at 5 o’clock dozens upon dozens upon dozens of them come together at the corner of 2nd Avenue and 56th Street. Then they fill out their time cards and go home.
