The United Nations … and the Shoes of History

Ambassador Abdel Mahmoud Abdel Halim
Former Venezuelan President Hugo Chávez mounted the rostrum in the United Nations General Assembly Hall during its 2006 session, a day after US President George W. Bush had delivered his address. He began by covering his nose and, in a mocking reference to President Bush, declared: “The devil came here yesterday, and the smell of sulphur is still lingering in this place.” He went on to describe the US president as a tyrant and a liar, before invoking God’s protection against the “devil” by making the sign of the cross over his chest.
Chávez’s performance recalled another incident at the same rostrum in 2009, when Colonel Muammar Gaddafi tore up a copy of the United Nations Charter at the end of his lengthy address, signalling his conviction that the organisation had failed. Former Foreign Minister and Sudan’s Permanent Representative to the United Nations, Ali Abdelsalam Treki, presided over the Assembly session.
The verbal duels staged in New York regularly capture the world’s attention, preoccupy the public, and enter the collective memory of successive generations. One such incident remains vivid: in 1971, Pakistan’s then Foreign Minister, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, tore up a draft Security Council resolution that he believed legitimised and rewarded Indian aggression against Pakistan in the war that led to the birth of Bangladesh.
Bhutto shouted at the delegations assembled in the chamber, including the United States delegation, whose representative was Ambassador George H. W. Bush, declaring that he would not waste his time on such a biased Council. He then stormed out, followed by members of his delegation.
As for Nikita Khrushchev’s shoe, which he used to bang forcefully on the General Assembly desk in protest against a Philippine delegate’s attack on Soviet policies, its fame has surpassed that of the FIFA Golden Shoe awarded to football greats such as Garrincha, Eusébio, Ronaldo, and Kylian Mbappé. Now, summoned from the depths of the past by a Sudanese voice, the thong of Kulaib’s sandal has appeared in the Security Council chamber.
The twists of political fate are strange indeed. Chávez returned to his homeland, only to be struck down by a terminal illness. His foreign minister and vice-president, Nicolás Maduro, returned to Manhattan, not far from the United Nations headquarters—which Boutros Boutros-Ghali described in his book as a “glass building”—only to find himself a captive of American high-handedness.
Gaddafi, meanwhile, was targeted by NATO aircraft while fleeing towards Sirte and was ultimately killed in the hideout where he had sought refuge.
Bhutto met his end on the gallows, executed under the orders of General Zia-ul-Haq, who could not forgive him for having laid the foundations of Pakistan’s nuclear deterrent. Yet fate would have the last laugh on Zia-ul-Haq, too. He died when his aircraft crashed in circumstances involving crates of mangoes, a fruit he particularly enjoyed, which had been loaded aboard and allegedly rigged with explosives.
Khrushchev also passed into history, as did the old Soviet Union; their departures resembled the passing seasons Ivan Bunin evoked in Antonov Apples and the changing seasons of Anton Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard.
These men are gone, but the echoes of their deeds remain.
In the halls of the United Nations, diplomats deliver their speeches as though planting flags in the wind. They stand behind the rostrums, their expressions resolute, then gather their papers and leave. The lights dim behind them, and the seats fall empty. Yet the echoes do not die. They leave behind traces that refuse to fade, giving rise to lessons learned and positions remembered.
A voice may disappear behind the curtains of time, but its echo remains, standing guard over history.

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