State of the Union- My 2014-Personal Part II- The Return of

For the first time in a few years myself and Anna travelled abroad this year, this time to Berlin in Germany.  It was also my first time flying out of Bristol Airport, a curious place nestled in the Somerset countryside.  Myself and Anna have a joint mission to explore more of Europe.  I have travelled fairly extensively in my life, but curiously few of these travels have centred on Europe.  I find Europe a fascinating continent.  It is a tiny continent in size packed with many different cultures and countries that look very different from their neighbours.  We did Paris before.  So Berlin was our next choice.  We stayed in an interesting hostel.  It lost its charming element somewhat when I was forced to unblock a communal toilet on the first morning but it was safe, warm and very conveniently located.  We were only a 5 minute subway ride away from the centre.  We went up the Ferhnstrum (the massive tower in the city centre), we walked down the Unter Den Linden, Checkpoint Charlie, saw the Brandenberg Gate, saw the Reichstag, the Berlin Wall and the Holocaust Memorial among other sites.  We even saw Hitlers’ bunker, or rather its site.  Hitler wasn’t home owing to him having the long term and incurable condition known as death.  Berlin is a fun and varied city.  There is plenty to do and there is a curious mix between the old and the new.  Berliners by and large were friendly.  Waiters and waitresses had manners far exceeding their Parisian rivals.  I never had the chance to experience much German food, apart from a Strudel.  I have made it my personal mission to have a huge Bratwurst on my next visit to Germany.  Myself and Anna have resolved to come back in the near future.  Perhaps to Munich.  Friendly people, culture, fantastic infrastructure, carnivore’s heaven food, very clean cities and with lots to see and do makes Germany quite country.   After the unfortunate start to the summer this was the definitely a satisfying way to end it.

 

Sometimes life sends you a strange curveball.  On the day this happens you start the day conventionally enough and then decide to do something completely out of character at the end of it.  About a month ago I watched a very eye opening BBC Panorama documentary about the Ebola Crisis in Africa.  The programme followed a young doctor who volunteered for Medicin San Frontieres to help in the Ebola relief efforts in Sierra Leone.  The facilities that were being used were little more than camps.  New patients had to be spoken to several yards apart from the doctors before entering the camps, to prevent further infections.  After mounting his extensive protective gear the doctor attached a camera to his goggles and went about with his work.  What his footage revealed was distressing to say the least.  Patients were seated on very basic camp beds.  Some asleep and others were in comas.  Some just waited with a look of fatalistic resignation on their faces.  But the awful virus’ handy work was never far out of sight.  When it attacked people with full force it was like a horror film.  Bloody oozed out of the eyes, nose and ears of the victim.  I am normally pretty stoic when I see this sort of thing on the news.  But one particular scene in this documentary got to me.  During this scene a seemingly recovering father had a brief talk to the father and then rose from his bed to have a shower.  Near him was his 3 month old baby son who was under close observation, no one could be sure he had Ebola.  The doctor looked at the baby, seeing no obvious signs of the virus he left the tent to check on the father.  As soon as the doctor stepped in the shower he saw the father had fallen and was not moving.  After seemingly recovering from Ebola the father had died, possibly because his body was exhausted from fighting the virus.  Shocked the doctor went to check on the baby boy who was now an orphan.  The doctor gasped as he approached the baby, eventually I could see what he was gasping at.  Blood was seeping through the boy’s eyes, he was in the grip of Ebola.  He was crying at the same time and his tears were made of blood.  He was alone, confused and frightened.  The doctor left in a hurry realising there was nothing he could of done, resisting the urge to stay there and take his protective gear off and hug the infant as he passed away.  I was in floods of tears.

I decided then that I had to do something to help with this awful crisis.  I decided to do some sort of sponsored event.  I ruled out sky diving.  Sick baby or no sick baby I would need more of an incentive to jump out of a perfectly good plane!  Such as it being on fire.  That night I decided to train for an run in a sponsored marathon for Medicin San Frontieres. In this way I will kill two birds with one stone.  I will raise money for a good cause and lose weight (the latter a much delayed pet project).  Also in my own way I will be sticking two fingers at the sadly brewing sense of defensive nationalism and sneering  contempt developing in this country for problems outside of the UK’s borders.  Once too often I hear the quotes like “we have problems too” and “charity begins at home.”  The latter quote is usually uttered by ignorant blockheads who would turn their nose up at a Big Issue seller and think that Ebola is the name of some sort of new band.  A bad moon is rising in the politics of this country.  I will go into this more in my State of the Union 2014: Political.  Stay tuned.

The more things change in another year, the more they stay the same.  In that tradition I have remained committed to my nerd passion Model United Nations (MUN).  Despite leaving university I still go to the small and mighty University of Bristol’s MUN Club.  I live in the same neighbourhood, so I have all the more reason to go.  But the main reason I still go is that I bloody love it.  I mean there is nothing better than coming back from a day of working in a soul destroying work and then arguing in favour of an American invasion of Micronesia.  I have spent a lot of time in other university clubs but have never felt as at home or accepted as I have done in this one.  I was initially hesitant coming back this academic year, wondering if I was a bit of a sad git reliving uni glory days.  But you know what?  If that is what I am I simply don’t care.  I have fun with what I do, and two award for international conferences says I am good at what I do.  The University of Bristol MUN is about to put itself thoroughly on the map.  As it is the MUN world is pretty establishment minded and stitched up in terms of power and influence. The big clubs spread their peacock feathers and instead of crying out to mate, cry out for those to come to their international conferences.  To facilitate this very greaseball arrangements are made, mirroring the real corruption in contemporary politics.  This even goes so far it stitches up awards and dooms young clubs with new conferences to have a handful of delegates.  For fellow MUN delegates reading this, note carefully.  I am not going anywhere any time soon.  And while I am here I plan to denounce, protest against and obstruct till this MUN Old Boys club is consigned to the dustbin of history.  Mark my words!

Myself and Anna in agreement.  This year 2014 was the flat year.  The year that the wave of activity and excitement seemed to break.  In the years 2012-2013 either myself or Anna was studying with high hopes about where we would end up.  2014 seemed to represent the iceberg of cold reality at the end of the wave.  We have come to a mutual agreement that we both need to aim high and push ourselves.  I have resolved to push for a PHD scholarship.  Anna has resolved to explore other more fulfilling career paths.  I am tired of working in menial jobs.  I am tired of working in place in which I am undervalued.  I am tired of being talked down to by incompetent agencies.  I am simply tired of working in a job for jobs sake.  So I have resolved to push for PHDs next year.  If that fails I will go all out for jobs in International Development and Relations.  If that fails then the Last Chance Saloon is the civil service; likely in either the Department for International Development or the Diplomatic Service.  In any case 2015 will be a year of change and of setting my horizons high.  All that is left to do now is to thank you all for reading and wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

 

State of the Union- My 2014- Personal Part I

2014 for myself has been for overall a flat year.  A year of looming peaks and plunging troughs.  It kind reminds me of what US President Richard Milhous Nixon said, when he said that you have to experience the dark valleys before you soar upwards.  I guess he should no.  It has been a year of humbling triumphs and unexpected and at times heart breaking lows.

First and foremost this year marks my 10^th anniversary of living in Bristol, the land of the free and the home of the brave.  I hadn’t planned on staying here.  It just kind of happened.  But overall I am pleased I have.  Not only for better or worse is Bristol the city I grew up in, it is also where I met my future wife.  The latter alone makes the mouldy rented rooms and innumerable faceless and otherwise crap jobs I have experienced during my stay here.  Nearly half of that time has been spent in university; first time around at UWE 2004-2007 and latterly in the University of Bristol 2012-2013.  It seems to me that many of the most enjoyable years of my life have been when I have been studying in university.  And so I have resolved that somehow and at whichever institution will take me, I will one day go for a doctorate and I will get one.  I could quite happily settle down in a career in academia.  Being paid to be a nerd seems to be the way forward for someone like me. 

As for the city itself I maintain that it is one of the most unique cities in Britain.  While we Bristolians chafe at most tourists turning back to go home via London as soon as they have seen UNESCO world heritage site Bath, Bristol has a lot to offer.  The docks and the disused cranes there attest to its long maritime history as in many ways does its institutions.  The University of Bristol itself has the dirty little secret of having early grants from the colonial era tobacco companies.  Some of the grand houses in the centre were the homes of plantation owners.  In terms of our more radical history I am particularly proud of the fact that to protest the failure of one of the Great Reforms bills, Bristolians showed their displeasure by burning down the Mansion House, the home of the Lord Mayor, hence why we now have a New Mansion House.  Earlier on in our history more significant history was made in the Seven Stars Tavern just off Victoria Street.  There just a few roads back from the East India docks where the slave trade flourished, Thomas Clarkson worked feverishly with his campaigners to gather evidence against the trade to be presented by William Wilberforce in Parliament.   Then there is the 1963 Bristol Bus Boycott against discrimination.  And then mine and my fellow republican crews motley protest on the event of the Queen's visit to Bristol in 2012.  They have yet to put up a plaque for the last one, but I am sure it is in the works ;-)

Anyway the Bristol shortlist is as follows.  Best pubs: Llandoger Trow on Kings Street and The Hatchet (for atmosphere and authenticity) then Commercial Rooms on Corn Street for price and the beautiful building.  Best takeaway: Rendezvous on Denmark Street hands down (especially since the Cuban Chippy has been bought up).  Most likely place to be bit by a vampire: Lawrence Weston.  Most likely to have a piece of kerb thrown at the back of your skull while riding on a bus: Fishponds.  Most likely place to be bitten by a hipster: Stokes Croft.  Most likely place to speak to be accosted by a posh drunkard: Clifton. 

Well after that strange love sonnet to Bristol lets get it over with recalling the shit things that happened this year.  At the start of the summer a friendship of mine which has lasted nearly as long as my stay in Bristol came to an end.  After racking my brains over what happened I have come to two main conclusions.  The first is that both of us grew up into very different people who eventually got to the point where they didn’t see eye to eye.  Now I don’t normally care very much about how similar someone is to myself in personality.  I tend to make friends with  varied, passionate, friendly, approachable and strange people.  There is no standard type for my coalition of the strange.  The second conclusion I came to was that throughout those 10 years I should have listened to my friends, that is my real ones.  Time and time again they warned me.  And time and time again I made excuses for this person’s behaviour.  Since I consider myself to be socially dysfunctional I decided to him a pass on this score.  But I did this one too many times and decided to ignore what I should have recognised all alone.  I owe the friends who warned me a debt I can never repay.  I have been made a fool of.  And when the end came in a flurry of long and self-serving texts I felt like I had been hit by an emotional wrecking ball.  I don’t exaggerate when I say I was the most angry I have ever been in my life.  I wanted to hit something, anything or anyone.  But I got this indignity at work so I just sank in my chair till the end of my shift then stormed out.  The crying came later.  I didn’t cry over losing him as a friend.  I cried about being treated in such a way, not knowing why and being faced with a flurry of text messages ending in a statement that I wasn’t “awesome” enough to hang out with.  I cut this person off like a diseased appendage and I hope I never see them again.  It was a tough few months but now I feel like I am coming out of the end of it.

2014 marked myself and Anna’s departure from our mould infested flat in Bishopston for our lovely new abode in Kingsdown.  The former was like living in a bad comedy sketch show since everything was falling apart and the agency couldn’t care less.  Now we live where we do I smile a lot more.  I smile at our area, a characterful area with Victorian style street lights and charming cobbled streets.  I smile when I turn a power socket on because I know that unlike the last place this one wouldn’t fall off of the wall.  No matter when I get up in the morning, even my savage early shifts, I always smile and look at the amazing view we have.  Every day I wake up to a view covering eastern and south eastern half of much of the city and look with amazement.  Castle Park, Cabot Circus, Totterdown and the city centre can all be seen from our humble apartment.  This move wouldn’t have happened if not for the help of some special people, they know who they are.  They will always have my thanks.

Life In the Fast Lane: Model UN Conference Life Part II

The start of an Model United Nations (MUN)debate on whichever committee is all about making statements.  We believe this, we believe that etc.  Never “I” since you are speaking as a country so it a typical sentence uttered may go on the lines of “We the People’s Democratic Republic of Korea laugh at the term human rights.”  The overall point at this stage is to firmly outline your position and as necessary justify it.  You may have written a position paper and so may have others.  Sometimes speakers recap what was written on their paper allowing delegates to nod knowingly, hiding the fact that they didn’t bother reading any of it.  For the listeners it is all about looking for key words and key points of future possible cooperation or even friction.  Three groups of people are distinctly outlined for the delegate; allies, adversaries and the undecided.

These three groups are always flavoured by the unique personality of the delegates themselves.  Usually the personality clash with the country’s policies becomes less announced as delegates get more experienced, or at times simply take the time out to research their country.  Some of my most bitter clashes with people in debates is when I perceive them as taking their own policy line as opposed to following those of their country.  In MUN there will always be personal differences of some kind with a country, sometimes extreme ones.  Sometimes people deliberately pick countries that are the polar opposite of their personal views.  More than once I an extreme social liberal and environmentally conscious person has been the gay killing oil swilling Saudi Arabia.  Why do I do this?  Sometimes to have fun but also to set a personal challenge to myself that I can present illogical and at times morally abhorrent views as though I actually believe in them.  I
often feel pretty dirty after the session when I voice these views, but the golden rule with MUN is that that when it comes to feuds in the chamber, what happens in the chamber stays in the chamber.  By my own admission I have not always been able to follow my own rule.  But usually this has been when someone being arrogant in the chamber has been proven to me as being arrogant in person real life, a big red line for me.  Apart from the arrogant among us I definitely respect those who live and breathe their country.  If you act the part through and through you deserve credit.

As true as it is in many circumstances in life knowledge is power in MUN.  Often this means reading through dry General Assembly or Security Council Resolutions.  Sometimes it means learning random dates, names, agreements, treaties and policies etc.  It can be a job to remember them all.  Since I usually turn up at a MUN debate without a laptop I tend to be old school and bring these written down in a folder.  My little intelligence dossier can be useful to correct allies as well as friends.  During a historical MUN Security Council debate about the 1994 Rwandan genocide (then meant to happen within days) the delegate for the UK went on a rant about how terrible the Rwandan Patriotic Front apparently was.  In the unmoderated caucas (free discussion) I showed him the notes from my dossier that showed that not only did the UK support the RPF, they have them weapons and training to annoy the French in their African backyard.  The sheepish and clearly very
hungover UK delegate apologised for his earlier statements.  Against ones enemies proper research can enable incoming broadside attacks into devastating counter attacks.  If you speak with authority on a point you can imbalance your opponents and leave them very unwilling to challenge you.  At times such measures can make them respect you if not fear you, sometimes both.

My favourite part of debating is what I call ‘the takedown’.  Takedowns are simply times when you reply to a delegate with an opposing view in a definitive way that either wins an argument or blunts it.  Takedowns are a potent cocktail of defiance, solid facts, humour, humiliation, bluster and perfect timing. They don’t always land like they should, but scoring a direct hit is exhilarating and tremendously confidence boosting during a tough debate.  Most of my takedowns use an element of what my opponent has just said, indeed at times I directly quote them.  Supportive knocks on the table from your allies can let you know mid flow that you are on to a winner.  When it lands you can normally rely on the look of your opponent’s face to tell if your blows have landed as tough as intended.  Tougher opponents may need to made more of an example of.  The best takedowns are parliamentary ways of saying “sit down, shut up” and have that intended
effect.

A good few hours into an MUN debate you enter what I call “the fray”.  Basically this is like a big and messy verbal skirmish where everyone tries to assert their position.  People get angry.  People laugh.  Emotions are everywhere and everyone gets steadily more tired, leaving the shrewd and sneaky to manoeuvre.  Time seems to have no meaning during the fray because so much energy goes into the vortex of the struggle.  In a sense time doesn’t matter so much as the direction of the debate and the way the weight of it is going to one side or the other.  You have to keep your ear to the ground otherwise our rivals may try and pull a fast one and either unleash some unexpected resolutions or amendments to your own.  Sometimes even the Chairs of the debate get lost in the fray.  I once told a Chair off three times during an MUN debate ; one for drinking (without sharing), one for not doing their research sufficiently and another for basically not
Chairing their debate well enough.  Interestingly enough they still gave me an award, perhaps to shut me up.  But either way this is the point where instinct takes over.

Lobbying and bloc forming is key especially in larger committees.  On the Environment Committee I quickly strived to form a  “Petroleum Posse” and pro nuclear bloc for two consecutive debates.  This is where research comes in handy as does personal lobbying.  Personal lobbying is a skill I am striving to master.  It is all about persuading your target that you are on your side.  “This is in your interests”, “there is nothing here that you disagree with” and “we are in sync on this” are quotes you often tend to come out with in the lobbying process.  If this fails then what follows is the harder sell of letting them know in no uncertain terms the risks of opposing you.  If threats are mishandled they can often call your bluff.  I sent a particularly strong and threatening private  note to Thailand as the US which they proceeded to read out aloud to the council.  To cover up my blunder to confuse the council I stated that Thailand was
misquoting me: the actual note was far less polite.  I am obviously not very good at threatening and feel pretty uncomfortable doing it, in that instance I gambled on it because persuasion wasn’t working.  Still persuasion still seems to be more of my forte.  Persuasion in public can impress the persuaded and those around them, certainly more than those witnessing blunt threats.  Building a durable coalition can be very rewarding.  I have met many friends this way, celebrating with them during victories and commiserating the defeats.

If you get anything voted through or not there is always one MUN tradition that I have come to greatly appreciate.  At the end of a debate the delegates place around their cardboard placards with their country’s name on for their fellow delegates to sign and put messages on.  These messages vary.  Sometimes they come in the shape of thanks, compliments or death threats (just kidding about the latter).  Once we are done pounding each other like paper boxers we put good thought into our messages to our fellow delegates.  I have kept all of my placards and they all contain warm memories.  One message complimented me and invited me to an MUN conference in Israel.  Another message said I was such a good speaker I should be the next Prime Minister!  Another one with a female name said they were “worshipping” me at the debate, temporarily unleashing the jealousy hounds from my fiancé. 

But one of my favourite messages thanked me for being a faithful ally and said they hoped to see me at another conference soon.  The feeling was and still is mutual. When the slagging, scheming and shouting is over that is what MUN is all about: meeting some extraordinary, interesting and funny people and hoping to meet them again sometime soon.

Life in the Fast Lane: Model UN Conference life Part I

There is nothing quite like a weekend Model United Nations (MUN) conference.  At first they can seem a bit intimidating an even daunting.  Eventually however you get used to their natural flow and rhythm.  Each different delegate has their was of riding this flow and their own method of getting into character.  The day you get up for the start of an MUN conference is filled with anticipation.  At first a  flood of very English practical questions rush into ones' mind; what size bag should I bring?  Shall I bring trainers AND my suit shoes?  How long will it take to walk to the station?  This is followed by a flurry of questions typical of MUN veterans; what will the delegates on the committee be like?  Will I be able to work with them?  Will I like them?  Will I be driven to the point where I want to strangle them with a durable piece of rope?  What will my chairs be like?  Will they be devoid of any sense of humour like humanoid androids?  What hotel with this MUN club treat us to?  What state will I be in on the Sunday morning?  How many delegates will turn up on the Sunday morning?  Such concerns confront the MUN veteran at the start of their day.

 

Once you arrive at the train station where the conference is being held you start to bump into some of the usual suspects.  Acquaintances, enemies (hopefully not too many) and friends from past MUN battles fought appear.  Warm handshakes and greetings are given and much reminiscing ensues.  Nerdy political obsessions are indulged in.  An African coup here.  A stupid remark from a world leader there.  Take it from me, after experiencing the forced hospitality of other university club groups, there is nothing quite like the warmth and candour of the MUN community.  It is a coalition of the strange to be sure, but at its heart it is full of kind hearted and passionate people.  One can feel fully at home in such a community, and I do.

 

Most people cab it or bus it to the conference venue.  However if the venue isn't too far away I normally take a leisurely walk.  This serves two functions.  First of all I am by no means a morning person and usually don't look or feel my best at this time of day.  At one conference I woke up in my hotel room and went down to breakfast after admittedly having too much wine the night before.  I saw a good friend of mine sat down with his girlfriend who I was yet to be introduced to sitting with him in one corner of the breakfast hall.  Noting my haggard appearance and bloodshot eyes I thought that discretion would be the better part of valour and made for a table by myself on the other side of the hall.  But mostly my morning walk is one of contemplation.  As I take in the surroundings of a new town I start to strategise.  If it is my first day I speculate on what the delegates on my committee would be like.  If it is later on I either celebrate or commiserate the delegates I am stuck with, knowing that for good or ill I will have to find a way to work with them.  I start to ask myself many questions; who is on my side?  Who could be on my side?  Who is definitely not on my side?  Why is that delegate being annoying?  Are they personally or their country being a jerk?  How do I restrain myself from dangling that person out of an open window?  On my walk strategies are laid down and plans are made.  But soon I find that Colin Powell was right.  The best laid battle plans rarely survive a war.

 

In Model UN there are many committees.  Matters concerning world heritage sights and places of natural beauty are talked about on UNESCO.  Human Rights is unsurprisingly the main talking point of the Human Rights Council.  The Disarmament Committee talks about territorial disputes as well as specific armaments issues.  Ecofin talks about specific economic issues.  SPECPOL talks about subjects relating to decolonisation.  Now and again there are some specialised regional committees such as the Arab League or African Union.  There are also specialised Crisis scenarios, each portraying a unique scenario with unique players at each conference.

 

Recently my main home at MUN has become the UN Security Council.  It is a smaller group compared to the others, 15 delegates in all.  But 5 of those delegates are the big bad Permanent 5 (P5), the veto wielding countries (United States of America, UK, France, Russia and China).  The veto means that any member of the P5 can strike down either a part of a resolution or the entire thing.  In an instant they can destroy an entire day or 2 days work.  With this amount of control it is no wonder that the calls for Security Council reform have increased, since many argue it is somewhat outdated to have the victors of WW2 as the gatekeepers.

 

So why do I like the Security Council?  I see the Security Council as a high stakes poker game.  It is a game of lobbying, pleading, threatening and most of all persuading.  You have to keep your cool and work out what is workable.  Things are a lot easier as a P5 country granted, but then that is balanced out by you being less likely to get an award.  It can suck being a tiny country being ignored, sitting next to the US, frowning as messages get thrown over your desk to theirs.  But then if you think hard enough the chance to provoke other countries or get them to go on the defensive is always there.  Being a small country on the Security Council sets you up for a  very tough fight, but if you handle it well enough it can be pretty exhilarating.

 

 I have only been a P5 country once and that was when I played Russia at the Reading conference in 2013.  I had all the power and of course I let it all go to my head, I had far too much fun at that conference.  The hint of the power I had came when I first walked into the conference.  On the way to the room I tried to make small talk with a delegate.  He was rude to me for no reason at all, so I decided I would make an example of him.  And so I did, he was Morocco and wanted some face saving crap on the resolution .  So I told him to move the offending clause or kiss goodbye to the resolution.  Baffled I told him in no certain to get out of my face and have the clause deleted by the time I got back from getting a coffee.  He dutifully followed his marching orders.  The entire debate basically involved me saying the opposite things to the rest of the P5, except China.  I found that the threat of using the veto was the more potent than the veto itself.  We got closer and closer to voting in the resolution when time and time again I came back with more demands.  Some delegates lost their cool.  Others were very cool under fire and it was those who snuck a very cleverly written resolution under my nose.  In the end I didn't get an award but I had a great time.  I even became a minor celebrity among some Russian students who wanted their picture taken with me!  I have hence called my Russia on the Security Council Strategy the 'taking candy from a baby strategy'.