The Unforgiving MinutePaul Currion struggles to explain himself.

I. Science

“Know thyself

Village One:

“I went to a village that is well off the national grid, which has a “renewable energy power station ” – a wind turbine… This sense of confidence and security, and therefore, ambition, seems to me the biggest impact of having electricity. Exuding a new pride in the village, people talked about a “revival of the town”, – how young people who had left for the capital were coming back, people from surrounding areas were coming in buying land and building houses… They said, “before we only had two TVs, now we have 31; we are smarter, we are more cultivated, we know what’s happening around the world”.”

Village Two:

Umred was just another small town in the middle of nowhere, dusty and underwhelming. But Umred had begun to dream, townspeople told me, because of television, because of cousins with tales of call-center jobs and freedom in the city. Once Umred contracted ambition, blackouts became intolerable… In Misal’s world, television was seen, even by parents, as a force of liberation. “TV is the very hi-fi form of everything,” Misal said. “It’s the extreme level of ideas, where they show you everything at top level, so that certainly gives you motivation. On TV you see the things of world-class standard. When you see some person on Discovery catching anaconda, you are looking at the best person in the world for catching anaconda. On TV we never see the strugglers or something like that; we see the people who have achieved what they wanted to be.”

About a month ago (2 billion years in internet time) Colum Lynch reported from his swanky new bachelor pad on how the renovation of the classic UN building “has effectively drawn a curtain of secrecy around the proceedings of the U.N. Security Council.” The temporary closure of the delegate’s lounge – possibly the one place in the building where diplomats and journalists could rub shoulders informally – shows how the domains of architecture and politics physically overlap:

“Christian Wenaweser, Liechtenstein’s U.N. Ambassador… said an even larger problem than the reduction in public appearances by council members is the closure of the delegates’ lounge, where council members and other prominent diplomats used to meet each day for coffee and informal networking. “The renovation has had an impact on our work. I spend less time at the U.N. as I used to. There is no place to go, and no reason to go. In the old days, I would be at the U.N. once a day to see who was there. … People now only go to the U.N. if they have a special reason, a meeting or a speech to deliver; then they go back home. The information flow among the ambassadors is not the same.”

This might be obvious with hindsight, but the current state of affairs demonstrates how critical the arrangement of space is to the arrangement of policy. Much more than formal discussions, informal contact – the sort of passing chitchat which happens in those neutral areas – is the meat of any negotiated process. It’s also critical for transparency, since those contacts also provide the insight necessary for accurate reporting of those processes. The findings of a report by the Security Council Report think tank

“underscore the importance the physical layout of the original U.N. headquarters building – which provided sweeping neutral spaces and a sprawling delegates’ lounge where diplomats mingled freely with reporters — had played in promoting greater openness of the council’s workings.”

So if we had to design the UN building from scratch, how would we go about it? Architects need to understand not just how individual rooms are used and how to fit those pieces together, but what the picture on the puzzle looks like. In this case there aren’t many architects who have a clue about how the United Nations works (or doesn’t work) and there aren’t many precedents for this kind of project; but this report gives us some clues as to what a successful design might look like. If you’ve ever been to the UN building itself, you’ll immediately notice that

1. The large spaces are too large, from the foyer upwards. I assume that this is because they had to take into account that sometimes the UN hosts a large number of people, but it means that when there isn’t a large number of people the place can feel a bit like Caecescu’s palace.
2. The office spaces were clearly designed in the 1950s. If you spend too long there, you feel like you’re in an episode of Mad Men, except without the groovy design features. They’re also perennially overcrowded, because who knew that bureaucracies only metastasize?
3. The neutral spaces – corridors, reception areas and so forth – don’t lend themselves to loitering. Even when there are no security guards or janitors around, I always feel like an intruder, as if I’m intruding on something much more important than I am. Which is true, of course.

I propose that we turn the large spaces into open plan offices, forcing UN staff to get more exercise and shout all the time; turn office spaces into unpleasantly awkward meeting rooms, forcing delegates to reach agreements so they can leave quickly; and turn neutral spaces into heavily-branded retail areas (I’m thinking Heathrow Terminal 4).

However we should also take advantage of the redesign to increase the potential for comedy moments:

“… members of the U.N. press corps – who have been relocated to the U.N. Library, a good 10 minute walk from the Security Council – are often given insufficient warning time to make their way across the U.N. campus before the meeting ends. There is a shortcut that can get you to the Council in half the time by walking through the U.N. basement, but at least two reporters, including a CNN employee and a Lebanese reporter, have gotten trapped in a high-security revolving door en route to the council.”

I have a pitch for a remake of The Thick Of It set in the United Nations, if anybody’s interested.

1. “Civilization is just a slow process of learning to be kind,” said the sage, yet the civilizing influence of the city is continually under attack from those both inside and outside its limits.
2. This is because the city itself is an act of violence against its inhabitants, a continual attempt to curb the behaviour of the barbarians it finds within its gates.
3. “To really appreciate architecture, you may even need to commit a murder,” said yet another sage. Violence within city limits is different to violence outside, and preferable because of it.
4. On the other hand, what do sages know? Socrates did his damnedest to hurt and to heal the city (possibly the same thing) with no discernible results. The gods of the city had him killed, of course.
5. At some point in all of our lives, we have to decide what is our more important priority – defending the city against attack, or defending ourselves against the city?
6. If we choose the former, then we commit ourselves to taking up arms against those who would undermine the city, but our course of violence is clear.
7. If we choose the latter, then we will be hunted down like dogs in the street by the city, and our course of violence will remain ambiguous at best.
8. So our choice is not between violence and non-violence, but between certainty and uncertainty. I knew there was something else going on here.