Dept. of Diplomacy: Party On? 

by Hooman Majd
March 13, 2006
The New Yorker
Original Source: http://www.newyorker.com/talk/content/articles/060313ta_talk_majd

Each February, the Islamic Republic of Iran’s Permanent Mission to the United Nations is obliged, by diplomatic etiquette, to throw a cocktail party in celebration of the anniversary of the Islamic Revolution of 1979. This year, it couldn’t have fallen at a less opportune moment. On the day of the party, Iran’s government accelerated its nuclear program, and one of the country’s leading newspapers put out a call for cartoons mocking the Holocaust. The beleaguered staff at the Iranian Mission went ahead with the party anyway. They had invited representatives from most of the countries of the world, along with a few of the Iranian exiles in the city whose exile was not caused by the very revolution the party was commemorating, for kebabs and non-alcoholic drinks.
The reception was held in the Delegates’ Dining Room, on the fourth floor of the U.N. Building. The only indications that it was a party to celebrate Iran were the smell of basmati rice and the sight of some women wearing hijab. (Invitations to Iranian guests included an insert, in Farsi, politely requesting that they observe Islamic dress.) The Iranians gathered in clutches and largely ignored the foreigners. The foreign diplomats were also in groups: the Africans together, the Spanish-speakers in one corner, the Arabs in the back of the room, drinking Perrier. The Iranian Ambassador, the charming and elegant Javad Zarif, stood at the door and welcomed each guest. 
About an hour into the reception, the U.N. Secretary-General, Kofi Annan, arrived with a small entourage. He spent a few minutes chatting amiably with the Iranian Ambassador and his deputies, and then made a halfhearted attempt to work the room. “Hello, Mr. Ambassador,” he said to a guest in a band-collared shirt. “Good to see you,” to another. “How very good to see you,” he said to yet another dignitary. Flanked by two burly U.N. bodyguards, he headed toward the buffet.
But food was out of the question, for he was surrounded by diplomats and guests who couldn’t resist the opportunity to get a word in. “Your Excellency,” one Iranian said, pushing his way past an ambassador or two. “Your Excellency, why can’t you mediate between Iran and the U.S.? Why can’t you organize a conference to repair relations between the two countries?” 
Annan seemed taken aback, but he stopped briefly and listened. “I hear you,” he said, attempting to move on. 
The Iranian was not satisfied. “Pick a day, a date, and we’ll organize a conference,” he said, his voice getting louder. 
“I hear you,” Annan said. “I hear your plea.”
“No, pick a date, anytime, even two in the morning if that’s the only time you are free.” 
Annan showed no signs of irritation. “Send a letter to my office,” he said.
“Pick a date!” the Iranian continued. 
“O.K.,” Annan said. “How about September of 2008?” And, with that, he gracefully moved toward the exit and left the reception.