UNITED NATIONS: Only at the United Nations can a journalist walk through a corridor and suddenly find himself face to face with a prime minister, pause before a sculpture symbolising peace, read the words of a Persian poet written on a wall, and then rush outside to report on a protest against a war thousands of miles away.

For five days, I lived inside that extraordinary contradiction while covering the high-level debate of the 81st United Nations General Assembly in New York. The official high-level week brought heads of state and government from around the world to the UN headquarters between September 22 and 26.

The first thing one begins to notice at the United Nations is the art.

There are sculptures, statues and works donated by countries that seem to confront you at every turn. They are reminders of peace, humanity, war and the hope that nations can somehow learn to live together.

Even before you enter the United Nations, the place begins to tell its story.

As you approach the Secretariat Building, you encounter Barbara Hepworth’s Single Form, the large abstract bronze standing beside the circular pool. Donated by Jacob Blaustein, it rises quietly against the building, its simple, powerful shape inviting a visitor to pause before entering a place where the world’s conflicts are debated.

Nearby stands St. George Slaying the Dragon, a sculpture presented to the United Nations by the Soviet Union. The familiar image of St. George defeating the dragon takes on a different meaning here, surrounded by the flags and institutions of an organisation created in the aftermath of war.

And then there is Antun Augustinčić’s Peace Monument, the mounted figure holding a sword and an olive branch. The Yugoslav/Croatian sculptor had wanted its silhouette to be visible from the East River, so that the idea of peace could announce itself even before a visitor reached the building.

Further along is Carl Fredrik Reuterswärd’s Non-Violence, the bronze revolver with its barrel tied into a knot, a gift from Luxembourg. Nearby, Evgeniy Vuchetich’s Let Us Beat Swords into Ploughshares shows a man transforming a sword into a tool for cultivating the earth.

Taken together, these sculptures seem to form a kind of preface to the United Nations: the human figure, the struggle against violence, the rejection of weapons and the hope that instruments of destruction can be transformed into instruments of peace.

And then you enter the building, where the symbols continue. On an entrance are the words of the great Persian poet Saadi, reminding us that human beings are parts of one body, created from the same essence — and that when one part suffers, the others cannot remain at peace.

And then, inside the building, you encounter the words of Saadi, the great Persian poet, written on a wall.

His famous lines describe human beings as parts of one body, created from the same essence. When one part suffers, the others cannot remain at peace.

I kept returning to those words during these five days.

Because almost everywhere I looked, I saw the world struggling with the very idea they express.

Iran and the United States were at the centre of intense diplomatic activity. Gaza dominated conversations inside the building and protests outside it. The war in Ukraine continued to draw attention, while India and Pakistan brought their familiar confrontation to the international forum.

The United Nations seemed to contain the whole contradiction of our age: an institution built on the idea that humanity can act together, confronted every day by evidence of how difficult that remains.

Outside the gates, protesters gathered in large numbers as Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu arrived to address the UN General Assembly. Inside, delegations walked out during his speech.

And there I was, moving between the demonstrations, the diplomatic meetings, the press conferences and the Assembly hall, doing what journalists do — watching, listening, asking questions and trying to understand what was happening behind the carefully prepared language of diplomacy.

At one point, I actually bumped into Netanyahu.

It was not a planned interview or a formal meeting. It was simply one of those extraordinary moments possible only at the United Nations, where presidents, prime ministers, diplomats, security officers, journalists and interpreters are constantly crossing one another’s paths.

The security arrangements themselves became part of the story.

During the US president’s stay in New York, security around the United Nations was extraordinarily tight. Motorcades moved through sealed streets, access was restricted and every movement of a major leader seemed choreographed. The arrival of leaders such as the Syrian and Turkish presidents added to the atmosphere.

Then the intensity would ease.

A major leader would leave, the barricades would move, the corridors would become less crowded, and suddenly the United Nations would feel almost ordinary again—until another motorcade arrived.

That rhythm is something a television broadcast cannot quite capture.

At the UN, diplomacy is not only what leaders say from the podium. It is also the waiting, the corridors, the security checks, the hurried whispers, the chance encounters and the small conversations between meetings.

Pakistan’s diplomatic role was another important part of my coverage.

Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif met Iranian President Masoud Pezeshkian on the sidelines of the Assembly as Islamabad continued efforts to facilitate dialogue between Iran and the United States. Shehbaz later said Pezeshkian regarded the Islamabad Memorandum of Understanding as fully acceptable to Iran and was prepared to move it forward.

That is the other side of covering the UN.

You see confrontation, but you also see countries trying to create channels through which confrontation might be reduced.

And sometimes the most memorable moments have nothing to do with the major powers.

Only at the United Nations could I find myself in a photograph with Prime Minister Tarique Rahman of Bangladesh, Prime Minister Lord Fakafanua of Tonga and Deputy Prime Minister Mulipola Anarosa Ale Molioo of Samoa.

Three leaders from three very different parts of the world, standing together in New York.

Only at the United Nations.

The photograph captures something that statistics cannot. The General Assembly has 193 member states, each represented with one vote. Yet the world represented inside that building is vastly more complicated than a list of countries and votes.

Every delegation carries its own history. Every leader brings his country’s anxieties. Every journalist arrives carrying questions.

And outside, the protesters carry their anger.

For five days, I walked past the sculptures and statues, past the flags and security barriers, past presidents and prime ministers, past demonstrations and diplomatic receptions.

And each time I saw Saadi’s words on the wall, they seemed to ask the same simple question:

If we really are parts of one body, how can one part suffer while the rest remains at peace?

The United Nations has no easy answer. Perhaps that is why the question is still written on its wall.

And perhaps that is why, after five days of covering the world’s most powerful people, the image I carry with me is not of a speech or a motorcade.

It is of people from Bangladesh, Tonga, Samoa and Pakistan standing together for a photograph.

Only at the United Nations.