The Absurd Meeting of the United Anxieties Organization

The meeting of the United Anxieties Organization had just begun, and delegates were taking their seats. The chairman of the organization stood up to deliver the opening remarks:

“Honorable delegates, we are all gathered here today to consider a number of resolutions. As always, we fight for injustice.”

The room fell silent. The chairman quickly realized he had misspoken and corrected himself:

“I mean—we fight against injustice. Our goals and mission remain unchanged: a strong condemnation of injustice in the world. We are deeply concerned about the state of the world and we firmly condemn those who do not condemn conflict situations.”

One of the delegates sitting across from the chairman leaned toward his colleague and whispered, “Maybe we all should’ve taken a calming pill before the meeting. I’m starting to get anxious.”

The chairman continued his speech:

“But before we consider the resolutions, I propose we take a look at today’s menu. Each of you has a folder—right on top is the menu, the first page.”

Delegates eagerly opened their folders and began reading the menu attentively. Someone shouted from the hall: “Where are the lobsters? Why aren’t there any today? I don’t want to eat black caviar and red fish—I want lobsters! This is outrageous!”

The chairman raised his hands soothingly:

“We will resolve this unpleasant situation, don’t worry. Tomorrow there will definitely be lobsters, I promise you. Now, where was I… Ah yes—the terrible conflict between the Federation of Topia and the Country of Borders has resulted in casualties on both sides. We have received resolutions from both parties in the conflict, and we’ll first consider the resolution from the Federation of Topia.”

The chairman turned to his assistant, who handed him the resolution, and the assistant quietly asked, “Why are we considering the aggressor’s resolution first? It was the Federation of Topia that attacked the Country of Borders. And why are we calling the war a ‘conflict situation’? That’s kind of confusing.”

The chairman exhaled heavily and looked condescendingly at the assistant: “You’re new, aren’t you? These are the rules—didn’t anyone explain them to you? You can’t call things by their real names, otherwise we’d have to make decisions and take responsibility for them—and we don’t want to be responsible. Our values are based on price—whoever contributes more financially to the organization gets to speak first. We call that freedom of speech. Even a cannibal has the right to self-expression—as long as they pay their dues on time. Now get with the program.”

The representative of the Federation of Topia began his speech:

“We support the international order by undermining it. Killing is the meaning of life. Our peacekeeping mission consists of lovely cannibals—you cannot forbid them from eating people, that would violate their free will. They have a right to live how they want and do as they please. And your intolerant attitude towards cannibals undermines the very concept of tolerance.”

A wave of condemnation—and support—swept through the hall. Some delegates glanced at the representative of the Country of Borders. He sat with a stony face, but his eyes betrayed a universal sorrow.

The speech ended, and the chairman, ever the gracious host, noticed the hungry glances from the delegates and said:

“It’s lunchtime. Let’s eat. We’ll continue our important discussions after the meal.”

The delegates hurried to the adjacent room, where tables were already set. Waiters brought out hot dishes and filled glasses with champagne and wine. Conversations took on a more casual tone—there was laughter, and some joking around. The assistant sat next to the chairman, but couldn’t swallow a bite, nervously fidgeting in his chair.

“What’s wrong?” the chairman asked.

“Journalists came by. They were asking about our environmental summit. Why are we allowing deforestation of a protected forest for the sake of the summit? What should I tell them?”

“Say it’s a very complex issue, worth a thoughtful answer. Then say something nice about nature—about saving animals or something. Confuse them. I use the ostrich technique: bury your head in the sand until the noise dies down, then resurface. They’ll move on to another topic sooner or later.”

“But really—why did we agree to cut down a protected forest?”

“To build roads. So we can get from the airport to the meeting site more comfortably. Forests are great, but comfort is more important.”

The delegates kept eating, but they drank far more. Someone got so drunk they fell under the table—friends helped him back up, but he swayed like a ship in a storm. Suddenly, the chairman turned to his assistant with blank eyes and asked, “Who am I, where am I, what am I doing here?”

The assistant quickly sprang into action and took the chairman to his office. The secretary understood immediately, handed the chairman a pill, which he obediently swallowed with a glass of water, and lay down on the couch.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked the assistant.

“Memory lapses—it happens often. He’ll be fine soon. He just forgot to take his pills again,” said the secretary.

“No wonder he forgot—he has memory lapses.”

The assistant sat beside the resting chairman, beginning to grasp how things really worked around here. Maybe someday he, too, would be chairman. But the resting chairman suddenly sat up and interrupted the assistant’s thoughts.

“Time to get back to work,” the chairman said, as if nothing had happened, and briskly walked back to the meeting room. The assistant barely kept up.

The delegates, full and tipsy, with unfocused eyes, stared at the central chair. According to the schedule, the Country of Borders was supposed to speak next, but there was no time left—the lunch break had gone long. So the chairman decided to read the final resolution, despite protests from the Country of Borders delegate, who was waving his hands in despair and trying to speak into his muted microphone.

“And finally, I propose we vote on the ‘Strategy of Sustainable Degradation’… uuuhhh…”

The assistant quickly slipped the correct page to the chairman, who began reading from it:

“Let us vote on the ‘Strategy of Sustainable Development.’ Dear delegates, please press the button for or against.”

The inebriated delegates lazily pressed buttons. Half voted for, half against.

“The decision has been made that no decision has been made. The meeting is adjourned.”

The delegates slowly left the hall, got into their cars, and drove off in different directions. It had been a hard day—and at last, it was over.