UNITED NATIONS
After 80 days of doing nothing, the 19th Assembly of the U.N. last week adjourned until September—but it could not even go into limbo without difficulty. The most unmannerly brouhaha since Nikita Khrushchev's shoe-banging act in 1960 was provided by Albanian Ambassador Halim Budo, 51, a diplomat seldom seen or heard in U.N. affairs since his country switched Red lines from Moscow to Peking five years ago.
Actually, Budo seemed to have a perfectly reasonable request: he just wanted the Assembly to vote. Most of the Assembly's energies, of course, have been bent on avoiding just that. In the longstanding payments dispute, the U.S. was ready to challenge the Russians' right to cast an Assembly vote because they are in arrears on peace-keeping assessments; the Russians kept insisting that the assessments were illegal. Hence any vote might bring a U.S.-Russian showdown that could end with the Russians walking out or the U.S. withdrawing all financial support—wrecking the U.N. Presumably, Red China would like that just fine. So when Assembly President Alex Quaison-Sackey proposed that the Assembly adjourn "by consensus," without taking a formal vote—which is the way the Assembly has disposed of what little business it has transacted in this session—Peking's Albanian pal intervened.
Point of Order. Blasting both Russia and the U.S. for "domination" of the U.N., Budo formally moved that the General Assembly take a roll-call vote on whether to "embark upon its normal work." Dumfounded, Quaison-Sackey said that surely the Albanian Ambassador would "not insist" on a vote in the face of the existing no-vote arrangement. Angrily waving a pencil, Budo insisted that he would indeed insist, despite the clamor in the hall that his motion was "inconceivable." Quaison-Sackey was going down for the third time in the U.N. Rules of Procedure when Swedish Delegate Sverker Astrom rose to point out that the president could call a recess at his discretion. A grateful Quaison-Sackey promptly did just that, putting off action on Budo's motion for two days.
But two days later, Quaison-Sackey had hardly gaveled the Assembly to order when Budo was on his feet shouting "Point of order!" Snapped Quaison-Sackey: "The representative of Albania cannot have the floor. I want to speak first." Budo ignored the president and, waving his arms and jabbering in French, climbed up to the lectern below the president to face the Assembly. When Budo started speaking, despite Quaison-Sackey's shocked admonitions, the president heightened the fantasy of the whole scene by cutting off Budo's microphone from a control switch on the rostrum.
But since the U.N. has no sergeant at arms to deal with boorish diplomats, there was no one to force Budo to step down. Finally, amid laughter and catcalls, Saudi Arabia's Jamil Baroody went to the podium, took Budo by the arm and led him back to his seat.
Absurd Condition. The farce was not yet over. Everyone was so frightened of a possible vote that the Afro-Asian bloc prepared to walk out en masse if need be to prevent balloting. When Quaison-Sackey recognized U.S. Ambassador Adlai Stevenson, Budo first tried to prevent Stevenson from speaking at all, then kept heckling him.