Breaking the Silence

I’ve been debating whether to write about this because I fear I may create political waves, but I can no longer keep silent about this problem. Here it goes: I have been subjected to discrimination in my workplace. Yes, it’s true. The General Assembly and main conference rooms are discriminatory against left-handed people.

It should be known that I have never been one of those whiny left-handed people who complain when they don’t get left-handed scissors, or a left-handed desk. In fact, I am fairly ambidextrous. I would happily take a left-handed desk in school, not because I prefer them per se, but because my right-handed peers hated using them (not realizing that I had to deal with using an “opposite desk” most of my life…sigh). I also try to be conscientious in restaurants, taking the seat on the left so that my offending elbow will not get in the way of someone enjoying their meal.

I am quite accustomed to being a southpaw in a right-handed world, but this week my frustrations came to a head in what is ironically one of the most PC rooms in the world. The General Assembly and all major conference rooms are designed to be equitable to all parties involved – seeking to provide the same ‘view’ from each seat, the exact same size chair and table, etc so that no one member state gets an advantage over another. It is in the issue of dexterity, however, that the room falls short.

For the past week there has been a major conference here focusing on crime, and so in part on human trafficking. As a result I have been asked to attend a multitude of meetings, plenary sessions, and panel discussions to take notes and simply learn more about the latest legislation and global discussions around human trafficking. It is extremely important to get a seat for meetings and sessions in the largest conference rooms because they enable you to listen to the translators who translate for the numerous languages spoken during these sessions. In fairness, at least 50% of the delegates speak in English when they address the assembly. Nonetheless, if you’re taking detailed notes for your supervisor, you need to hear everything that is being said.

(Note: I’ll step out of the narrative here for a moment to make clear that I am not complaining about taking notes at an assembly meeting. In fact it’s surprising cool, especially watching the formalities, listening to the various translators, and essentially viewing the diplomatic ‘dance’ that plays out. I realize how special it is and don’t want to appear ungrateful, because I certainly am not.)

Entering the meeting yesterday (which was already in session), I and one of my colleagues manage to grab two of the last seats in the row that is used for observing sessions. To hear the translators, you have to hook a grey, egg-shaped device over your left ear, and plug the tightly wound cord into the headphones plug in front of your left armrest. The language channel changer for your earpiece is also on the left.

I put the earpiece on, and realize that I have a semi-faulty seat, and that my headset will only work if I’m holding the plug piece in place and don’t move around too much. For a right-handed person, this could be done pretty easily – hold the plug in place with your left hand, write notes with your right hand. For me, it means that I have to have my right hand cross my body to hold the plug in place on my left, and then I must try to write with my left-hand, which at the moment is getting tangled in the spiral cord for the headset. I look like I’m in a self-imposed straight jacket, and the older gentleman from the New Zealand delegation who is sitting beside me is practically convulsing as he tries to keep his laughter in. He leans over and says, smiling, “Left-handed? That could be a problem here.” I smile weakly and realize he’s right.

Because my left-hand keeps getting tangled in the spiral cord attaching the earpiece to the left arm of the chair, I try to shift in my seat further to the right to escape its coils. Like an invisible nun enforcing the law, the spiral cord pulls me and my offending ear back to the left, and I have to keep my yelp of pain in so as not to interrupt the session. The kiwi beside me almost can’t take it anymore -- he’s shaking with laughter. He says to me good-naturedly, “I’m sorry, it’s just that this is far more entertaining than the proceedings.” Too true, too true.

At this point, an intelligent person may be thinking to themselves, “Why doesn’t she just use the plug in the chair to her right, and then she can listen to everything on the right side and stop all this straight-jacket, ear-pulling nonsense?” Indeed, in a perfect world, this would be a good solution, except that seating is premium at meetings, and there aren’t groups of unoccupied seats anywhere where I could break the mold and go right instead of left. I’m a cog in the diplomatic wheel, and circumstances force me to join the group and go left. Eventually I managed to get functional and simultaneously write notes while listening to the translators. It’s just another trying day in the life of a southpaw.

To anyone reading this from the UN: This post is all meant in jest, and I won’t be filing a discriminatory lawsuit or anything like that. Please don’t send INTERPOL to come get me. Please.