The UN: The Past, Present, and Future (1)

On 22 September 2025, former Liberian President and Nobel Peace Prize laureate Ellen Johnson Sirleaf addressed the United Nations General Assembly during its 80th anniversary high-level meeting in New York. With characteristic gravitas and moral clarity, she urged world leaders to recommit to the founding principles of the UN Charter, which she described as a "beacon of hope in a fractured world."

Drawing upon Africa’s resilience and Liberia’s post-conflict recovery, Sirleaf emphasised that peace cannot be sustained by rhetoric alone—it demands action, accountability, and inclusive governance. She called for a renewed commitment to multilateralism, warning that global challenges such as climate change, armed conflict, and democratic backsliding require collective resolve rather than isolationist posturing.

Sirleaf concluded her address to the United Nations General Assembly on 22 September 2025 with a stirring appeal to conscience and courage. She reminded delegates that the UN Charter is not a relic of the past but a living document that demands moral clarity and bold leadership. Her final words—“Let us not commemorate with comfort. Let us recommit with courage. The Charter is not a relic—it is a call to conscience”—resonated through the hall like a challenge and a benediction. In that moment, she transformed the anniversary from a ceremonial milestone into a moral reckoning, urging nations to rise above complacency and embrace the hard work of peace, justice, and global solidarity.

Presiding over the session was Annalena Baerbock, the President of the General Assembly and former German Foreign Minister. Her presence marked a symbolic shift in global diplomacy, as she steered the commemorative meeting with poise and conviction, reinforcing the call for a more inclusive and responsive multilateral system.

Gro Harlem Brundtland, often referred to as the “mother of sustainable development,” took the podium after Ellen Johnson Sirleaf with a speech that was both reflective and forward-looking. She invoked her legacy as Chair of the World Commission on Environment and Development, reminding delegates of the original 1987 “Brundtland Report” that coined the term “sustainable development.” With quiet authority, she warned that the world had strayed from its promises and that climate justice must no longer be postponed. Her tone was firm but hopeful, calling for intergenerational solidarity and a renewed commitment to planetary stewardship. She closed by saying, “We owe it to our grandchildren not just to remember—but to act.

In her address to the United Nations General Assembly on 22 September 2025, Gro Harlem Brundtland underscored two central themes that have defined her decades of public service: sustainability and gender equality. First, she revisited her role as Chair of the World Commission on Environment and Development, recalling the landmark 1987 report Our Common Future, which introduced the concept of sustainable development. She warned that humanity is now exceeding planetary boundaries and approaching irreversible tipping points, with over 80% of the Sustainable Development Goals off track.

Second, Brundtland reflected on her lifelong advocacy for gender equality, tracing her journey from being one of the few women in the Norwegian government in the 1970s to speaking at the 1995 Beijing World Conference on Women. She lamented that progress has been slower than hoped, and called for renewed global commitment to dismantling gender-based discrimination. Her voice carried both historical weight and urgent relevance, reminding delegates that justice for women is not a side issue—it is central to peace, prosperity, and human dignity.

“We must remember that the United Nations was born not out of comfort, but out of crisis. It was forged in the aftermath of war, by people who had seen the worst and still believed in the best. Today, we face different battles—climate collapse, democratic erosion, inequality—but the spirit must remain. We must act not only for ourselves, but for all generations to come.”

Brundtland’s final paragraph is a bridge between historical memory and future responsibility. She reminds the Assembly that the UN was created by survivors of catastrophe—not to preserve the past, but to protect the future. Her tone is reverent yet urgent, calling on today’s leaders to channel that same courage in the face of modern crises. The phrase “for all generations to come” is not just poetic—it’s a moral imperative.

The central theme of the United Nations’ 80th anniversary, “Better Together: 80 years and more for peace, development, and human rights,” carries both a celebratory tone and a serious reminder. It acknowledges that despite eight decades of progress, the challenges confronting humanity remain formidable, ranging from armed conflicts and humanitarian crises to climate change and technological disruptions. The phrase “Better Together” underlines the reality that no single nation, however powerful, can resolve such issues in isolation, and that genuine solutions emerge only when states, institutions, and citizens work collectively. The theme also symbolises continuity: it honours the legacy of the UN since 1945 while projecting its mission into the future, reaffirming that peace, sustainable development, and human dignity must remain at the heart of international cooperation.

In The Parliament of Man (2006, Vintage Books), Paul Kennedy offers a sweeping historical and analytical account of the United Nations, portraying it not merely as a bureaucratic institution but as humanity’s most ambitious attempt to forge a global conscience. Drawing inspiration from Alfred Lord Tennyson’s poetic vision of a “parliament of man,” Kennedy situates the UN within centuries of philosophical yearning—from Kant’s perpetual peace to Wilson’s Fourteen Points—culminating in the post-World War II consensus that birthed the organisation in 1945.

The UN was established with the solemn aim of “saving succeeding generations from the scourge of war,” reaffirming faith in human rights, and promoting social progress. Yet Kennedy is quick to remind us that its origins were not utopian but pragmatic, shaped by the geopolitical realities of the victorious Allied powers. The Security Council, with its five permanent members wielding veto power, reflects this compromise—a structure both stabilising and paralysing.

Over the decades, Kennedy charts the UN’s evolution into a multifaceted entity. He speaks of “many UNs”: the peacekeeping missions that attempt to quell conflict, the humanitarian arms that deliver aid and hope, the economic bodies that navigate the chasm between North and South, and the cultural and legal institutions that champion human rights and global norms. He acknowledges the UN’s softer face—its work in education, health, and development—as equally vital to its mission.

However, Kennedy does not shy away from the UN’s shortcomings. He critiques the inertia of the Security Council, the politicisation of humanitarian aid, and the bureaucratic inefficiencies that plague its agencies. He warns that the UN’s relevance is constantly tested by the indifference or hostility of powerful nations, especially when their interests are threatened.

Looking to the future, Kennedy is cautiously optimistic. He argues that in an era of globalisation, pandemics, climate crises, and transnational threats, no single nation can go it alone. The UN, for all its flaws, remains the best-organised hope for collective action. But reform is imperative. Without greater accountability, inclusivity, and agility, the UN risks becoming a relic rather than a remedy.

The central message Paul Kennedy conveys in The Parliament of Man is that the United Nations is a unique and indispensable experiment in international cooperation, embodying both the aspirations and limitations of the post-World War II order. Kennedy wants readers to understand that the UN is not a world government capable of overriding the power of sovereign states; rather, it is a forum where states voluntarily pool limited authority to address collective problems that no single nation can solve alone. He emphasises that the organisation’s successes—such as advancing human rights, facilitating decolonisation, coordinating humanitarian aid, and developing international law—often come in incremental, administrative, or normative forms rather than dramatic headline-making actions.

At the same time, Kennedy is candid about the UN’s failures, which stem less from incompetence and more from structural realities: the tension between universal ideals and entrenched great-power politics. His broader argument is normative and pragmatic: the UN represents a moral and institutional aspiration for cooperative global governance, but its efficacy depends on realistic expectations, incremental reform, political will among major powers, and the ability to convene broad coalitions of states and non-state actors. Kennedy’s message is ultimately one of cautious optimism—recognising the UN’s imperfections while affirming its enduring relevance as a platform for multilateral cooperation in an increasingly interconnected world.

In Wartime Origins and the Future United Nations (2015, Routledge), David Plesch and Thomas Weiss peel back the layers of historical amnesia to reveal that the United Nations was not born in the aftermath of war, but in the very midst of it. Contrary to popular belief, the UN’s conceptual foundations were laid not in 1945 at San Francisco, but during the height of World War II, when Allied leaders recognised that victory would be hollow without a durable framework for peace and reconstruction.

The term “United Nations” itself was coined by President Franklin D. Roosevelt in 1942 to describe the coalition fighting against the Axis powers. From this wartime alliance emerged a vision—not of a mere diplomatic forum, but of an intergovernmental system robust enough to manage global security, economic recovery, and humanitarian relief. Key figures such as Roosevelt, Churchill, and Stalin played pivotal roles, but so too did lesser-known actors: planners within the U.S. State Department, British civil servants, and international legal scholars who drafted blueprints for institutions like the UN Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA) and the War Crimes Commission.

Plesch and Weiss argue that the UN’s structure was shaped by wartime pragmatism. The Security Council, with its permanent members and veto power, was not a concession to power politics but a reflection of wartime realities—those who bore the brunt of the fighting would naturally demand a central role in post-war governance. Meanwhile, the General Assembly and specialised agencies were designed to channel the broader aspirations of smaller nations and civil society.

What distinguishes this book from Kennedy’s The Parliament of Man is its forensic attention to the wartime documents, conferences, and institutional prototypes that prefigured the UN. While Kennedy offers a panoramic and philosophical view, Plesch and Weiss provide the archival scaffolding: the memos, the meetings, the bureaucratic battles that turned idealism into infrastructure. In doing so, they enrich Kennedy’s narrative with sharper historical contours, reminding us that the UN was not a post-war invention but a wartime necessity—born of blood, strategy, and the urgent hope for a better world.

The theme “Better Together” resonates profoundly when viewed through the dual lenses of Paul Kennedy’s panoramic vision and Plesch & Weiss’s archival excavation. Kennedy’s The Parliament of Man reminds us that the United Nations was conceived as a moral compass for a fractured world. In this place, nations, despite their differences, could convene, deliberate, and act in concert. His emphasis on the UN’s evolving roles—from peacekeeping to humanitarian aid—underscores the necessity of collective action in an increasingly interdependent world.

Meanwhile, Wartime Origins and the Future United Nations by Plesch and Weiss roots this idealism in gritty wartime pragmatism. The book reveals that “togetherness” was not a post-war aspiration but a wartime imperative. The original “United Nations” were allies bound by shared sacrifice, strategic coordination, and the urgent need to prevent future catastrophe. Their cooperation laid the groundwork for institutions that still function today, albeit imperfectly.

Together, these works illuminate the paradox and promise of the UN at 80. “Better Together” is not a slogan—it’s a historical truth. The UN was born from the realisation that no nation, however powerful, can secure peace, justice, or prosperity alone. Kennedy offers the philosophical scaffolding; Plesch and Weiss provide the operational blueprint. One dreams, the other builds. And both remind us that the UN’s future depends not on perfection, but on persistence—on the messy, necessary work of staying together, even when it’s hard.

The theme “Better Together: 80 years and more for peace, development, and human rights” resonates strongly in the context of today’s rapidly changing world. In an era marked by violent conflicts in Gaza, Ukraine, and Sudan, the slogan emphasises that peace cannot be secured through military might alone but through dialogue, compromise, and multilateral cooperation. Against the backdrop of the climate crisis, it speaks to the urgency of collective responsibility, for no single country can shield itself from rising seas, melting ice, or extreme weather. In the digital age, where technology connects billions but also spreads disinformation and deepens inequality, the theme highlights the necessity of forging a shared ethical framework that protects rights while fostering innovation. In essence, the anniversary theme is not mere rhetoric; it is a stark reminder that survival and progress in the twenty-first century depend on solidarity, shared values, and the willingness to see humanity’s challenges as interlinked rather than isolated.

[Part 2]

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