The hum of the coffee machine was a familiar comfort to Elena, a steadfast presence amidst the swirling currents of change at the United Nations. In her role within the development department at the New York headquarters, Elena had just navigated five complex cases before noon, her analytical prowess and decisive nature cutting through bureaucratic knots with practiced ease. The bitter coffee she craved was a small reward, a moment of respite before the afternoon’s inevitable challenges.
As she entered the coffee room, a middle-aged man in a crisply tailored suit, a paper cup cradled in his hands, gestured towards the window. “Miss, there’s a chair by the window. Please take it.”
“Thank you,” Elena replied, a flicker of annoyance at the antiquated address. She started the machine, the aroma of dark roast filling the air, and settled into the offered seat, the city’s muted roar a distant backdrop.
The man, perched casually on the edge of a nearby table, took a sip from his cup before speaking again. “You won’t be fired.”
Elena’s brow furrowed. “Why?” The recent news had been grim: a 20 percent staff reduction, primarily in New York and Geneva, and a projected 15 to 20 percent cut to the 2026 budget. The United States, the largest financial contributor, had pulled back, forcing the organization, now marking its 80th anniversary, into an unprecedented realignment of its 140-plus institutions, including UNICEF and UNHCR. Job security was a luxury few felt.
“Because you’ve never been hungry,” the man stated, his gaze distant. He then offered a slight, almost melancholic smile. “Oh, let me introduce myself. I’m Franz. I worked in the peace division. But that’s all for today.”
“Are you retiring?” Elena asked, pouring her coffee into a paper cup, the steam rising like a question mark.
“Yeah. I’ve been working for world peace for 20 years. That’s enough,” Franz replied, a weariness in his voice that belied his composed demeanor. “When I was young, I was going to use the UN to gain a career like you.”
Elena remained silent, absorbing his words, the implications of his departure in the context of the impending 2027 restructuring. The task force was already reviewing organizations under seven clusters, including development, peace and security, and human rights – his very division.
“But one day in my late twenties, after experiencing something in the Middle East, my way of thinking changed,” Franz continued, his eyes now fixed on some unseen point beyond the window.
“What happened?” Elena asked, taking a careful sip of her bitter coffee, the warmth a stark contrast to the chill in the air.
Franz’s voice dropped, becoming almost a whisper. “One afternoon, gunshots rang out outside the local office. The guards yelled at people not to go outside, but I could see outside through a gap in the tent. A girl with explosives wrapped around her torso was lying on the ground. She had come to carry out a suicide bombing, and was shot to death. The suicide bomber was still a child.”
Elena noticed the man’s eyes were wet, a glint of unshed tears.
“Yes,” Franz murmured, his voice thick with emotion, “the eyes of the child who lay dead were looking into mine.”
Elena slowly placed her paper cup on the table, the bitter coffee momentarily forgotten.
“And then I realized,” Franz concluded, his voice regaining a quiet strength, “I won’t work for the UN. I’ve decided to fight the evil that torments people as a human being.”
The silence that followed was profound, broken only by the distant city hum and the gentle gurgle of the coffee machine. Elena looked at Franz, a man who had dedicated two decades to an ideal, now choosing a different path, his personal conviction forged in the crucible of a child’s tragic gaze. The UN was facing its own crucible, a forced realignment, but Franz’s words echoed a deeper, more personal restructuring – a realignment of purpose that transcended institutional mandates.
All names of people and organizations appearing in this story are pseudonyms
UN to reduce staff by 20%, mull realignment as US cuts funding
Comments