Pathway to the Gavel, Part Two

By: Vikram Abraham
University of California at Santa Barbara '13
 
Grow a pair.
Those three simple words will transform you into the biggest nation in the room, whether you be a male or female, the United States or Swaziland. It is a piece of advice that I, in my earlier years as a wee lad, heard often after making mistakes and never took seriously until attending Berkeley MUN.
I was in the Crisis Simulation, and happened to be simulating the President of Iran, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. My Iranian Cabinet happened to be squaring off against the Israeli Cabinet, and we employed numerous sleight of hand tactics in order to win our "diplomatic" war against them, including utilizing Hezbollah to launch a dirty bomb in Tel Aviv. Oh, the Lebanese.
However, we were losing. And losing badly, at that. The United States continued to fund the Israelis, and what did we have? Bickering tribes and two fallen states - Iraq and Afghanistan - as well as contradicting advice from the "Ayatollah," aka, one of the crisis directors. My cabinet frustrated, the Middle East in shambles, and sitting in a room staring down a gavel-monger representing my Israeli counterpart in a room filled with the Security Council, I was, naturally, panicking. And panicking hard, at that.
After the gavel-monger gave a rabble-rousing speech that included many facts about Israel's population and GDP, as well as using words like "plethora" and "synergy," I realized that we were completely screwed. I thought back to advice I had heard from veteran MUNers, as well as a close contemporary of mine, who I'll simply call "Jon." His advice stuck out the most, and it was three simple words:
Grow a pair.
I stood up, looked at my trembling hand, which was clutching a paper filled with notes about Palestinian injustice and Arab nationalism, and threw it down. Calmly, I raised my fist in the air, moved away from the podium, and began to yell.
"Let me begin by saying one thing, and one thing only: The Holocaust did not exist!"
The uproar was deafening. There were smirks and chuckles, but also glances of horror from everyone in the room - including some from my own cabinet. I kept at it, however, and delivered a speech that continuously denied the Holocaust and casually mentioned a vow to eradicate Israel from the map.
I won an Outstanding, leaving me disappointed at the time. However, looking back on it now, I realize that it was the pinnacle of my MUN career - my own personal gavel. Every speech I gave after that paled in comparison, much like a first kiss; all other kisses after are but shadows of the first. 
Undo your tie. Take off your belt. Pound your fist on the podium. Demand that justice be granted to your words. Stir the debate. Punch a hole in the wall. Slap your chair across the face, or hit on your chair.
And, for God's sake, grow a pair.