The 60-year-old United Nations complex, which almost entirely lacks sprinklers, blastproof windows, and many essentials of contemporary diplomatic architecture, does have lots of one amenity that its designers considered indispensable: ashtrays. In the lobby of the U.N.’s most visible building, the Secretariat tower, lovingly designed geometric cigarette receptacles protrude from green marble walls. In the great public rooms, pairs of vinyl-covered chairs are joined by steel bowls that haven’t seen ash in years.
The original trinity of U.N. buildings—the Secretariat, the low-slung swoop of the General Assembly, and the boxy conference building—is a decaying time machine. Rain seeps around ancient windows and leaches asbestos from crumbling ducts. Cumbersome fire doors break up the once-flowing hallways. An improvised tent for metal detectors vitiates any sense of grandeur in the approach. Where once the architecture promised a more perfect world, now it has clearly seen better days.
Renovation has begun.
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