Diary of a Microphone

By Diva Doshi (Del of Al Jazeera)

Entry 1: Before the silence

I was never the loudest thing in the room. No one applauded me. No one even looked at me twice. They adjusted my height, tapped me to check if I was working, and expected me to do one thing: fill the room with their voice. That was what everyone expected me to do.For years, I had listened as delegates spoke into me, negotiated through me and debated promises they would either keep or forget. I had learned that words could start wars just as easily as they could end them.

This committee was no different, as the delegates entered the floor with shoulders pushed back ready to quote something spectacular. Every delegate believed they had arrived with the answer. Every delegate believed they were here to defend peace.

Then the first speech began.The room transformed. The air grew heavier with every argument, every rebuttal, and every carefully chosen word. Some delegates spoke of justice while others spoke of sovereignty. A few spoke as though history itself stood behind them. I simply listened because microphones never choose a side. We remember every voice equally. 

I didn't know it then, but before this day was over, I would witness a speech that history would never get to hear.

Entry 2: When words became weapons 

The first voice I carried that evening belonged to the Delegate of Boko Haram. There was no hesitation, no apology, only conviction. The delegate defended the organisation's actions, arguing that they were necessary in pursuit of a larger cause. 

The committee, however, refused to let those words pass unchallenged. The Delegate of Senegal immediately raised their placard, quoting and questioning the delegate on the phrase she stated, “Boko Haram had kidnapped children," with complete confidence the delegate of Senegal scrutinised Boko Haram, raising the question, "How can the kidnapping of children ever be justified?"

The atmosphere in the committee shifted almost instantly. What had begun as a series of prepared speeches transformed into a room buzzing with urgency and unanswered questions. Placards shot into the air from every corner as delegates competed for recognition, each determined to challenge the Delegate of Boko Haram. The spotlight remained fixed on the floor, and with every new intervention, the pressure mounted. The delegate of Boko Haram found herself at the centre of the committee's attention,  responding to an unrelenting stream of probing questions while murmurs rippled through the room and pens raced across notepads. 

Entry 3: Two Sides, One War

No voice leaves this committee unanswered, as the room slowly settled, another delegate had stepped forward, The United States. The tone was unwavering,”Terrorism,” the delegate argued, “had stolen millions of lives, turned children into instruments of violence, and exploited women as suicide bombers.” While the speech went on The United States defended its role in combating extremism; pointing to humanitarian aid; counterterrorism operations; and continued support for democratic institutions across affected regions.However in this committee, every voice invited another challenge.

The Delegate of Boko Haram was quick to respond, arguing that American interventions had also claimed innocent lives and questioning whether military action could ever be separated from its human cost. The debate no longer centred on who opposed terrorism, instead it became a battle over whose actions carried the heavier consequences. 

Although I carried each voice across the chamber at the same volume, each thought they echoed louder than the rest. Everyone claimed to fight for peace. No one could agree on the path to it.

Entry 4: Dead Air

There are moments when a room becomes so silent that it feels deafening. This was one of them. The committee doors opened, and every conversation came to an abrupt halt as the United Nations Secretary General walked towards me with an air of certainty that no delegate before him had carried. His hands steady, his phone before him, as he leaned closer, and for the first time that day, every eye in the room looked in the same direction. Then he spoke.

“For eleven years,” he claimed, “terrorist groups had not survived on ideology alone. They had been sustained by hidden hands, governments, corporations, and powerful interests willing to trade lives for influence.”  He spoke of secret payments, concealed partnerships, and records that would expose those responsible. Every sentence seemed heavier than the last, as he continued,"I have every payment. Every record. Every name..."

The committee froze with their jaws touching the floor. Pens stopped moving. Placards slowly lowered. No one interrupted; No one whispered; No one’s eyes left the Secretary General. It was as if the room itself was holding its breath, waiting for what truths were about to be revealed. It never came.

A deafening crack shattered the silence. The Secretary General collapsed before another word could leave his lips. He dropped to the floor, and everyone was in utter dismay. For a heartbeat, nobody moved. Then came the chaos.

Chairs scraped violently across the floor. Delegates rose in disbelief. Voices that had moments before debated policy now called out in confusion. Some searched the room. Others stared at the podium, unable to process what had unfolded before their eyes. However they were all too late, as the assassin had already disappeared; lost among the very crowd that had gathered to witness the speech. 

Only one message remained behind."The Garretos send their regards."

I had carried out thousands of speeches, some of which inspired hope, others that sparked conflict, but this...this was the first speech I had ever recorded that was silenced before it could become history.