Picture this:

You’re in a committee at Indraprastha MUN. The air feels heavy, every speech sounds like the last, and you’ve already started doodling on your notepad, waiting for the clock to move faster. Just as the delegate of Montenegro, or maybe Nitin Gadkari in a Parliament simulation, rises to deliver another grand speech filled with quotes and conventions, you sigh, already predicting the outcome. A few nods, polite applause, and then back to the slow rhythm.

Then the doors swing open. The Crisis Director steps in with a slip of paper and a
mischievous smile. The room freezes. “Breaking news: nationwide student protests have erupted. Schools shut. Tensions boiling. Violence spreading.”

Gasps ripple across the room. Pens drop. Suddenly, all the binders and carefully
memorized lines dissolve into nothing. The ground has shifted, and everyone, even the
most confident speakers, is on the same uncertain footing.

This is where the storm begins. The nervousness lifts, the monotony disappears, and the
committee comes alive. It is no longer about who can sound the smartest. It is about who
can act the fastest, who dares to take risks, who sees the opportunity before anyone else.
Maybe you draft the first directive to calm the chaos. Maybe you flip the debate with a
single unexpected proposal. In that moment, you are not just another delegate. You are at
the center of the story.

And the best part?

There are no boundaries. You can rewrite history, forge secret
alliances, or build a movement out of nothing. Every choice you make has the power
to shape what happens next. That is the essence of a Crisis Committee. The predictable is replaced with the dramatic, and chaos becomes your canvas. So when the next crisis update lands, will you
watch events unfold, or will you be the one to change the game?

What Is a Crisis Committee?

Most people walk into MUN conferences expecting the usual routine, countries debating,
drafting resolutions, and voting. BUT, a crisis committee throws that routine straight

out the window. One minute you’re calmly debating trade, the next you’re told that your
head of state has been assassinated or your economy has collapsed. If the EB is feeling
extra dramatic, you might even be negotiating with aliens.

Crisis committees are designed to catch you off guard. They don’t just test how well you
know your foreign policy, but how fast you can think when the floor starts shaking. Real
diplomacy works the same way, leaders rarely get neat, predictable problems with
ready-made answers. The question in a crisis committee is simple but brutal: when chaos
hits without warning, can you keep your head cool and make it work to your advantage

Crisis Committees: Perfect Combinations of Spontaneity,
Diplomacy, and Problem-Solving

A good crisis delegate isn’t the one with the loudest speech, it’s the one who can juggle
three skills at once:

● Spontaneity: In a crisis, you don’t get the luxury of long prep time. News drops
mid-debate, and you have seconds to react. Blink too long and your bloc could
crumble before you even draft a sentence
● Diplomacy: Forget permanent enemies or allies. In a crisis, loyalties flip faster
than a Netflix thriller. The delegate you roasted ten minutes ago might be the only
person who can bail you out now. Being able to negotiate, compromise, and
rebuild trust on the fly is survival 101.
● Problem-Solving: Every twist is basically a puzzle in disguise. The best
delegates aren’t just dramatic, they’re practical. They know how to patch
immediate fires while laying down a plan that lasts beyond the next twist.
At its heart, a crisis committee rewards the rare mix of a cool head and a sharp tongue,
people who can turn pure chaos into something that looks like strategy.

The Fun Mechanics of a Crisis: Frontroom, Backroom, Directives, and Updates
What makes a crisis committee addictive isn’t just the chaos, it’s the clever little
mechanics that keep the story alive. These aren’t boring technical details; they’re the
tools that let you bend the storyline, outsmart your rivals, and leave your mark on the
game.

● Frontroom: This is the stage everyone sees, the speeches, the alliances, the drama. It’s
where you flex your diplomacy, deliver zingers, and rally support. In the frontroom,
words are your weapons and attention is your currency.
● Backroom: If the frontroom is the theatre, the backroom is the director’s booth. Here,
you’re whispering orders to the Crisis Team through private notes: secret military strikes,
shady backdoor deals, covert propaganda campaigns. It’s the playground of quiet
strategists who don’t need the spotlight to dominate the storyline.
● Directives: Think of directives as instant power plays. No long, wordy resolutions.
Just a crisp order and boom something changes. You could be deploying troops before
lunch, freezing bank accounts by tea, and starting peace talks before dinner. Directives
keep the game moving at lightning speed.
● Updates: These are the curveballs. The Crisis Director walks in with a “creepy” smile
and suddenly, the entire committee flips upside down. A protest erupts. A leader is
assassinated. The stock market crashes. Updates are what keep you awake, because the
ground can shift at any second.

Together, these mechanics turn crisis into something way bigger than just debate. You’re
not just a delegate giving speeches, you’re writing the script as you go. Every move
counts, every risk has consequences, and every update makes the game more
unpredictable than the last.

From Globe to Galli: International Crises vs National
Dramas. Crisis committees usually come in two flavors, and trust me, they are not alike.

● International Crisis: Imagine sitting in a global war room. You’re not just
debating, you’re deciding whether countries go to war, from surprise alliances, or
crash the world economy with a single directive. Every word you say could
change the fate of millions. The scale is huge, and the drama is equally massive.
● National Crisis: Now shrink the map down to one country, but turn the intensity
up. Here you might be a cabinet minister, a party leader, or even part of a rebel
faction. The fights are closer, sharper, and way more personal. You’re not just
shaping policy, you’re fighting for survival, because one shady backroom deal can
flip entire storyline against you.

Think of it like this: International crisis are like playing chess with the world map, while
national crisis are like playing poker in a smoke-filled room where everyone’s bluffing
and plotting at the same time. Both are addictive, one gives you the thrill of managing
global chaos, the other drops you right in the middle of domestic power struggles that can
turn “MUN buddies” into enemies in minutes

Crisis Committees Don’t Do Real-Time

One of the quirkiest features of crisis committees is the time jump. While a conventional
committee crawls at a steady pace, crisis committees hit the fast-forward button
whenever the Executive Board feels the plot needs spice. Hours , weeks, even years can
pass in a blink of a note, and suddenly, that “harmless” directive you passed yesterday has
set off a coup, tanked the economy, or accidentally started World War III.
The beauty of time jumps is how they mess with predictability. Delegates aren’t just
reacting to what’s happening now; they’re playing long-term strategy in a setting where
the future is never fully stable. It’s like playing chess while the board keeps changing
shape, the move you thought was genius in the present might turn into disaster when the
clock skips five years forward

This also means your decisions echo. Quick, flashy solutions might give you claps in the
committee room, but during the next jump, they could unravel and expose the flaws you
didn’t think through. On the flip side, patient, forward-thinking planning, even if it
doesn’t look dramatic in the moment, can make you the hero of the story once the plot
advances.

Time jumps make crisis committees less like a debate and more like a living storyline. It
feels part Game of Thrones (alliances can crumble overnight), part Risk (one
miscalculation can redraw the map), and part Inception (you’re always three steps deep
in planning for what comes next). And that’s the thrill: not just surviving the present, but
shaping the future in ways no conventional committee will ever let you try.

Why Crisis > Conventional (and It’s Not Even Close)
Crisis isn’t everybody’s cup of tea, but if you like your diplomacy spiked with adrenaline,
It’s unbeatable. Let’s be real: conventional committees have their charm. You research, you give
speeches, you draft resolutions. It’s structured, it’s safe, it’s… predictable.
Crisis, though, is a whole different Beast. It’s where debate meets drama, and where
your choices can actually rewrite the storyline. Here’s why it beats conventional MUNs
any day:

• Creativity > Copy-Paste Research
In conventional committees, memorising articles and past resolutions gets you far. In
crisis, that won’t cut it. You need creativity, quick thinking, bold ideas, and the courage to
try something no one else saw coming.

• Initiative > Playing It Safe
You can’t hide in crisis. If you sit back, the story moves on without you. The delegates
who shine are the ones who take initiative, push directives, and shape events instead of
reacting to them.

• Real Diplomacy > Mock Diplomacy
The real world doesn’t hand leaders neat blocks of time to draft documents. Crises are
messy, alliances shift in minutes, and decisions are made with limited information. Crisis
committees mirror that reality, and teach you how to thrive in it.
At the end of the day, conventional committees test how much you’ve read. Crisis
committees test how much you can do. And honestly? That difference is everything.

In a conventional committee, you debate, draft, and vote. Important stuff, indeed. But in
crisis, you don’t talk about history, you bend it. You don’t just watch events unfold.