Read My Pins
Stories from a Diplomat’s Jewel Box
Madeleine Albright
with
Elaine Shocas, Vivienne Becker, and Bill Woodward
Photography by John Bigelow Taylor
Photography Composition by Dianne Dubler
The United States Capitol, Monet.
See a pin, pick it up,
And all day you’ll have good luck.
See a pin, let it lay,
And your luck will pass away.
—Nursery Rhyme
Table of Contents
Epigraph
Introduction by David Revere McFadden
Chief Curator, Museum of Arts and Design, New York
I. The Serpent’s Tale
II. Wings
III. Body Language
IV. “It Would Be an Honor”
Pindex
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
Victory Knot, Verdura.
The Great Seal of the United States book locket and pin, Ann Hand.
Asymmetrical gold heart, Erwin Pearl
red heart and bow, Ann Hand
bejeweled heart, designer unknown
sparkling red heart, Ann Hand
interlocking hearts, Swarovski
purple heart, D.M. Lee
hammered metal heart, Omega
rhinestone bombé heart, designer unknown.
With deep appreciation to St. John Knits for its support of the book and to Bren Simon for her support of the exhibition.
This book is published in conjunction with the exhibition “Read My Pins: The Madeleine Albright Collection” organized by the Museum of Arts and Design, New York. After being shown at the Museum, the exhibition will tour to selected venues in the United States and around the world.
Gold ginkgo leaf, designer unknown
silver ginkgo leaf, designer unknown
copper ginkgo leaf, Beauvoir, the National Cathedral Elementary School
gold-stemmed ginkgo leaf, Fabrice.
INTRODUCTION
In Six Memos for the Next Millennium, the great Italian short story–writer Italo Calvino recounts the legend of how the emperor Charlemagne was enchanted by a gold ring. Whoever or whatever possessed the ring held the power of bewitchment, from a deceased maiden to an archbishop and, ultimately, the lake into which the ring was cast. This small piece of jewelry took on magical powers, becoming “an outward and visible sign that reveals the connection between people or between events.” In addition to conveying information about the wearer—her or his status, finances, and affinities—jewelry has an impressive power to establish links among people, places, and events. Madeleine Albright’s pins are nothing if not eloquent and often provocative communicators.
Secretary Albright’s pins cannot be described as a collection in any traditional sense. Collectors usually set out with specific goals in mind as to what they intend to acquire and how they will secure the objects of desire, whether they be paintings, stamps, butterflies, or grandfather clocks. By contrast, Secretary Albright’s collection has grown organically over the years in response to the changing circumstances and opportunities of her life and career. This is a collection that has been amplified and enriched by the events that have engaged their owner, providing a visible record of past experiences and future hopes.
There is a delightful randomness and whimsy to the pins that make up this highly personal assemblage. Sought out in settings ranging from jewelry stores and art galleries to airport souvenir stands and the booths of craft fair vendors, they first spoke to Secretary Albright, asking (sometimes demanding) to be included in her trove of wearable images. Their value as communication devices once recognized, they were then inducted into service as diplomatic aides; sometimes demure and understated, sometimes outlandish and outspoken, they became gentle implements of statecraft.
Alert Lady, Brit Svenni/Berit Kowalski. According to the designers, “One eye is extra watchful as Madeleine Albright is always alert to the world’s problems.”
The pins reveal a rich diversity of motifs and images. Angels, stars, balloons, American flags, and spaceships are juxtaposed with a menagerie of birds, bees, beetles, butterflies, fish, frogs, turtles, and snakes. A variety of garden flowers, sentimental hearts and bows, and mementos of specific events and holidays round out the collection.
Jewelry buffs typically focus their attention on the preciousness of the materials from which an item is made—gold, silver, rubies, or diamonds—or on the virtuosity of the craftsmanship revealed in its design. Secretary Albright’s pins, however, are for the most part unremarkable in their monetary value and, except for some pieces of antique or fine jewelry, likely to be by anonymous designers, and fabricated from materials ranging from base metals to plastics and glass. Rhinestones and crystal take the lead roles over diamonds, electroplating over solid gold.
Of modest intent and manufacture, Secretary Albright’s pins are of a kind that anyone could possess and wear. These are truly “pins of the people,” and part of Secretary Albright’s pleasure in wearing the pins must come from her recognition of their democratic nature. To assemble so notable a collection of pins takes something much more elusive and significant than money—it takes a magical combination of a collector’s eye, which can spot and home in on its target, and an ability to recognize the communicative potential of what might be deemed ordinary things. Through her pins, Secretary Albright tells us a great deal about herself—her sense of humor and her humanity—and does so with grace and flair.
It is especially gratifying to know that this delightful collection, with its engaging history and purpose, can be shared with so many through this publication and the memorable exhibition it accompanies.
David Revere McFadden
Chief Curator, Museum of Arts and Design, New York
Black rhinestone butterfly, Ann Hand
green and coral butterfly, Kenneth Jay Lane
blue butterfly, designer unknown
light blue rhinestone butterfly, Ciner
blue enamel butterfly, designer unknown
large silver butterfly, Christian Dior
gold butterfly, Cécile et Jeanne
lattice filigree butterfly, Caviar
opal butterfly, Tiny Jewel Box
pearl butterfly, Kenneth Jay Lane
gold butterfly and wreath, Miriam Haskell
amber butterfly, designer unknown
green and violet butterfly, Modital Bijoux
rhinestone butterfly, José & María Barrera
silver and blue butterfly, designer unknown
gray rhinestone butterfly, Ciner.
The pin that began it all. Serpent, designer unknown.
I. The Serpent’s Tale
The idea of using pins as a diplomatic tool is not found in any State Department manual or in any text chronicling American foreign policy. The truth is that it would never have happened if not for Saddam Hussein.
During President Bill Clinton’s first term (1993–1997), I served as America’s ambassador to the United Nations. This was the period following the first Persian Gulf War, when a U.S.-led coalition rolled back Iraq’s invasion of neighboring Kuwait. As part of the settlement, Iraq was required to accept UN inspections and to provide full disclosure about its nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons programs.
TIMOTHY CLARY/GETTY IMAGES
Voting in the UN Security Council. That is the serpent pin on my jacket.
When Saddam Hussein refused to comply, I had the temerity to criticize him. The government-controlled Iraqi press responded by publishing a poem entitled “To Madeleine Albright, Without Greetings.” The author, in the opening verse, establishes the mood: “Albright, Albright, all right, all right, you are the worst in this night.” He then conjures up an arresting visual image: “Albright, no one can block the road to Jerusalem with a frigate, a ghost, or an elephant.” Now thoroughly warmed up, the poet refers to me as an “unmatched clamor-maker” and an “unparalleled serpent.”
In October 1994, soon after the poem was published, I was scheduled to meet with Iraqi officials. What to wear?
Years earlier, I had purchased a pin in the image of a serpent. I’m not sure why, because I loathe snakes. I shudder when I see one slithering through the grass on my farm in Virginia. Still, when I came across the serpent pin in a favorite shop in Washington, D.C., I couldn’t resist. It’s a small piece, showing the reptile coiled around a branch, a tiny diamond hanging from its mouth.
While preparing to meet the Iraqis, I remembered the pin and decided to wear it. I didn’t consider the gesture a big deal and doubted that the Iraqis even made the connection. However, upon leaving the meeting, I encountered a member of the UN press corps who was familiar with the poem; she asked why I had chosen to wear that particular pin. As the television cameras zoomed in on the brooch, I smiled and said that it was just my way of sending a message.
A second pin, this of a blue bird, reinforced my approach. As with the snake pin, I had purchased it because of its intrinsic appeal, without any extraordinary use in mind. Until the twenty-fourth of February 1996, I wore the pin with the bird’s head soaring upward. On the afternoon of that tragic day, Cuban fighter pilots shot down two unarmed civilian aircraft over international waters between Cuba and Florida. Three American citizens and one legal resident were killed. The Cubans knew they were attacking civilian planes yet gave no warning, and in the official transcripts they boasted about destroying the cojones of their victims.
RICHARD DREW/ASSOCIATED PRESS
Blue bird, Anton Lachmann.
RICHARD DREW/ASSOCIATED PRESS
I used blunt words to express anger and sadness when, in 1996, airplanes carrying four Cuban-American fliers were shot down off the coast of Florida. My blue bird pin reflected my mood.
At a press conference, I denounced both the crime and the perpetrators. I was especially angered by the macho celebration at the time of the killings. “This is not cojones,” I said, “it is cowardice.” To illustrate my feelings, I wore the bird pin with its head pointing down, in mourning for the free-spirited Cuban-American fliers. Because my comment departed from the niceties of normal diplomatic discourse, it caused an uproar in New York and Washington; for the same reason, it was welcomed in Miami. As a rule, I prefer polite talk, but there are moments when only plain speaking will do.
COURTESY OF PRESIDENT GEORGE H.W. BUSH
My first trip as secretary of state was to Texas, where I was greeted warmly by former President George H.W. Bush and Barbara Bush at their Houston home. In the background is Millie, their pet springer spaniel, author of Millie’s Book: As Dictated to Barbara Bush, a 1991 best-seller. My pin, hard to see, is an eagle with a pearl.
Before long, and without intending it, I found that jewelry had become part of my personal diplomatic arsenal. Former President George H.W. Bush had been known for saying, “Read my lips.” I began urging colleagues and reporters to “Read my pins.”
While teaching at Georgetown University, I tell my students that the purpose of foreign policy is to persuade others to do what we want or, better yet, to want what we want. To accomplish this, a president or secretary of state has a range of tools that includes military force at one end of the spectrum and words of reason at the other. In between are such instruments as diplomacy, economic sanctions, foreign aid, and trade. Compared to these, the brooch or pin may seem trivial.
COURTESY OF PRESIDENT GEORGE H.W. BUSH
Sun, Steinmetz Diamonds.
I do not claim too much, but I do believe the right symbol at the correct time can add warmth or needed edge to a relationship. A foreign dignitary standing alongside me at a press conference would be happier to see a bright, shining sun attached to my jacket than a menacing wasp. I felt it worthwhile, moreover, to inject an element of humor and spice into the diplomatic routine. The world has had its share of power ties; the time seemed right for the mute eloquence of pins with attitude.
Crystal fly, Christian Dior;
green and blue rhinestone bees, Ciner;
turquoise bee, Walter Lampl;
golden bee, St. John Knits.
Pins need not cost a king’s or queen’s ransom to be fun. These gifts from a friend were less than three dollars each. Leopard and reptile print purses, AJMC; Ruby Slippers, AJC;
other designers unknown.
Petit Oiseau, Jacqueline Lecarme.
Because many of my predecessors had beards and none was known to wear a skirt, my use of pins to send a message was something new in American diplomacy. The role of jewelry in world affairs, however, began in ancient times. Throughout history, jewelry has played a supporting role in the rise and fall of empires. Although I might display to the world my less-than-extravagant pins, the global audience has long gaped in amazement at the stunning ornamentation of royal necks, waists, wrists, arms, and ankles—and at the accompanying crowns, thrones, scepters, and swords. To the victor go the spoils, and often those spoils have glistened with the radiance of diamonds or the soft glow of emeralds.
Although monarchs typically tried to hoard their treasure, the demands of politics often prompted them to make use of it. Early diplomatic practices included the exchange of ornamental gifts between one head of state and another, the gift of jewelry to cement marriages that brought two nations into alliance, and the flaunting of riches for the purpose of engendering awe.
FRANCESCO TREVISANI/ART RESOURCE
Laurel wreath, designer unknown.
Consider, for example, the story of one of the first international power couples: Marc Antony and Queen Cleopatra. According to the near-contemporary account of Pliny the Elder, Cleopatra wagered with Antony that she could spend an extravagant amount of wealth on a single dinner. He accepted the bet. The following night, she served a meal of conventional dishes, to which he responded with triumphant disdain. Smiling at the vanity of her Roman suitor, Cleopatra ordered the next course to be brought in: a single cup of strong vinegar. Deftly removing one of her priceless pearl earrings, the queen dropped it into the vinegar, causing the gem to dissolve.
FRANCESCO TREVISANI/ART RESOURCE
Antony and Cleopatra at table. The pearl is about to drop. The Banquet of Marc Antony and Cleopatra, by Francesco Trevisani (1656–1746).
Byzantine shield, Ilias Lalaounis
circle of pearls, Craft.
A millennium later and several thousand miles to the north, a less elegant effort to connect the fates of two kingdoms was attempted. Olaf Tryggvason, the warrior king of Norway, set out to woo Sigrid, the comely queen of Sweden. Both had had previous romantic entanglements. Olaf had murdered a local rival named Iron Beard, claiming his victim’s daughter for a wife. The daughter, displeased with the arrangement, spoiled the honeymoon by stabbing Olaf in bed. Divorce ensued. For her part, Sigrid had grown weary of two boorish suitors. One night, she allowed the duo to drink themselves into unconsciousness before locking the beer hall and torching the building. Thereafter, the queen was known as Sigrid the Strong-minded.
Bird with pearl, Bettina von Walhof.
The betrothal of Olaf and Sigrid made sense diplomatically at a time and in a region where those without allies rarely prospered. Thus the queen was willing and the king eager enough to send his prospective bride a beautiful gold ring. Sigrid’s fancy, though, was of the type bred more in head than in heart. She promptly sent the ring to her goldsmiths for appraisal. The experts had only to lift the obje
ct to know there was something rotten in Norway; sure enough, the gold band on the outside concealed copper on the inside. In diplomacy, as in love, cheapskates rarely prosper. Olaf’s ring was rejected, and Sigrid married the king of Denmark.
Castle, LJ.
Indian elephant, DeNicola.
From early times, the rulers of India were encouraged to accumulate stockpiles of jewels to enhance their reputations and to outpace potential rivals. They did so not only through taxation but also through wars of conquest, supported by plunder. It is unsurprising, therefore, that the word “loot” is derived from a Hindi verb (lūt). When, in 1293, a Venetian traveler visited the king of Malabar in southern India, he found a man so wealthy that even his loincloth (set with emeralds, sapphires, and rubies) was worth a fortune. During the Mogul Empire, the men in a maharaja’s court wore ornate necklaces, bracelets, and rings; the court’s horses and elephants were outfitted with golden tassels and helmets, jewel-laden saddles and anklets, and—in the case of elephants—gold bands around their tusks.
Such wealth did not go unnoticed by foreign visitors. The capitals of Renaissance Europe possessed dazzling assets but lacked one vital ingredient: an indigenous source of gems. The desire to establish a reliable supply line was a major contributor to the Age of Exploration. Christopher Columbus sailed west in search of the mysterious East, inspired by his heavily annotated copy of Marco Polo’s journal, which promised mighty palaces “all roofed with the finest gold.” Though he discovered no golden roofs, Columbus nevertheless thought he had reached Asia; sailors less eager for a shortcut actually did. Guiding their fleets around the Cape of Good Hope, these merchant adventurers established their presence along India’s coast.
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