It was vintage Bongo. He had long practice in inclusion as a means of disarming his opposition and ultimately co-opting, another form of dividing and conquering. He was all for democracy, as long as he remained in the presidential palace, above challenge. As we made our way into dinner, he winked at me, pleased with the way the discussion had gone.
Regrettably, Obiang did not heed Bongo’s advice, which even came with a healthy dose of financial support. It took Bongo a long time to forgive Obiang. He referred to it often when we met, inevitably shaking his head in disappointment.
Later at dinner, I sat next to Obiang’s foreign minister, who railed against Ambassador Bennett. The chief complaint was that John liked to jog through the red-light district in Malabo in the middle of the night, wearing shorts with a pistol tucked in the waistband. While the minister feigned worry about John’s security, his comments were clearly designed to smear him. I did not rise to the bait. I told the minister that it sounded rather dangerous to me. After all, what would happen to poor John if the gun went off?
In the middle of 1995, Bongo became mired in something of a sex scandal. He patronized a tailor out of Paris, an Italian named Francesco Smalto, whose high-class clientele included many of the elite in Africa and the Middle East. When Smalto’s tailors traveled to measure their clients, they brought more than swatches of fabric with them. Smalto also provided expensive European call girls to his customers.
French authorities had broken up Smalto’s prostitution ring in the mid-1990s and were prosecuting. Bongo’s name figured most prominently, something he considered to be a racist attack because a number of prominent Arab and North African leaders were implicated as clients as well, though not as publicly. “They go after me because I am a black African,” he told me.
When the news of the scandal broke, I immediately called Bongo at home to tell him how sorry I was, as a friend, that this sort of gossip was being given such prominent play in the French newspapers. (It never hurt to get in a dig at the French.) The whole affair, I pointed out to him the next day, gave him good reason hereafter to buy his suits from the United States instead of from disreputable Parisian tailors. Bongo, by then, had recovered his good humor and observed that anybody who knew him understood that he did not like blondes. “Brunettes, oui, blondes, non.” Actually, most people who knew him knew that he liked women, period.
By the end of my tour in the middle of 1995, we had had a big impact on Gabon’s human rights practices, respect for the rule of law, and despite the fact that the presidential elections had not gone as well as we would have liked, political life in Libreville was lively and even combative, including direct and often vicious criticism of the president and his government.
We had also made considerable progress in creating opportunities for American investors. We were never going to supplant the French, but commercial competition was a good thing—for us, for the Gabonese, and, frankly, for the French themselves. Their interests were too often blinded by the political necessity of pandering to parochial monopolistic interests, which had the result of harming their relationships with countries such as the United States. The Gabonese benefited from having more trade partners, and additional American investment gave us real reason to care about the future of the country and our relations with it.
After the elections, L’Événement du Jeudi reported that French President Mitterrand’s senior adviser on Africa, Bruno Delaye, and our embassy Africa-watcher in Paris had met to discuss the Dominici allegation and that Delaye was reassured we were not involved with the radio station.
Mitterrand had long taken a keen interest in African affairs: he viewed Africa rather like a fiefdom and worried about American inroads. Still, our Africa-watcher had a good relationship with Delaye, and when the two of them had compared the different versions of the same meeting, Delaye realized that his ambassador had misstated the facts. L’Événement du Jeudi, later reported that Dominici traveled to Paris several months after the elections in Gabon to meet with Delaye, only to find himself accused, essentially, of lying. Shortly thereafter, in April 1994, Louis Dominici, the self-described “grand ambassadeur,” received his onward assignment. After a dozen years in Gabon, a plum posting for senior French diplomats, he was dispatched to Tirana, Albania.
I could not have been more pleased, after all the dirty tricks Dominici had played at my expense. I called Washington to report the welcome news and spoke slowly so the French intelligence services that routinely tapped our telephone lines would transcribe every word and, I hoped, share them with Dominici. After all, I did so want him to know how pleased I was that he was being sent to a country with which the United States and much of the Western world had had no diplomatic relationship for close to forty years.
Over the years, I have noticed that most people outside the diplomatic trade think of ambassadors as genteel and urbane government functionaries. But, in fact, we are capable of being extremely protective of our national and personal interests, fierce when we see them under threat, and savoring of victory when we best a rival in another embassy. In short, we are as human as the next guy.
I left Africa doubting that I would ever return to live there again. I had no intention of remaining in the Foreign Service any longer than necessary to qualify for my retirement, which was just a few years off. There were other things I wanted to do in life, and I had already accomplished far more than I had ever expected I would in my diplomatic career. For the remaining years before my retirement, I was going to look for new and different experiences. I had done my time in embassies, in jobs from the lowest of the low to the highest. I had been in hot wars and I had fought the Cold War where that war was hot, in Africa, and where the adversary often spoke French, not Russian. I had the diplomatic scars on my back to show for it. But at least I had never been posted to Tirana, Albania, not yet anyway.
Chapter Ten
Diplomats and Generals
AMBASSADORIAL TOURS ARE LIMITED to three years except on rare occasions, and as much as I might have wanted to stay in Libreville for another year or two, my time there was drawing to a close. It was a pity, as I would have enjoyed more time among the Gabonese, especially because they had finally accepted me into their world.
A reserved people, the Gabonese are wary of foreigners and somewhat aloof. Therefore, my last year there was a breakthrough, as Gabonese from all social and political strata—for whom it is a highly unusual sign of friendship to invite a foreigner into their homes—frequently invited me into theirs. I found myself at weddings, funerals, and intimate gatherings, dining on traditional Gabonese food, and meeting family and friends. It was a welcome conclusion to a fascinating experience with a society that was in the throes of a transition from the traditional to the modern and from a tribal political structure, with its chiefs, to a more representative system including governmental checks and balances.
For all the problems and the irregularities in the presidential election of 1993, which the French had shuttered prematurely, the Gabonese had made considerable progress. Omar Bongo was largely benign in his despotism, tolerating opposition, criticism, and even satire that was quite insulting. There was enough liquidity in the political system from the oil revenues to grease the process and ensure that the fights did not spill out into the streets, except at election time. Bongo was a master at co-opting his opposition—his principal presidential opponent, whose home had been leveled by artillery shells in 1993, was elected, with Bongo’s tacit support, as the mayor of Libreville less than two years later.
Since the United States Congress passed the Goldwater-Nichols Defense Reorganization Act in 1986, the American military has been organized into two sorts of commands, regional and functional, resulting in closer cooperation among the services and delegation of considerable authority to the commanders in chief (CINC) of the commands. The European Command, created in the aftermath of World War II to defend Western Europe from attack by the Warsaw Pact countries, is the granddaddy of these command
s. The CINC of European Command also serves as the NATO supreme commander, a position first held by General Dwight D. Eisenhower from 1951 until he ran for president the following year.
Each of the five geographic CINCs has a political adviser, normally appointed from among the ranks of former ambassadors. The European Command (EUCOM) is also responsible for U.S. military relations with ninety-three countries from eastern Europe to South Africa, including southern Europe and stretching as far east as Israel. The political adviser position was a good fit for my background and experience, and I was keenly interested in it. I had long been involved in the role of the military in the conduct of our diplomacy, not just from experiences in the Angolan peace process and the Gulf War, but also because few embassies in Africa are assigned military attachés and therefore must manage the military programs on their own. Typically, these programs include training for foreign soldiers, both in Africa and at military bases in the United States; exercises with American troops in the country; and sales of arms and equipment. I had been responsible for these activities in Burundi and in the Congo and had enjoyed the interaction with our armed services.
I had found that the young men and women who commit themselves to taking up arms to defend our country merit all the support and plaudits that we can possibly bestow on them. They are dedicated, well-trained, responsible individuals who work well in teams and larger organizational units. The leadership has improved steadily over the years, and the cohesion and unity of purpose has made for a military force that is lethal when deployed.
Watching the actions of the U.S. military from the embassy in Baghdad as our troops deployed from Europe to fight the first Gulf War, I found their presence reassuring, as I had to remain tough with the Iraqis. (It is always easier to be tough when you have a big gun right behind you.) I also had visited their headquarters in Stuttgart several times over the years for meetings and was fascinated by the breadth of responsibilities and by the nature of the military enterprise. I applied for the political adviser position, and after a telephone interview with the deputy commander in chief (DCINC), Air Force four-star General Jim Jamerson, I was selected.
I arrived at the headquarters of the European Command just outside Stuttgart, Germany, in September 1995, no longer a sitting ambassador but still with the title, along with the protocol rank of a three-star general as the senior civilian officer in the command. The CINC, who is also the NATO commander, normally resides in Mons, Belgium, where he manages the international command. His deputy, Jamerson, resided in Stuttgart, and had day-to-day charge of the command when Joulwan was not present.
Joulwan was one of the army’s most experienced “warrior diplomats,” brimming with command presence and a master of the evocative sound bite. “One team, one fight” was his motto for a military action, “One team, one mission” for less violent activities. He was gregarious but somewhat imperious, and could be quite demanding. He was also driven, his airplane as much an office and a residence as his headquarters in Mons. He was always in transit, moving among centers of military activity and capitals in Europe and Washington.
Having served two combat tours in Vietnam, he was part of the generation that rebuilt the army after the divisive Southeast Asian war. He had spent a large part of his career in Europe and was the first NATO commander ever to have served at every level in the alliance. He was serving in Germany when the Berlin Wall was built, and again when it came down. His previous Washington assignments had included a stint as deputy chief of staff to Alexander Haig at the White House in the days of Watergate, so he was familiar with the political wars waged on the banks of the Potomac. For all of General Joulwan’s military bravura, he was an effective leader and motivator, and he made great leaps in forging operating relationships with international and nongovernmental organizations that would become important as we deployed international troops into Bosnia and, later, Kosovo.
Jim Jamerson, his deputy, was the perfect foil for Joulwan’s hard-charging and sometimes prickly personality. A southerner from North Carolina, he masked a sharp intellect and penchant for excellence beneath a relaxed, self-effacing exterior and good ol’ boy drawl. He was unfailingly supportive of his troops, had the patience of Job, and kept all the elements in the command moving in the same direction, not an easy task in an organization that includes officers from each of the four branches of the armed forces.
The “joint” command, as it is called, is an outgrowth of the Goldwater-Nichols Act’s goal of integrating the military leadership of the services to produce more operational coordination and, by extension, more effective war-making. The results were evident as early as the first Gulf War. Jim had spent a number of years working in joint commands and was adept at integrating the separate parts into a coherent package. He was adored by the people who worked for him—in two years, I never heard anything other than effusive praise and affection directed toward him—and he enjoyed the confidence of his peers. He was often called upon to mediate disputes and personality conflicts between Joulwan and some of his component commanders—all very forceful personalities. Jim would listen politely while the officers were venting and inevitably send them on their way feeling better about their relations with the CINC.
I lived on the base in Stuttgart, in senior officer housing on “Geriatric Row,” so named by the younger staff because only generals and senior colonels lived there. White hair and wrinkles were a prerequisite. For somebody like me, who had spent most of his adult life living with foreigners, living in an enclave with several thousand Americans was a new and different experience. There was the post supermarket, the PX, a bowling alley, and a pizza joint, as well as a high school and gym and all the usual amenities of a small town. The Germans—after all, we were in Germany—were on the other side of the fence, but you could spend your entire tour inside the enclave without ever venturing beyond it if you chose. To leave and return, senior officers had a laminated card tucked in the sun visor of their cars with their rank in stars printed on it. On approach to the guard post, you would pull down the visor, alerting the soldier standing watch of your rank. He would see the stars and snap to attention, waving the officer through with a salute. My old college friend Bob Moore, who had been with me in the hospital when my first wife, Susan, had been so near death in 1979, came to visit and found that respect to be the most impressive testament of anything I had yet accomplished in my career.
Since the command was responsible for so many countries, most of the senior officers were on the road a lot, myself included. The first trip I made with Jamerson was to Turkey and northern Iraq in the fall of 1995 to review Operation Provide Comfort, the U.S.-U.K.-Turkish action to defend the Kurds against potential Iraqi attacks and to enforce the no-fly zone in northern Iraq.
Our air force planes flew out of a base in Incirlik, Turkey, near Adana, in the south-central part of the country. The cooperation of the Turks was essential to the success of the mission, and it was not won easily. Careful management of our relations with this secular Muslim country was essential at every level of the command and the embassy. We traveled there often and had the Turkish general staff to our headquarters many times.
After meetings at the air force base in Incirlik, we continued on to the Iraqi town of Zakho, just across the border, to see our Special Forces who were based there to support the Kurds. Jim had set up Operation Provide Comfort just after the Gulf War, when the Kurds were fleeing Saddam’s crushing counterattack against their rebellion, and became the mission’s first commander. He was greeted on his return by the Kurdish fighters, called the Peshmerga, who were working with our troops, like a long-lost family member. The American general who had done so much to protect and defend the Kurds when they were under attack had returned, accompanied by the American diplomat who had gone head-to-head with Saddam in Baghdad half a decade before. It was a veritable reunion.
I knew that within hours, Saddam would be informed that Jim and I were back in his country, and I hoped it made him uneas
y.
Zakho is a dusty market town, inhabited largely by Kurds, on the plain just to the north of the mountains that form the heartland of the Kurdish region in northern Iraq. It benefits from the trade that has flowed back and forth across the border for millennia. Markets were full of goods of all sorts, and the townspeople appeared prosperous. This was not surprising, since they controlled one of the principal routes for supplies going from Turkey to Baghdad and for the oil being sent north across the border in the hundreds of tanker trucks that snaked up the principal north-south artery from the oilfields near Kirkuk. Sanctions against Iraq had translated into premiums to be paid to border guards who would look the other way.
We spent a day in meetings and touring with the troops before returning to our base in Incirlik for the night, helicoptering and later flying in the back of a cargo plane over sparsely populated southern Turkey. The next day was spent in tough negotiations with the Turkish general staff. The Turks were uncomfortable with our aggressive enforcement actions against Iraq. The rules of engagement for American pilots allowed them to take retaliatory action whenever Iraqi radar locked on to their planes, even if the Iraqis did not actually fire on them. This was excessive, argued the Turkish military, sensitive to repercussions later as a consequence of bombs dropped on Iraq from planes launched from Turkish territory. We would leave Turkey someday, but Turkey would always have to live next door to Iraq.
In a toast at the dinner to close our discussions, General Cevik Bir, the Turkish deputy chief of staff, pointed out how Turkey was in a tough neighborhood, surrounded by hostile countries. Among all its neighbors, he said, Turkey’s relations with Iraq were the best. My initial reaction to Bir’s comments was that Turkey’s diplomats and politicians needed to work harder in the region if Iraq was truly their best friend among all their neighbors.
The Politics of Truth_Inside the Lies That Put the White House on Trial and Betrayed My Wife's CIA Identity Page 22
