The Politics of Truth_Inside the Lies That Put the White House on Trial and Betrayed My Wife's CIA Identity

by Joseph Wilson

  The United States, by contrast, has very little at stake in Africa and, as a consequence, has always been more tolerant of disruptions that can occur in the transition to a more open political system. Our efforts might be more successful if we showed more patience and deeper understanding of the consequences of too-rapid change, while at the same time the French would do well to recognize the necessity of replacing dictatorships with more representative governments.

  In Gabon, I tried to avoid being associated with any one political faction. From the beginning, I told President Bongo, the French ambassador, and anyone else who would listen that the United States didn’t care who won or lost the elections, so long as the process was legitimate and all Gabonese had the opportunity to exercise the franchise.

  In the run-up to the election, I began a practice not previously tried in Gabon: I had noticed that there was little social contact among the various political leaders and that in fact they often hardly knew each other. To remedy this, I hosted quarterly dinners attended by the heads of each of the Gabonese political parties—there were twelve of them—to give the leaders a chance to actually talk to each other outside the formal setting of the National Assembly. Parties were either ethnically or geographically based, and there had never been a mechanism for bringing them together informally. I told Bongo what I intended to do, since I knew it would get back to him anyway. Having been informed ahead of time, he would have no reason to be suspicious of my motives.

  At the dinners themselves, I would set up three tables with an American at each table. The remaining guests were Gabonese of different political persuasions. I would open the evening with just one ground rule, that there would be no physical violence, pointing out that I was bigger than all of them. That got a laugh and people would begin to relax.

  As the evening progressed, the party leaders would open up to each other in new ways. There would inevitably be some time spent talking politics, since that was the one thing they all had in common; then the rest of the evening would be a smorgasbord of interesting topics ranging from discussions about the key role of “magic forests” in specific regions to what the art and sculpture from different parts of the country represented. Magic forests bordered many villages, and were off-limits lest the wandering villagers wanted to risk death at the hands of the spirits who inhabited them. Most carved masks and sculptures were used as fetishes to ward off the evil spirits in traditional and animist ceremonies. I learned all of this, plus much about traditional tribal law and customs. Although the evenings inevitably began stiffly, as they went on the politicians began to relax in the comfortable social setting and learned from each other. They took great delight in comparing their experiences and trading stories.

  Unfortunately, the closer we got to the elections, the more paranoid Bongo and his senior political advisors became, as they feared that they might actually be defeated. Dominici decided to capitalize on the concerns in the palace to weaken the relationship between Bongo and me and to reassert French primacy. He not only used his own close relationship with Bongo to undermine me, but he also cleverly planted articles in the Gabonese press to accuse me of actively supporting the opposition, just as his counterparts in the Central African Republic and Cameroon had done to my American colleagues.

  Dominici even went after me quite personally, no doubt in the hope of having me expelled from the country. In November 1993, he invited me to breakfast. His house was down next to the beach; mine was up on the hill. Over croissants and strong French coffee, Dominici came to the point. He repeated charges in the local press that an opposition radio station broadcasting hate messages urging Gabonese to attack French citizens was financed and supported by the United States. He said his nationals were increasingly fearful for their security and he urged me to forcefully pressure the station to cease its threatening broadcasts.

  In responding to Dominici, I reiterated what I had said quite publicly to Gabonese officials and to the local press: The United States neither financed nor supported the radio station in any way; that we deplored the hate messages as much as the French themselves; and that we told the station’s operators of our disapproval at every opportunity.

  Moreover, as I had also stated publicly, we did not support the opposition, any more than we supported the incumbent. Our position was clear: we wanted a process that was honest and fair, whoever won or lost.

  Dominici observed that whatever the outcome, the constitution permitted only one more term for Bongo. I took his comment to mean that the United States should simply turn a blind eye to Bongo’s potential reelection and not worry about a transition to more democratic governance until the completion of his next seven-year term. While it was clear to me that Dominici was warning me off of supporting the opposition, I accepted that his concern about his nationals was genuine. However, Dominici also wrote a report to Paris, later cited in the French weekly magazine L’Événement du Jeudi, in which he misrepresented my comments, claiming that I had admitted America was providing support for the incendiary radio station in question.

  I must admit that in some respects our own naiveté in dealing with Francophone Africa played into the hands of those who would fear the worst from the U.S. For example, the National Democratic Institute (NDI), a Democratic party foundation dedicated to assisting foreign countries in their democratization efforts, had at one point offered to provide assistance to the Gabonese government as they organized their election procedures. NDI undertook a study to determine whether the system the Gabonese had put in place offered a reasonable chance for free, fair, and transparent elections. If NDI assessed that it had, then it was prepared to send observers to watch the election and ultimately certify it. For a third-world country new to the democracy business, certification of elections by international bodies was important for the credibility of their fledgling process.

  Unfortunately, the NDI mission was ill-fated from the start. The team leader for the study was an earnest young man who looked as if he was too young to have voted even once in our own American elections. He might have been twenty-three, but he looked fourteen. When I escorted him to meet with Bongo and the party barons, I felt as if I was feeding chum to a school of sharks.

  Politics in Gabon, like most places, is blood sport. It is all about power, not about such niceties as fair outcomes. Who wins is on top, who doesn’t is cast out, whether the process is fair or not. NDI was all about creating fairness, but systems that advocate fairness are inevitably trumped by winner-take-all politics unless there is real power behind the former. Unfortunately, this young NDI rep just did not have enough heft to make an impact. Bongo was political down to his very fingertips; neither his friends nor his enemies would dispute that. He knows the Gabonese inside and out, and he knows what to do to get their vote. With all of his experience and his savvy, he was not going to be deterred by this all-American lad.

  In addition to the problems stemming from the NDI staffer’s lack of seniority, no sooner was the NDI report prepared than it was sabotaged: somebody in the NDI office had leaked an unedited draft to the Gabonese. Among other inappropriate things, it referred to the five-foot, four-inch Bongo as “diminutive” and commented on his “high heel shoes,” as if the stature and footwear of the chief of state had any relevance in a report designed to determine whether conditions were propitious for a legitimate election process. The report also described the head of the constitutional court, which is the body that counts and certifies election returns, as Bongo’s wife. The head of the court was, in fact, a very accomplished jurist, and although she once may have been a paramour of the president, she was definitely not his wife, as everybody in Gabon knew.

  The leaked draft NDI report reinforced the worst fears of the Gabonese about American motives and added fuel to the fire the French were trying to build outside our gates. It confirmed that the Americans obviously wanted Bongo out of office; the French raged, and they held Joe Wilson—who, after all, had escorted the NDI representative in to see B
ongo—responsible.

  Clearly NDI had disqualified itself and would not be permitted to return to Gabon. Despite this, at the embassy we still wanted to ensure that we had some presence during the electoral process. We were determined to do what we could to stave off what we feared would be the great temptation among all parties to cheat. Before the election, NDI was replaced by the oldest American nongovernmental organization dedicated to promoting relations between the United States and Africa, the Africa-American Institute, which provided a new report and new election observers.

  There were three main candidates contesting the election: a Fang candidate from the north, which comprises about 40 to 45 percent of the country’s population; Bongo, who represented the southern tribes, about 35 percent of the population; and the candidate of the Myene, along the Gabonese coast. The Myene, who made up close to 20 percent of the electorate, held the swing vote. In the first round of the elections, it was expected that the Myene would mostly vote for their own candidate. The other 80 percent would be nearly equally split, most people figured, with Bongo leading slightly. If no candidate received more than 50 percent of the vote in the first round, the top two vote-getters would go to a second round to determine the new president. The French feared that if Bongo did not win in the first round, the Myene vote would go to his opponent in the second round.

  At 11:30 P.M., late on election night, the chief justice of the constitutional court announced that 51.17 percent of the vote had been cast for Omar Bongo. The French and Bongo had decided to short-circuit the process, and he had been reelected in the first round. It was clear to me that the French had decided they could not afford the cost of a second round, either politically or even financially, clearly not wanting to spend any more than necessary on a process the outcome of which had already been rigged. One way or another, Bongo was going to remain president, so why go to the additional expense of a second round if you could simply impose your will after the first? The cynicism was stunning.

  The opposition reacted swiftly and violently. Their supporters rioted in the streets, trashing and burning property, overturning cars, particularly those of foreigners, and roughing up the occupants. My residence was located in an opposition stronghold; for months, they had launched their peaceful demonstrations from in front of my house to ensure that I witnessed and reported on them. The post-election demonstrations turned violent and several people were killed, including two just in front of my residence.

  Despite the violence, the opposition had no quarrel with me or with Americans. Nor were they attacking known American cars. To better protect ourselves while moving about Libreville I issued small American flags to all Americans to put on their windshields so rioters could identify us. In fact, when the rioters saw the flags, not only would they leave us alone but they often applauded.

  That tactic offended Dominici, who complained to Bongo. When the president asked me about the charge, I pointed out that my first concern was the safety and security of the American citizens on Gabonese soil, a concern I was sure he shared. I then told him that if Dominici was worried about his own citizens, Bongo should feel free to tell him that I had plenty of flags left and would be pleased to loan them to him to distribute to his French nationals for their own protection. We shared a laugh at the thought of the French driving around with American flags on their windshields.

  Unfortunately, the Gabonese government’s response to the riots was aggressive and foolish: the minister of defense, a Bongo cousin, had deployed troops and artillery around that irritant, the opposition radio station, and the leading opposition candidate’s house. After a night of heavy shelling, the two structures had been leveled. I strongly protested to Bongo, telling him that if he wanted to close down the radio station or arrest the opposition leader, the proper way to do the job was to send his minister of justice or his attorney general, not the army. “Arrest them if laws have been broken,” I said, “don’t destroy them.”

  In the midst of the riots, I awoke one morning to find that the whites of my eyes and my face had turned orange. I had hepatitis A, contracted in São Tomé when I ate undercooked seafood. I had to be evacuated to Paris. Fortunately, the streets had begun to calm down. The press, however, had a field day attacking me as the de facto head of the opposition fomenting the disturbances, now fleeing the country in fear.

  I flew to Paris and spent ten days in the hospital and in an apartment recovering. As I was getting off the plane on my return, a young Gabonese steward approached me and handed me a note written on the back of an immigration form. It read: “Speaking for myself and most probably for more than a few, thank you very much for what you are doing for democracy and human rights in Gabon. God bless you.” It was one of the most meaningful compliments I have ever received, coming from the heart of a regular citizen, and I keep it still, framed in a place of honor on my desk.

  Once back in Libreville, I immediately called on Bongo and brought along a couple of the most egregious newspaper articles so I could confront him with the coverage in what amounted to the state-sanctioned press. I told him that if he wanted to martyr the American ambassador in articles like the ones I had in front of me, that was fine. But he also needed to understand that by so doing he poisoned our relationship, at the same time making me a hero with my own government, able to see through the lies. After reminding him of the times we had spent together, including meals in each other’s homes, I said he should know that much of what had been said was patently false and unacceptable among friends. I told him that he had been badly served by his advisers if he believed the lies about me and the United States they were feeding him. This clearing of the air was successful. The articles stopped, and within days a key adviser at the palace had been replaced.

  At the Gabonese National Day celebration in August 1994, four months after that meeting with Bongo, I attended the banquet hosted by the president and his wife. At least a thousand Gabonese, the entire political class, were there that evening. Between the main course and dessert, during a lull in the general conversation—so that everyone in the huge room had to notice—Bongo signaled someone on his staff over to the head table and whispered in his ear. As people turned to watch, the man slowly walked around the presidential table and through the guests over to me.

  He leaned down and said, “The president would like to see you outside.” By this time, all eyes were clapped on us as I followed the messenger back around the banquet hall to the door just behind the president’s table that led to an expansive terrace overlooking the estuary.

  As I headed outside, I could see Bongo get up to join me. For the next several minutes, Bongo engaged me in small talk before we made our way back into the banquet hall together. He returned to his table and I to mine, but the point had been made and was lost on nobody in the room. The hatchet had been buried.

  It was a masterful piece of political theatre, worthy of Machiavelli: attitudes toward the United States and toward me underwent a tectonic shift. Relations between the two of us and, by extension, our two countries were back on track. There were no more negative articles in the press for the remainder of my stay in Gabon. In fact, on the eve of my departure, my journalistic nemesis there, the editor of the government-run newspaper, published a most flattering portrait and interview, noting that I had been decorated with one of the country’s highest honors.

  My third year in Gabon, after the dramatic tête-à-tête in the presidential gardens, was smooth sailing. Omar Bongo and I worked closely together on the never-ending Angolan peace process, which had become stalled. Despite the withdrawal of foreign forces after Chester Crocker’s mediation more than five years earlier, the Angolans were still in the midst of a bloody civil war that seemed to defy solution.

  Bongo and I also worked together to pressure President Obiang, of neighboring Equatorial Guinea, to cease his abysmal human rights violations. In the midst of a crackdown on those who opposed his dictatorship, Obiang traveled to Libreville to seek Bongo’s counsel. The m
orning of his arrival, I received a call from one of Bongo’s senior advisers, asking if I had any issues I thought the president should raise with his Equatorial Guinean counterpart.

  I had plenty of them, I said, most of them dealing with human rights abuses, and I would be delighted to come to President Bongo’s office to discuss them directly if he wished. Ten minutes later, the adviser called again, this time to relay an invitation from Bongo for me to speak directly with Obiang when he arrived.

  We had an able ambassador, John Bennett, in Malabo, the island capital of Equatorial Guinea, so I hesitated, saying I would have to have permission for any substantive meeting with a president from a country where I was not the ambassador. After receiving approval from the State Department, I agreed to a brief meeting to support the protests that my colleague regularly made to Obiang’s government about arbitrary arrests and routine beatings of prisoners. I declined an invitation to dine with the two presidents, pointing out that protesting to Obiang was one thing, breaking bread with him quite another.

  Bongo was not to be refused, however, and within minutes I was called again by the military general in charge of presidential protocol. His message was brusque and to the point: I was to be at the president’s private home at 8:00 P.M. and I would be dining with the two presidents. Yes, sir.

  That evening, the three of us and a junior member of my staff, Greg Thome, met on a patio beside the president’s swimming pool. For forty-five minutes before dinner, Bongo and I verbally attacked Obiang for his human rights practices. Bongo was as stern as I was, much to my surprise. He told Obiang, in no uncertain terms, what he needed to do to move the political process in his country through the crisis in which it was then mired. “Appoint a national unity government,” Bongo urged. “Bring the opposition into the fold, give them experience in governing and make them stake-holders in the future.”