by Dag Solstad
Can a young, serious-minded person like Armand V. allow his career choice to be guided by something so banal as the thought of the comfortable life awaiting him if only he grabs a pen and fills out an application for the foreign ministry’s own course for future diplomats? Yes, that’s possible, but it wasn’t the only factor. When Armand first began thinking about the possibility of becoming a diplomat, he was also attracted by the actual work carried out by a diplomat, and especially what his own role might entail. Armand had certain personal tendencies that drew him to the Norwegian foreign service, tendencies that were quite evident to his friends and acquaintances. The previously mentioned thesis in history was one expression of these tendencies. Considering the topic, it was as if the subject had been handpicked by a young, dreary EEC supporter, while Armand was actually an opponent of the EEC, and that was why he’d chosen such a dry, pro-EEC topic; he’d even presented the prime argument for why the EEC was such a huge success for Europe’s suffering people, and he did so with ferocious joy. It wasn’t that he had arrived at a conclusion that depicted a clear anti-EEC point of view; no, he treated his subject almost like a dull and — you have to admit in this instance — ardent EEC supporter would have done, though less dryly and, let’s not forget, far less zealously. At the center of the irreconcilable forces in the EEC battle was Armand V., calmly recounting the history of the French-German border conflicts over the course of three hundred and fifty years, and this was of utterly no use to any EEC opponents. At least presumably it wasn’t. But if you took his thesis seriously and read what he’d written, it turned out that this dry and ardent EEC supporter, Armand’s fictional antipode, couldn’t use the thesis for anything. And that was their central argument! What do you know? What do you know? No doubt Armand’s friends saw this, because when Armand told them that he’d applied and been accepted into the course offered by the Royal Norwegian Ministry of Foreign Affairs for candidates to the foreign service, they initially stared at him and exclaimed: You???!!!, but then added: Sure, why not?
When Armand now — here in this footnote and not in the novel up above — looks back on his life working for the Norwegian foreign ministry, as I, the author, have understood it, he will undoubtedly conclude that deep in his heart it was probably the thought of the game itself that made him a diplomat. But what sort of game? That remained unclear. What was clear, however, was that he was a radical young man who was tempted and subsequently allowed himself to be enticed in an attempt to achieve a way of life, or a professional career, by seeking admittance to the Norwegian foreign service, which, for its part, was connected to the world’s mightiest superpower, the United States, with such established ties that even someone with leftist leanings had to realize it was sheer protest politics to support the idea that Norway should conduct an independent foreign policy, even if this were desirable, and an individual found it important to display this desire by stepping forward as a protester and declaring himself an opponent of NATO, as Armand did. But what game was it that Armand envisioned within these established structures when he imagined himself a newly hired employee in the Norwegian foreign service, for instance as a fourth secretary in the embassy in Brussels? It’s difficult to know. Presumably Armand V. must have been intrigued by the paradoxical nature of the situation in which he would turn into a Norwegian foreign service officer, and that may have caused him to regard it as a game, which it certainly was not, as he would soon find out. He had landed in a paradox. The young diplomat was a paradox in his own eyes. That’s probably how we might view it.
But as a young diplomat, the paradoxical nature of Armand V. as an individual was of concern only to himself. The work assigned to a young man in the foreign service, either at home in Norway or abroad, is not the sort that invites thoughts about whether it’s a game, as Armand preferred to call it, or a paradox. It’s routine work, pure and simple, that is carried out for years. Although it can be routine work that seems supremely attractive to anyone who has a weakness for glamour, it’s still routine work. Routine work in the higher echelons, as Armand V., the experienced diplomat, might have characterized it. Armand did a good job of mastering this routine work and rose through the ranks and was entrusted with so-called bigger assignments (in reality they weren’t so big!), until, after fourteen years, he became an ambassador at the age of forty-two, which could be described as a meteoric career.
In other words, the young radical had done well. The paradox had enjoyed a meteoric career. And what’s interesting about this is: he’d done it without in any way changing his fundamental attitude toward the political game or the role of his own country in said game. The forty-two-year-old, newly appointed Norwegian ambassador to Jordan had precisely the same attitude toward the United States as when he’d applied to the foreign service, and the now aging diplomat continues to maintain these same attitudes, carrying them, strictly speaking, inside his own heart, even though the game is no longer the same. And that’s actually not so strange. An ordinary, enlightened person of Armand’s generation was, of course, against the Vietnam War and quite immune personally to American rhetoric. Immune to and skeptical about American politics in general, and often deeply scornful, though this was not something he could express.
Yet he had no major problems with working for a foreign service that was to such a large extent within the sphere of American influence. He entered the diplomatic corps during the Cold War, was appointed to his first ambassador position during the Cold War, and even though he was originally a strong opponent of NATO, the arguments in favor of Norway’s membership in NATO were so irrefutable that he could easily not so much promote them, since that wasn’t necessary, but at least use them as a basis for his actions, no matter in which echelon he found himself. The Cold War was a reality, and Norway’s place as a friend of the U.S., guaranteed by the United States (and NATO), was an irrefutable reality. This was called Norway’s national security policy, and it was irrefutable. The Cold War was a reality, and if you said that Norway had made a definitive choice, that’s not true. Norway had not made a choice, there was no choice to be made, and thus Norway’s choice was not definitive. Armand could not entertain any other thoughts on this subject. It was a fact.
But when the Cold War was over, a different situation naturally ensued. Not for him personally — since his only subsequent problem was that he had to make sure he celebrated the victory in an appropriately diplomatic manner — but for the whole world, which now was of course turned upside down, though with the United States remaining Norway’s friend and guarantor as well as the world’s one and only superpower. Many harbored a hope that Europe would be allowed to play a more independent role, and with regard to the United States, a more challenging role. Armand V., who liked to call himself a European — which is also an apt description, considering his literary, cinematic, artistic, and linguistic references — was, however, not greatly optimistic, at least not in terms of his own foreign service. He regarded this sort of new evaluation as political wishful thinking, which the political decision-makers in his small country apparently wanted to label as security-oriented adventurist policy, and when people now talked about the possibility that Norway might join the EU in order to have an impact, it was probably so that the country could become allied with the former Eastern Bloc, including Poland, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, and Hungary, trying to hold back the eventual objectives of the traditional major powers in Europe, such as Germany and France, to establish a common European foreign policy independent of the United States. Norway’s strong bond with the U.S. would most certainly, in a tense political situation between the EU and Norway, cause Norway to become a welcome agent working on behalf of the interests of the United States, and Armand V. was not looking forward to this potential situation, though he would of course loyally abide by it when carrying out his diplomatic duties. It should be unnecessary even to mention the latter part of the previous sentence; in fact, it should have been lef
t out, since it was sufficient to say that he did not look forward to the eventuality of such a situation, which is something a European like himself should be allowed to admit, at least to himself and also to others, if anyone, contrary to expectation, should happen to ask the aging Ambassador V. for his views and had the professional clout to demand his opinion.
Armand had mastered the game. It gave him a deep sense of satisfaction to do so; it was almost pleasurable. But what was his intention in conducting this so-called game? There was no real reward in it. But for some reason — and you’re welcome to call it a paradoxical reason — he felt useful. He could say that he was serving his country, although that was not something he said. On the other hand, he did claim, openly and loudly, that it was his job to promote Norway’s interests. These were not merely nice words but an apt description of what his job entailed. The fact that it was not his own interests he served, in one way or another, and maybe not even as the primary focus, but rather what others defined as Norway’s interests, was something that he’d managed to live with during the thirty years he’d been attached to the Norwegian foreign service.
He probably wouldn’t have joined the foreign service if not for the fact that it also offered him great personal satisfaction. If, initially, he’d been an avowed friend of the United States and everything America stood for, and in addition had been the same person he was now, if such a person was even possible, then he wouldn’t have been sufficiently tempted to seek admittance to the foreign service, even if the opportunity had presented itself, and he would have had to give careful thought to whether this was a career path for him. It would have been too highfalutin for him. He would have choked on his own words, even though, of course, he would then have served Norway’s interests, now as then.
He wouldn’t have been able to say that he served Norway’s interests, even though he would have been in compliance, in every way, with his own attitude toward the United States, which in this instance was in agreement with the official attitude.
No, he would have swallowed those words, finding them repellent. The only thing he could have said was that he was glad to be living in a small country which had positioned itself so wisely that he, as a Norwegian diplomat, could serve America’s interests. The fact that he, in that case — and explicitly assuming that he was precisely the same person as he was now — could have expressed himself in such a manner was because he would have been saddled with a low sense of national identity.
That would have been no problem for him. He would have liked to emphasize, even to other people if an opportunity presented itself, that he had a low sense of national identity. In the instance we’re now picturing (meaning that from a young age, Armand was an ardent fan of the United States and everything that country represented), it was because of his low sense of national identity that he could express the truth about himself as a diplomat: meaning he was happy to be part of a foreign service that had positioned itself so wisely that he, as a Norwegian diplomat, could serve America’s interests. Grand words, but true. Could he, considering the actual reality in which he found himself, say something comparable?
It would have to be something like this: He was happy to belong to a foreign service that had managed to establish such strong ties between our small country and the most powerful nation in the world, because this was undeniably, considering the state of reality, in the interests of our own small country. Could he say that? Well, wasn’t that what he did say, time and again, even in these footnotes? Yes. He could indeed say this, based on his point of view, and with his low sense of national identity.
But here we might counter with another question: What could Armand have said if he’d had a high sense of national identity? If he’d had this high sense of national identity but otherwise was the exact same person he was. It turns out this Armand would be unthinkable. We cannot imagine Armand with a high sense of national identity, that’s impossible, he wouldn’t exist if equipped with that. We might imagine him, albeit reluctantly, as an ardent supporter of the United States, but not at the same time in possession of a high sense of national identity. We might think of others, of course, as real people equipped in such a way; in fact, we can imagine hundreds of thousands of Norwegians who love America and who are at the same time possessed of a high sense of national identity; there are undoubtedly hundreds of such people within the Norwegian foreign service itself, but Armand is not one of them, that’s simply unthinkable.
These labyrinthine perceptions, these distinctions between the fictional and factual Armand-personality, the thinkable and the unthinkable, between paradox and social status, between who Armand is and who it might be possible for him to be, all of which I have here presented in examples, formed the basis for Armand’s intellectual maneuverings in terms of his outward and social daily life, in that he appeared to be a highly affable diplomat when associating with diplomats from other countries, or with Norwegians, whose interests he did his utmost to promote, whether it be economic, humanitarian, political, or cultural. Yes, Armand had a low sense of national identity, but he couldn’t be imagined any other way. He was a man with a low sense of national identity, but such men do exist. And it has been part of him for the thirty years he has worked for the foreign service, and even longer. Yet, in spite of this, he was able to carry out the rituals that a national identity required of him. And speak Norwegian. He spoke three other languages fluently, and the joy of being able to speak fluent English, German, and French was grounded in his Norwegian identity. He didn’t say that he spoke fluent Norwegian, no, he was Norwegian; and because of his Norwegianness, he’d learned English, German, and French so that he could speak these languages fluently. Of course a Czech would say the same thing, but so what? Wouldn’t a Czech also enjoy speaking fluent English, and in the same way, because of the incomprehensibility of his Czechishness, just as Armand spoke fluent English because of the incomprehensibility of his Norwegianness? Have a look! There, in that majestic hall, among lofty company, wearing white tie and tails, those two are speaking fluent English together, the Norwegian and the Czech diplomats, at a ball in Vienna. Armand’s Norwegianness expressing itself in fluent English. This was his national identity, and he never forgot it for a moment.
For all of his adult life Armand had held a position that required him to relate in a positive way to the Norwegian national symbols and what we call Norwegian values. He spent his workdays in rooms where the Norwegian flag had a prominent place and where big photographs of King Olav V hung on the wall, and since 1991, of King Harald V and Queen Sonja. These official rooms, for the most part, were situated in luxurious villas, which also housed his private residence, since it’s customary to divide an embassy into official and private sections. Most recently it was the embassy in Budapest, where Armand was the Norwegian envoy until he was summoned back to the foreign ministry in Oslo a couple of years ago. Surrounded by Norwegian flags, and with big photographs of the royal couple in a prominent place on the wall in the official reception hall, he acted in Budapest as Norway’s representative. With no sense of irony whatsoever. He welcomed his guests, as he stood next to the big Norwegian flag. For example, on May 17, Norwegian Constitution Day. The guests included invited Norwegians, who were either permanent or temporary residents in Hungary, as well as Hungarian associates — friends of Norway you might call them — and members of the diplomatic corps. The Norwegian ambassador, in his own eyes the game player, or the paradox, raised his glass and offered a toast to His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen, speaking in a dignified and natural manner.
Armand was impressive. As he should be after so many years in the foreign service. But even as a young embassy secretary he had known how to carry out his minor assignments with dignity. He seemed natural, even sincere. And in a sense, that’s precisely what I am, thought Armand. But it’s not hard to appear natural and sincere when you have such a pleasant job as I have, he added, speaking to himself. The position of am
bassador must be one of the most ideal jobs for anyone in his sixties. Everything is arranged for you. Living quarters. A chauffeur-driven car. Travel reservations. Courier mail. A staff of intelligent people who understand your smallest wish. The surroundings are comfortable, even elegant, sometimes outright luxurious. There are frequent meetings with interesting people. Frequent invitations. Receptions, lunches, dinners. He himself hosted receptions, lunches, and dinners. He could bring in a chef for a specific occasion, or hire one on a permanent basis. The latter depended on what was most beneficial in terms of the number of diners and the costs involved in whatever country he happened to be stationed, which in this case was Hungary. Armand had no complaints. He knew that he was highly privileged; nor did he have any problem with setting a price on these privileges of his. He sometimes counted himself lucky to be an ambassador for a small country instead of a big country with serious ambitions, which he thought would have presented much more trouble. More things to worry about, both in terms of protocol and other matters. The pressure would have been far greater.