by Glen Johnson
I remember Elise Labott, CNN’s global affairs correspondent, once catching a colleague as he stood out in the open, his chest bare as he changed shirts. She was aghast at the sight.
“Have we no dignity?” she asked with a mix of seriousness and humor.95
While I’d never gotten naked like my colleague, or ventured beyond the privacy of my little alcove, I remember thinking to myself, “Nope. Not anymore.”
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ONCE WE HAD LANDED and come to a stop, the DS agents would race down the rear stairs, carrying equipment for themselves or colleagues waiting on the ground. The press would also deplane from the back. Our goal was to give the television and still camera operators enough time to set up so they were ready to capture the secretary walking out the forward door and down the steps.
Invariably there’d be a greeting party, usually including a Protocol Officer from the host nation and the local US ambassador. Sometimes they’d give the secretary flowers or ask him to participate in a coffee or tea ceremony.
Then he’d head to his limousine while we all raced to our respective cars. For the first half of the term, I rode in what was labeled Staff Van 1. For the last two years, I usually rode in the spare limousine, a backup SUV that typically traveled just in front of or two cars behind the secretary’s own.
This left me less distance to run after taking his airport arrival photos, and more time to get out and get positioned for any shots as he got to his next destination.
No matter where we went, we traveled in a long motorcade that included the secretary, security personnel, the staff, and any host government officials. People sat in vehicles as assigned by manifests printed in the scheduling mini. Friendships often developed during repeated long car rides together.
In some cities, such as Berlin, the police would literally shut down every intersection to let our motorcade pass without traffic or stoplights. In places like Cairo, we once had to slam on the brakes in the middle of a highway as a donkey cart strayed into the lane being used by the motorcade.
Once, in India, there was chaos when a pair of dogs tried to dart across the road just as we passed. The mother made it but the puppy got clipped, prompting our driver to break the cardinal rule of motorcade travel: never stop for anything.
The agent driving the spare limo slammed on the brakes and tried to swerve to avoid the puppy, setting off a chain reaction ending when the secretary’s limo was struck from behind by the SUV carrying his DS agents.
Kerry was unhurt, but it was an embarrassment to the Diplomatic Security Service.
We never saw the agent who braked for the dogs on another of our trips.
I always felt—across reporting about five presidential campaigns and working four years in the State Department—that traveling in motorcades was the most dangerous thing we did.
I usually had the benefit of a professional DS driver in the spare limo, since we might have to jump out at a moment’s notice so the secretary could hop in if there was a problem with his own vehicle. But almost all of the other cars in the motorcade were operated by civilian volunteers or an embassy’s locally employed staff. Many did not have the experience or training to safely travel at high speed so close to other vehicles.
Furthering the danger was the harrowing practice of driving “counter-flow.” That was when the whole motorcade would cross over the center line and travel opposite the normal flow of traffic. Sometimes, this was planned in advance and the oncoming lanes were empty. Often, it was not, such as when we hit a traffic jam in the direction we were headed. The police at the front of the caravan would make a spot decision and then drive head on at the cars approaching on the other side of the road.
They’d use their lights, sirens, and, sometimes, frantic arm motions to clear everyone out of the way.
After a while, counter-flow became just another fact of our travel experience, even though it was like something out of The Fast and the Furious. In fact, when I got home from a trip, I sometimes had to check myself from going counter-flow when the traffic in front of me stalled, but I saw open road in the other direction.
My wife’s cousin, Vic Palumbo, especially loved the term counter-flow, and thought its practice captured the urgency of our travels to hot spots around the world.
For all our time in motorcades—on either side of the median—I took it as a blessing when we finished our term with little more than the dog incident on our record.
A vehicle in a motorcade carrying Samantha Power, the US ambassador to the United Nations, struck and killed a child who darted out into the road as she visited Cameroon in April 2016.96
Power was aghast at that accident and went back to apologize to his family.
The ambassador, a mother of two, was heartbroken.
Most often, even if we had meetings scheduled after we landed in a new city, our motorcade went straight to the hotel so Secretary Kerry could make a quick stop to freshen up. Unlike Air Force One, his plane didn’t have a shower, so he could have hat head in his meetings if we didn’t set aside time for a bathroom break.
Sometimes we in the staff could also grab a quick shower, but often we couldn’t because we had to get ready for our next stop. We’d end up wearing the same clothes for forty-eight hours.
After this pit stop, everyone would get back in their respective vehicles and set off for the rest of the stops on our schedule. At the end of the day, we’d go to the airport for our outbound flight or back to the hotel for some sleep.
The State Department was practiced at streamlining the hotel check-in process, sending ahead a staffer who registered most everyone in advance. We’d get steered through the lobby and toward a waiting elevator, ride up to a designated floor, and then pointed down the hall to our rooms. We’d find a nametag and key taped to the door of the only private space we’d have on a trip.
Uncle Sam paid the room charge, but we were responsible for any incidentals.
The State Department set up a full office for us at each hotel stop, complete with phones and computers and printers and other office equipment. There were file folders with each staffer’s name for messages and the next day’s mini, and Secure spaces for us to speak or read printed materials.
All of this area was protected by a Marine Security Guard detachment. Its members are based in Quantico, Virginia, and compete for the slots. The guards must be single, due to the heavy travel, and willing to head overseas at a moment’s notice.
It was always a relief to land in an unfamiliar place but be greeted by a “Hello, sir,” whenever I headed for the office in our hotel.
I’d look over and see a clean-cut Marine smiling at me—even as they made sure I was on the list for authorized entry.
Fortunately for us, each trip ended as it began: we’d fly back into Andrews, the secretary would head home in his motorcade, and we staff members would board our respective vans for the ride back to the State Department.
I originally would call for a cab once we got there, but with the advent of Uber, we all became practiced at syncing our request for a vehicle with our estimated arrival time back at HST.
It was funny to watch people surreptitiously requesting a car as they engaged in a silent battle with their fellow travelers for what could be a limited number of drivers near the State Department.
My strategy was always to place my iPhone on mute and order my car as we rounded the Tidal Basin and headed toward the Washington Monument.
That would leave the perfect amount of time for our van and my Uber driver to reach C Street at the same moment.
Many times, though, I wasn’t in the staff van, because I’d jumped back in the spare limo or in a separate staff van to accompany Secretary Kerry to his office or an appointment downtown.
Oftentimes, we’d work for a couple of more hours, even though we’d already had a full day in Europe and then flown eight or more hours back across the Atlantic.
The pace was relentless and didn’t end until January 18, 2017, w
hen we took our final flight from Basel, Switzerland, to Andrews Air Force Base. The secretary had been in Switzerland to deliver parting remarks at the World Economic Forum in Davos.
Kerry often lamented our long absences from the State Department, but they were an outgrowth of his belief in personal diplomacy and the many things he sought to accomplish while he had what he felt was the privilege of being secretary of State.
“Hi, I’m John Kerry,” he said on September 16, 2016, as he looked at Undersecretary of State for Political Affairs Tom Shannon after being away from Washington for fifteen days. Our travels had taken us to Sweden and China.
“I’m embarrassed,” Kerry said, before correcting himself. “No, I’m not embarrassed. We got a lot done.”97
4
THE BALLET OF
THE BILAT
THE FUNDAMENTAL BUILDING BLOCK of diplomacy is the bilateral meeting. As its name denotes, it’s a conversation between the principals from two countries.
From 2013 to 2017, the United States was represented by Secretary of State John Kerry. He had some consistent counterparts, including Sergey Lavrov, the Russian foreign minister and longest-serving G-20 chief diplomat. Others rotated in and out with changes in their home governments.
Italy had six different foreign ministers as its ruling coalition changed. The last counterpart Kerry got to meet—Paolo Gentiloni—was elevated to prime minister after Matteo Renzi resigned in December 2016.
Despite the compactness of the name, there’s a ballet to the bilat. It’s rooted in protocol, history, and the task at hand.
Protocol, of course, covers the things like who hosts a meeting and which participant sits where. History can determine how many people are at the table and how long a meeting lasts. And the purpose of the meeting can influence how the discussion begins—and how it ends.
Because of its size and influence in world affairs, the United States is often a target of many countries’ bilateral interests.
Most foreign ministers coming to New York City for the United Nations General Assembly ask for a bilat with the United States. Kerry could end up with over sixty meetings—many of them bilats—during that week despite our best efforts to cull the list.
Even if a minister couldn’t get on the secretary’s schedule, he’d often try to pigeonhole him in a hallway or plead with his aides for a “pull-aside” chat on the margins of a bigger meeting. This would give them a moment to plead their case on a given topic. Many times, a picture with the secretary would suffice, letting the minister convey a sense of gravitas to the folks back home.
Secretary Kerry met Cuban president Raúl Castro in September 2015 in an impromptu manner, bumping into him in a back hallway in the UN Headquarters. They spoke through a Cuban translator, discussing what it would take for President Obama to make a visit to the Communist nation.
Within the State Department, requests for bilats could come from the secretary himself or rise up as requests from the different regional bureaus. Those could be initiated by either the United States or a foreign government.
Whenever the request was formalized, it was treated much like a trip request. It triggered paperwork that covered all the necessary logistics, such as whether either principal needed a translator or podiums to make comments to the media.
The paperwork also included talking points (TPs) for what should be covered in the bilateral conversation, the fount of diplomatic engagement.
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SUCH TPs FOLLOWED A formula aimed at making them easier to digest.
There was a summary context paragraph up top, detailing who the meeting was with, how long it would run, and a reminder of when the secretary last met with a counterpart. It would also explain the reason for the conversation.
Next came a list of topics for discussion, each one beginning with a bolded point for the secretary to make. It would be followed by a regular-type summary of background justifying the comment.
The bullet points would usually be listed in order of precedence, so the secretary could ensure he made his most important points before moving on to secondary matters.
The TPs would then include a list of points to be made “if time allows,” followed by a series of responses under the heading “Watch out for/If raised.”
These were possible points of criticism from the counterpart, along with the secretary’s suggested comebacks.
The talking points would be accompanied by a biography of the counterpart, which might include classified intelligence, along with any relevant background on the other meeting participants.
Such material would be placed in a three-ring binder called “The Book” and sent home with the secretary the night before a meeting so he could prepare. Otherwise, he’d get his briefing papers on the plane or in a holding room so he could brush up before the conversation began.
Kerry would routinely pop the TPs out of his binder, fold and neatly crease the pages into quarters, and tuck them in the right front pocket of his suit jacket before he walked into a meeting. He’d pull the papers out again when the conversation began.
Protocol would dictate that the secretary and his counterpart sit across from each other, usually at the center of a long rectangular table. An ambassador or high-ranking deputy would usually sit next to their country’s principal, with each side’s additional participants sitting farther away from the center, based on their descending rank.
Counterparts from each side would be seated across from each other, so the Department spokesperson would end up looking across the table at the other country’s spokesperson, for example.
Just how many seats were at the table could be a matter of protocol or history. The Russians and Chinese always pushed to have lots of people at meetings. Some of the requests could be for subject-matter experts, but others often begged the question of whether an invitee had anything to add or was simply being sent as a minder for the actual negotiators.
On the occasions when the United States couldn’t get the number of seats it sought, that denial would be tucked away and recalled when we next hosted the counterpart in our country. If we could get only five seats overseas, our counterpart wouldn’t get more than that when they visited the United States. The Chinese were notorious for enforcing this unwritten rule whenever we visited Beijing.
Yes, a diplomatic tête-à-tête can often border on a childish tit for tat.
Protocol and manners often dictated what would be served during a bilat. Coffee was an automatic, but meetings around the lunch or dinner hours might call for snacks or a full meal. Conversations in Islamic countries always included tea served in etched crystal glasses, with two lumps of sugar and a tiny spoon on the accompanying saucer.
Bilats were usually preceded by a guestbook signing, a series of official photographs, and perfunctory welcome comments for the media called a camera spray. A meeting would usually conclude when a host-country Protocol official knocked on the door and poked his or her head inside to announce the allotted meeting time had expired.
We’d often try to spur this along by asking for permission to pass a note to the secretary, telling him how much time remained and how running late could impact other things on our schedule.
Oftentimes, the two principals would then dismiss the rest of the meeting participants and remain behind for a brief “one-on-one,” during which they’d talk privately. It allowed them to discuss topics that might be embarrassing in a crowd. It also let each side maintain plausible deniability if the other leaked the contents of this direct conversation.
The principals might also huddle with their respective staffs in separate rooms or different corners of the meeting room before heading out together for a joint news conference. It would be held to recap the conversation and answer reporters’ questions about it or anything else in the news that day.
I’d oftentimes use the bilat period to edit and file photographs of the camera sprays. Occasionally, I’d be invited to attend the meeting itself, sitting down the tab
le from the secretary or in a chair behind him as the meat-and-potatoes diplomacy was conducted.
It was like auditing a foreign affairs master class.
Secretary Kerry or his host would begin the conversation, often with summary comments straight out of their talking-point sheets. Then Kerry would start to work his way down his list, sometimes mechanically, usually fluidly, oftentimes not relying on the talking points at all but his own sense of the importance of pending issues.
The conversation could go back and forth, or one side could speak for an extended period before the other interrupted and took control of the mic. That happened literally, as one or the other speaker would press a button to activate a microphone connected to a loudspeaker and, often, the translation booth.
A red light would indicate an active mic, a visual warning to someone who wouldn’t want an inadvertent comment heard by their counterpart.
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ONE TEXTBOOK BILAT I attended occurred July 27, 2016, in the Malacañang Palace in Manila, Philippines. It was between Kerry and Rodrigo “Digong” Duterte, who’d been sworn in as the country’s new president less than a month earlier.
President Duterte had already gained worldwide attention for an election campaign in which he openly supported extrajudicial killings as a way for Filipinos to rid themselves of drug dealers and other criminals. The blunt-spoken politician and former prosecutor said he had personally killed three kidnapping suspects while serving as mayor of Davao City.
President Duterte would go on to call President Obama a “son of a bitch” before a planned meeting in September 2016, and say he could “go to hell” a month later after US criticism of his policies.98 He also labeled US ambassador to the Philippines Philip Goldberg “the son of a whore,” and said he might shift his traditional alliance with the United States to competing ones with China and Russia.99
That was a special concern because China had been claiming territorial privileges in the South China Sea. It’s close to the Philippines and a place where the United States has historically enjoyed freedom of navigation and access to military ports and airfields.