Chief of Station, Congo

TSHOMBE AND KATANGA PROVINCE continued to preoccupy the Adoula government throughout 1962 and into 1963, and the issue increasingly concerned Washington. It was clear to us in the embassy that Tshombe was still stalling. He was obviously hoping that either the UN would withdraw from the Congo or the United States would tire of trying to force him to abandon secession.

Khrushchev, ever the gambler, placed his wager on the flagging interest of the United States. Actually, it was not a bad bet. Belgium, Britain, and France opposed the use of force to bring Tshombe into line, and the United States government was sharply divided. Rusk and his under secretary, George McGhee, generally went along with the British and Belgians while Soapy Williams and a number of the State Department liberals had come round to support the embassy position.

Ed and I believed that if Tshombe were allowed to stall indefinitely, Adoula would either lose control of parliament or he would turn to the Soviets and African radicals for help in ending Katanga’s secession. We made these views clear to our superiors in Washington, but the stalemate continued month after month.

Tshombe was supported by one of the best lobbying organizations in Washington, ensuring that his case was heard in Congress and the media. President Kennedy, who found himself between the contending forces, often called Ed on an open telephone line to discuss his reports. This was bad for security, but it insured that Ed’s views reached the pinnacle of the political pyramid.

I once found myself involved in the dialogue. Mac Godley had been recalled to Washington to serve as head of the Congo Task Force in the Department of State. His replacement as deputy chief of mission had not yet grasped the nuances of the Congolese political situation when, in the absence of Ambassador Gullion, President Kennedy called. The DCM asked me to take the call, and I answered the president’s questions, apparently to his satisfaction. Another time, Ed came to my office to say that President Kennedy had called him around three in the morning. Ed had been at a party that night and had had more drinks than he could carry comfortably. He told me ruefully that he could not remember what he had said to Kennedy, nor could he remember whether he had received any instructions from the president. He asked me if I could try to find out without drawing the attention of the president or senior State Department officials. I sent a back channel (an unofficial message that is not disseminated) to a friend who reported that the president seemed satisfied with the conversation and that he had not given Ed any new instructions.

In addition to the cable traffic, Kennedy and Ed exchanged letters via the diplomatic pouch when a courier was available. One day, Ed asked if I could rush a letter to Brazzaville where a courier was leaving for Washington that night. By chance, Jeff wanted to go to Brazzaville to do some shopping so I told Ed that he would take it. Jeff was given a letter identifying him as an official diplomatic courier, picked up the sealed courier bag, and left for the beach to catch the ferry. At the Congolese customs, he was told to open the pouch. Jeff refused and presented the courier’s letter. But the official insisted he open the pouch. When Jeff refused again, the man pulled out his revolver, pointed it at Jeff, and ordered him to open the pouch. Jeff refused once more, picked up the telephone on the desk, and called Nendaka on his direct line.

Luckily, Nendaka was in his office and came to the beach immediately. Nendaka lectured the Congolese customs officer on the sanctity of diplomatic pouches and departed. Jeff headed for the door to get on the next ferry, when, suddenly, he was stopped by the same officer who again pointed his pistol at Jeff and demanded that he open the pouch. Astonished, Jeff reminded him of Nendaka’s statements, only to be told that Nendaka was no longer present. At that point, Jeff simply ignored the man and boarded the ferry.

Ed’s correspondence with Kennedy continued well into 1963 as the Katangan crisis dragged on and Tshombe proved himself a master of stonewalling. Exploiting the divisions within the United States political community, he suggested a meeting with Adoula at Kamina, a large former Belgian military base in Katanga occupied by UN forces. Adoula countered, offering to meet in Leopoldville and, after much haggling, Tshombe agreed. This small step raised the hopes of Secretary Rusk and the Washington and European factions that favored a peaceful solution. Our view in Leopoldville was that Tshombe saw the meeting as another delaying tactic designed to head off the UN from taking action against him.

Tshombe did come to Leopoldville, the talks stalled, and Adoula had to leave on a previously scheduled visit to the interior. Tshombe decided to return home for what he described as a brief stay while Adoula was absent. But, once again, he was prevented by Congolese soldiers from leaving the airport, a situation similar to the one that transpired at Coquilhatville where soldiers had prevented Tshombe from leaving.

I worked hard on Nendaka, Bomboko, and Mobutu that day and into the night, trying to convince them that, by preventing Tshombe’s departure, they were only helping his supporters in Europe and the United States. Ed and UN officials did the same, and Tshombe was finally allowed to leave in the early hours of the morning. The fact that some soldiers decided to prevent Tshombe from leaving after the Congolese authorities had agreed to his departure made the Leopoldville government look weak and incompetent. That, in turn, provided Tshombe with an argument for why it had been necessary for Katanga to separate from the Congo.

The long delay in resolving the Katangan crisis contributed to serious political problems for Adoula. As the months passed, we noted a sharp drop in his parliamentary support. Adoula lost favor with many of the Lumumbists who had supported his dismissal of Gizenga. Some believed he had not shown sufficient determination in trying to end Katanga’s secession. Others had succumbed to the financial blandishments of the Soviets, or were unhappy that he had not rewarded them with government positions. Whatever the reason, Adoula faced the danger of losing a vote of confidence, which would have forced his resignation. In the embassy, we felt sure that a successor would come from the Lumumbist group and would be either Soviet-leaning or openly pro-Soviet.

But Secretary Rusk was reluctant to act on Katanga. Once Adoula’s negotiations with Tshombe had failed, Ed recommended that economic sanctions against Katanga should be considered. One plan called for Tshombe to hand over fifty percent of Katanga’s tax and foreign exchange revenues to the central government. Economic sanctions, including the most extreme option with the UN blocking all Katanga’s copper and cobalt exports, would be backed up by the threat of military action.

Ed and I flew to Washington in July 1962 to support these initiatives. We briefed everyone of importance in the Africa policy community, stressing our belief that failure to end Katanga’s secession would sooner or later bring down the Adoula government. We were not successful: the sanctions’ option was watered down by Secretary Rusk and President Kennedy. In short, they were no longer sanctions, merely pious recommendations that played into Tshombe’s hands. On the return flight, I concluded that the only things of value on the trip were some useful meetings with my CIA colleagues and a visit to my parents on their wedding anniversary and my mother’s birthday.

In mid-October 1962, I received an “eyes only,” not-to-bediscussed-with-anyone cable. It was short, but alarming. I was instructed to remain within a fifteen-minute drive from the embassy until advised to the contrary. It did not take great imagination to guess what was going on. The Voice of America and BBC radio broadcasts, to which I listened every morning while shaving and showering, had been full of reports of the newly discovered Soviet missile sites in Cuba. Reading between the lines, I could see that the United States was about to respond.

I normally made it a point of knowing exactly where the ambassador was—which receptions and dinners were on his calendar—and I always told the communications duty officer and Jeff where I could be reached. After receiving the cable, I was even more careful than usual to check with the ambassador’s secretary every evening and sometimes to ask Ed himself about his plans.

One night, when Ed’s secretary assured me that he was free that evening, I decided to double-check because it was most unusual for him to have a free night. American ambassadors are much sought-after guests for receptions, dinners, and parties, and politics was Leopoldville’s life’s blood. Ed’s office was only a step away from mine, and around seven in the evening, as I was preparing to leave, I dropped in and casually asked whether he had plans for the evening. Yes, said Ed, quite positively. He was going home to split a bottle of champagne with his wife, Pat, and enjoy a quiet evening with her.

I returned home late when, shortly before eleven o’clock, my communications chief called to say that I was needed immediately at the embassy. I made the drive through the dark and deserted streets of Leopoldville in less than four minutes. A fourteen-part cable was still coming in with instructions for me. The first section stated that Ed and I were to brief Adoula at exactly midnight on U.S. plans to counter the Soviet missile threat. From the specific time mentioned, I realized that ambassadors and chiefs of station the world over would be briefing chiefs of friendly nations at exactly the same time. The details of the U.S. action were coming in the remainder of the message.

I telephoned Ed’s residence at once. The phone had rung many times before a sleepy houseboy answered and said the ambassador was out. I called Jeff and told him to go to the residence immediately to confirm that the ambassador was not there. If he happened to be there, Jeff was to ask him to come to the embassy and then join me in the office. Five minutes later, Jeff phoned to say the ambassador was not home. I told him to call our station officers and to assign each a section of the city. It was vital, I told him, to find the ambassador.

While Jeff and his crew were beating the bushes, I read the full message. Part thirteen of the fourteen-part message was missing, but I made notes on the other parts. I thought I could guess the general drift of the missing section and quickly ordered my thoughts for I realized that I might have to brief Adoula alone if Ed could not be found. As I finished writing, one of the junior communicators ran in to say that he had just seen the ambassador’s car parked in front of a nearby restaurant.

I briefed Ed as we drove to Adoula’s residence. I looked at my watch as we rang the doorbell. Midnight. There were no soldiers guarding the house, and the night watchmen had long ago found a quiet nook to sleep in. Adoula came padding to the door in pajamas and bare feet. We explained that we had an urgent message from President Kennedy and outlined the decision of the United States to impose a naval blockade against Cuba. After we had provided a full justification of the move, Adoula rolled his eyes, as was his wont when nervous or excited.

We went over the details of the policy and stressed that President Kennedy counted on the Congo’s support in any UN debate on the matter. Adoula immediately promised the Congo’s full backing and said he would tell Bomboko to instruct the Congolese ambassador to the UN to work with the U.S. delegation and to do his best to rally as many African nations as possible to the United States’ side.

Ed and I returned to the embassy where we sent off cables reporting on our meeting and Adoula’s assurance of Congolese support. I then drove to Bomboko’s home, briefed him on our meeting with Adoula, and made sure that he would send the necessary messages to his UN mission, as well as to all Congolese embassies. I finally returned to the embassy and found that the missing thirteenth section of the message had come in and that my guess concerning its contents had been correct.

Jeff, who had remained in the office, and I got home at about five in the morning but were back in the embassy by eight. We had to contact our agents to insure that they clearly understood and supported U.S. policy on this critical matter. We continued with our regular work but also kept Headquarters advised of the reaction of our agents and other key Congolese contacts.

When it was all over, we discovered that Kennedy’s successful gamble raised our stock with the Congolese. Even some of those who leaned far to the left congratulated me on the president’s successful handling of an extremely delicate matter.

The Cuban missile crisis in October 1962 erased the Congo from the minds of Kennedy and most of his key advisers. The president was reluctant to take or support any action against Tshombe that was likely to upset any of the nations that had supported the American blockade of Cuba. Many of our NATO allies opposed stiff measures, and President Kennedy believed he owed them a debt of gratitude for their support during the Cuban missile crisis. As we had expected, Dean Rusk’s diluted plan of action vis-à-vis the Katanga accomplished little or nothing. The Katangan problem, however, would not go away.

The same senior advisers, namely Soapy Williams and Harlan Cleveland, who had been prepared to deal with Lumumba and who had contributed to the removal of Ambassador Timberlake, were now hell-bent to support strong United Nations action designed to whip Tshombe into line and to end the Katanga secession.

While Washington was trying to resolve its policy differences over Katanga—and failing—we were compelled to step up our political action operations to counter a new Soviet effort to expand its influence in the Congo. Ambassador Nemchina and his intelligence crew were providing financial support for the parliamentary opposition, but at the same time Nemchina was offering to provide the government with assistance in ending the Katanga secession. Although our official policy supported the maintenance of a moderate government in the Congo, the failure of Secretary Rusk to accept the fact that negotiating with Tshombe was pointless insured the situation remained precarious. Operating against the Soviets and the Congolese left-wing political groups was not easy. Around this time I was handling twenty-two agents and/or collaborators.

The Soviets were trying to forge a closer relationship with Adoula and depict the U.S. as a half-hearted supporter of his government. We picked up intelligence that the Soviets had told Adoula that, after the UN had withdrawn from the country, Moscow would provide sufficient military equipment to enable the government to end Katanga’s secession within a few months. The Soviets were playing the same old Cold War game as they had done in Lumumba’s time. Khrushchev had not forgotten his objectives in Africa. His failures in the Congo in September 1960 and in the Cuban missile crisis made success in this new initiative all the more important.

Fate rather than careful planning in Washington eventually resolved the Katanga problem. On Christmas Eve 1962, Katangan troops shot down a UN helicopter and wounded several UN soldiers. After failing to obtain a cease-fire, UN troops rapidly removed the roadblocks, captured the Katangan Gendarmerie headquarters, and occupied Elisabethville. They took Kipushi, a key border town with Northern Rhodesia, two days later.

We were delighted, but Washington dithered once again, urging the Secretary-General to prevent his forces from going too far. U Thant assured the United States that he was not seeking a victory, but by January 2, 1963, UN troops had occupied Jadotville, site of the Union Minière headquarters and the mines. They were in a position to cut off all exports of Katangan copper and cobalt, a situation that almost certainly motivated Union Minière to encourage Tshombe to seek a peaceful end to the secession.

Nonetheless, Tshombe did not give up easily. He desperately tried to negotiate a compromise, but the UN made it clear it would only deal with him as a provincial president and that officials from the central government would be sent to Katanga. Britain, having long opposed a military solution, changed tack and urged Tshombe to cooperate. However, Britain’s continued involvement with Tshombe so infuriated Adoula and the Binza Group that they considered breaking diplomatic relations. I had to work hard to convince them that such a step would hurt the Congo far more than it would punish Britain. Persuading Adoula to proclaim an amnesty for Tshombe and all the members of his government posed another major problem, but he finally agreed.

On January 21, UN forces entered Kolwezi, Katanga’s last major town, and Katanga’s independence, which had lasted two and a half years, was finally over. There were, however, innumerable problems facing the government, and Ambassador Nemchina and his KGB team were there to exploit them. The economy in the areas outside Katanga was nearing complete bankruptcy. The army remained a disorganized mob incapable of fighting, but its support was necessary to insure that an Adoula government, or at least a moderate pro-Western government, would remain in control of the country. A large number of parliamentarians were for rent to the highest bidder, thus posing a constant threat to the government. We continued working with the same intensity as before Katanga’s reintegration, but the sense of crisis had eased.

The last months of my three-year tour as station chief had more ups than downs. But although I had lost the habit of being arrested, a habit I never learned to enjoy, I had to go through that experience one last time. Early in June 1963, I was awakened by a phone call about six in the morning from George, a junior case officer who had been assigned to the station on his first operational tour.

“I think I’ve killed somebody. Someone has been trying to break into my house several times over the past few nights. Last night he tried again. I couldn’t find a flashlight, so I took a lantern and my pistol and went out to scare him away.” At that point, George ran out of breath.

I instructed him to take his wife and children to the embassy because a white man killing an African could result in demonstrations, even riots. I called Jeff and a Canadian doctor of Jeff’s acquaintance and asked them to join me at George’s house. When they arrived, we found that there was no question about it: George, who was far from a marksman, had drilled him right through the heart. The doctor departed, and while Jeff took photographs of the body, I called the police. After carefully explaining that I was merely acting in my consular capacity, I told the police sergeant that there was a dead man in the garden and gave him the address.

Jeff left to mind the office, and, expecting the police to arrive at any minute, I found a sheet in the house and covered the body. After half an hour or more, I heard a man outside shrieking like hell. I looked out to find that a guy had come along, had tried to steal the sheet, and was scared out of his wits when he found a body underneath. I recovered the sheet and covered the body once again, but the man continued to shriek at the top of his lungs, and in no time at all there was a crowd of Congolese in the street just outside the fence.

The crowd was muttering and shouting and raising their fists. They assumed that I was the killer. Realizing that things were turning ugly, I again phoned the police, only to be told that they could not come because they had no transportation.

Leaving the body in the garden, with the crowd still in the street, I drove to the police station and picked up a sergeant and another policeman. Back at George’s place, I again explained that I had had nothing to do with the man’s death and was there in my consular capacity. The sergeant assured me that he understood, but when we uncovered the body, he pulled out his pistol and, looking directly at me said, “Don’t anyone move.”

The sergeant then called what he referred to as the technical police; the body could not be moved, he said, until the technical police had photographed the scene of the crime. It appeared that the technical police were also without transportation; so the sergeant told me to go and get them in my car. “Sorry. I can’t go,” I told him. “I’m a prisoner. I’m under arrest.”

He repeatedly ordered me to get them, but each time I pointed out that I was a prisoner and thus could not go. He finally got the point and told me I was no longer a prisoner and again ordered me to get the technical police. I did as he asked and found that the technical policeman was armed with a Brownie box camera. When we returned to George’s house, the sergeant, as I expected, again declared me to be a prisoner.

Once the man with the Brownie box camera had taken a few pictures, the sergeant said he had to call the magistrate before we could move the body. And, lo and behold, guess what, the magistrate was without a car, and I was again told that I was no longer a prisoner and ordered to go fetch the magistrate.

When I picked up the magistrate, I found that he seemed to be intellectually a step or two ahead of the police sergeant and, better yet, he was a Mongo tribesman. I told him that I was a close friend of Justin Bomboko, the Mongo chief and foreign minister, and I revealed that I had been initiated into the tribe and made an honorary Mongo by Bomboko at a ceremony held at the Zoo Restaurant.

With that bit of information the magistrate assured me that he would guarantee that I would have no more problems with the police, and we drove off to George’s house. When the magistrate removed the sheet, he let out a scream: the man was a fellow Mongo and one of his friends. I was a prisoner again.

The sergeant and the magistrate discussed my case and decided that they should take me to Makala Prison, but—same old problem—they did not have a car. So, we loaded the body into the trunk of my Peugeot 403. By this time, of course, rigor mortis had set in, and one of the man’s arms was frozen up by his head. We all worked and sweated, trying to get the hand inside the trunk with the body. We finally had to give up. Someone pulled off his belt, and we tied the trunk down. The sergeant and his assistant, the technical policeman and the magistrate all piled into my car, and I got behind the wheel and drove off, with the dead man’s hand sticking out of the trunk.

Instead of going to Makala Prison, I drove directly to the foreign ministry. When I arrived in front of the ministry, I swerved the car, drove up onto the lawn, jumped out of the car, and ran as fast as I could into Bomboko’s office. Bomboko sat there bug-eyed as I blurted out my story of the dead burglar and my on-again, off-again arrests. Then he started to laugh.

When he stopped laughing, he went outside with me, ordered the police to remove the body from my car, and told them that they could not arrest a consul who was merely performing his duties. After that solemn harangue, I drove off leaving the foreign minister, the magistrate, the police sergeant, his assistant, the man with the Brownie box camera, and, last but certainly not least, the dead burglar on the lawn in front of the foreign minister’s office.

We sent George and his wife and children to Brazzaville because we were afraid the police might take it into their heads to arrest him. We arranged with Headquarters for his recall, and Bomboko made it possible for George and his wife to return to their home to pack their personal effects. I later learned that George resigned from the service shortly after his return to the United States. He reportedly obtained a Ph.D. and went on to teach political science in a college somewhere in the western states.

ONE OF MY LAST major efforts as Chief of Station involved trying to obtain an air force for the Republic of the Congo because, up until then, it didn’t exist. Adoula, Mobutu, and most of the government officials in Leopoldville recalled how Tshombe had employed his fighter aircraft to threaten the UN forces, and they asked me to obtain planes for the Congo. They believed that planes would prevent them from ever being at the mercy of some African state or a rebel movement. I told them that a few planes, even new ones, would not guarantee such protection, but they looked on airplanes as some sort of a talisman that would guarantee victory. Adoula insisted that, without planes, his government would fall.

Neither Ed nor I believed that for one minute, but we knew that planes, used properly, could prove useful in putting down a rebellion. The first signs of trouble instigated by the Soviets and radical Africans were beginning to appear. The situation was not obvious to the uninitiated onlooker, but Ed and I could see the early signs. We believed that a few planes would provide the government with a psychological weapon that would strengthen their resolve and, if properly employed, would be of use in case of rebellion or civil war. God knows, their army was a weak reed to lean upon.

I started the ball rolling by submitting a recommendation that the United States provide the Congo with a small number of planes. Ed endorsed my recommendation by sending supporting cables through his channels. The State Department was not convinced, and CIA Headquarters was not prepared to act without the approval of the Department. Neither of us was surprised, but we continued pressing our case.

Washington finally agreed to provide six unarmed World War II vintage T–6 training planes on the understanding that their use would be primarily psychological. Ed and I agreed that the planes should be unarmed, for we knew it would not be difficult to mount arms on the planes if the need arose. Since there were no Congolese pilots at that time, Headquarters agreed to locate pilots and maintenance personnel to work for the government of the Congo.

The planes arrived in the first half of 1963 and were ready for combat by the time Pierre Mulele launched his rebellion the following year in the eastern part of Leopoldville province. The government of the Congo and the station were one step ahead of the game, and although I was no longer Chief of Station when they were needed, I understand that it did not take long to arm the planes. They were slow but well suited for the Congo, where the enemy was not armed with modern weapons. This nucleus of an air force proved extremely useful when civil war broke out in earnest in 1964. Without the preparation that the T–6 planes provided, the conflict might have ended differently.