To The Secretary

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You can either do business with the United States or you can do business with Frank Zappa.

—Secretary of State James Baker

Frank Zappa was one of the gods of the Czech underground. I thought of him as a friend. Whenever I feel like escaping from the world of the Presidency, I think of him.

—Václav Havel, president of the Czech Republic

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BRUSSELS SPARKLES IN THE HOLIDAY SEASON, WITH its Grand Place, the illuminated town hall, and Christmas markets. On December 23, 2009, most people had left their offices for last-minute shopping, but the U.S. ambassador dropped by the European Union building for the humblest of reasons—to present a congratulatory letter from President Obama to Herman Van Rompuy, the first president of the European Council.

He was warmly greeted and invited in for coffee with Van Rompuy and his chief of staff, Frans Van Daele, described as Belgium’s “premier diplomat.” The ambassador, Howard Gutman, might have claimed the same title, having charmed everyone to the point that a 2011 profile in Belgian newspaper Le Soir lauded him as “someone who could make you love the U.S. again.”

The men all knew one another well—Van Rompuy had been Belgium’s prime minister before taking up the new EU post, and through frequent interaction, Gutman had come to think of both men as friends. On that relaxed late December day, the EU building was virtually empty. The three chatted amiably, inquired about holiday plans and families, then turned to substantive matters, such as the recently concluded United Nations Climate Change Conference in Copenhagen. Gutman wrote that Van Rumpuy called it “an incredible disaster,” and was “as animated and frustrated as I have seen him.” He said he had already given up on Mexico City, the venue for the next conference, with Van Daele chiming in colorfully, comparing it to A Nightmare on Elm Street 2. “Who wants to see that horror movie again!” 1

The ambassador wrote apologetically that he merely had meant to deliver the mail, an important clarification in Belgium, where three American ambassadors have to tread carefully to avoid each other’s turf. Gutman served as the U.S. ambassador to Belgium, while his colleagues were the U.S. ambassador to NATO, headquartered a short distance from the capital in Mons, and the U.S. ambassador to the European Union, where the liaison function is valuable to both sides, even though the United States is not a member. The new USEU ambassador, William Kennard, had not yet presented his credentials, a necessary bit of protocol allowing the incoming diplomat to introduce himself as the president’s official representative in the country. Ambassadors seek to do this as soon as possible upon arrival, but sometimes holidays or schedules intervene. Until this formality takes place, ambassadors cannot engage in official actions, even such mundane affairs as the delivery of a letter from the president. Gutman’s instincts to deliver the letter and stay to chat served him well. This is a perfect example of how good contact work in diplomacy gets done.

The importance of carefully building and maintaining relationships is critical to diplomacy. Sometimes it requires nothing more than the gift of time, and sometimes it leads to real trust and genuine friendships. The warmth U.S. officials felt for Van Rompuy comes through in several cables, alongside efforts to explain the importance of the EU.

At the press conference announcing the appointment of Van Rompuy and EU High Representative Catherine Ashton to their new posts, the embassy noted that they were asked the so-called Kissinger question: Which of you will President Obama be calling and which of you will be calling him? This telling question, “Who do I call if I want to call Europe?” was meant in Kissinger’s time to underscore the frustration of dealing with a political entity that lacked a foreign ministry yet exercised the chaotic separate foreign policies of its member states. “Van Rompuy, known for his wit, answered, We are anxiously awaiting the first phone call!” 2

Van Rompuy’s conservative working style won out over the flash of his potential opponent, former British prime minister Tony Blair. The irony of having such a neutral figure at the helm of the unexciting European Union was not lost on anyone. The U.S. Embassy in Berlin quoted Germany’s Frankfurter Allgemeine, which editorialized: “Van Rompuy is certainly no megastar, who could bring New York City’s traffic to a standstill and let the powerful men in Washington and Beijing get the jitters. These would have been the qualities of Tony Blair. However, Van Rompuy does not deserve the insults he had to hear from an English chuff in the European Parliament. He is doing a fairly good job in a very calm way . . .” ³

The insults from the “English chuff” were very publicly delivered by Nigel Farage, leader of the UK Independence Party, at the European Parliament, a 751-member body of directly elected representatives from a wide spectrum of political parties. “I don’t want to be rude but, really, you have the charisma of a damp rag and the appearance of a low-grade bank clerk and the question I want to ask is: Who are you? I’d never heard of you. Nobody in Europe has ever heard of you.” 4 Farage was subsequently fined, having refused to apologize, and was forced to forfeit $4,000 from his parliamentary salary.

The USEU mission was far kinder, noting that Van Rompuy had once pulled Belgium back from the precipice after a political impasse that threatened to split the nation and praising his skills as a cool-headed negotiator. They portrayed Van Rompuy as a consensus-builder: a quiet man who wrote haiku and used self-deprecating humor to his advantage. When he performed in a comic video, the line that got the most laughs as he tiptoed across the stage imitating a mouse was when Belgian prime minister Guy Verhofstadt said, “Herman is so discreet, so discreet, even when he is there you cannot see him.” ⁵

The reporting officers’ considerable efforts to inject life into this somewhat colorless figure illustrates one of diplomacy’s most important tasks—describing key policymakers. Knowing as much as possible about who they are and how they think and predicting their reaction to a wide range of possible initiatives is central to their job. Foreign policy doesn’t exist without people, and dealing with people is a crucial part of foreign policy.

Personalities matter. What would a discussion of U.S.–Russian relations be without the image of a scowling Vladimir Putin? And who can think of Italy’s Silvio Berlusconi without recalling the 2009 NATO summit when he arrived glued to his mobile phone, until his annoyed host, German chancellor Angela Merkel, finally gave up waiting and ditched him curbside, all of it uploaded for viewing on YouTube?

When the media began sorting through the WikiLeaks cables, reporting on A-list celebrities from the foreign policy world provided an obvious way in. Articles from the Guardian and the New York Times dealt with world leaders everyone knew—or thought they did. Readers got a look at the “bromance” between Putin and Berlusconi and read how Medvedev played Robin to Putin’s Batman. They were titillated by reports that Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi was never far from his voluptuous Ukrainian nurse and learned that not even eighteen honorary doctorates could suspend the laws of economics for Zimbabwe’s Robert Mugabe as he ran his once-prosperous country into ruin.

But the big names were not the only interesting story. The leaked cables offered a wealth of biographic entries on the up-and-comers, the has-beens, the would-bes, the might-be-agains, and others whose positions in their respective countries provided worthwhile insight, perspective, or contradictory views.

Their names would be unrecognizable to most Americans, yet some of these people could become important overnight. Leaders come from the back benches, rural provinces, out-of-power political parties, and occasionally from the ranks of jailed political prisoners, such as the late Nelson Mandela. They get their start as economists, journalists, professors, or pollsters. They work as shadow cabinet ministers before they step into the limelight. The time to find out what makes them tick is before they ascend to the prime minister’s office.

The ego that it takes to become a politician often makes for scoundrels; the self-sacrifice it takes to become a human rights activist often makes for saints. There are also the visionaries—voices that stay out of the political lane but whose views become the next big issue. These people might be religious leaders, writers, artists, or filmmakers. To understand a culture is to gain a unique window into a country, so American diplomats visited churches and mosques; attended plays, exhibits, and concerts; watched films and television satires; scanned the newspapers for political cartoons; and were curious about people from all walks of life. Diplomacy has an undeserved reputation for being sedate, decorous, and downright dull. From the embassies’ descriptions of their contacts—the people from all walks of life whom they met and conversed with and learned from—it is anything but.

American diplomats needed all their people skills, along with a good sense of humor. Contact work is rarely as civilized as Gutman’s holiday coffee klatsch with Van Rompuy. The cables suggest there were plenty of characters who reveled in finding new ways to misbehave, along with people whose stories were genuinely inspirational. Some contacts had power, money, and access. Just as often, they had none.

Contact work encompasses all: the scoundrels and the saints, the artists and the actors, and those who were merely interesting.

MEET THE SCOUNDRELS

It is not a revelation to learn that many national figures are underwhelming, but some fall to such low standards that an undercurrent of revulsion seeps into embassy reporting. One such case involved South African minister of health Manto Tshabalala-Msimang, who made a startling appearance in the headlines of Johannesburg’s Sunday Times: “Manto: A Drunk and a Thief.” A nurse at a hospital in neighboring Botswana accused the minister of stealing a watch from the arm of an anesthetized patient. Tshabalala-Msimang landed in court for stealing hospital supplies and was declared a “prohibited immigrant” and barred from entering Botswana for ten years. A hospital employee quipped, “Everyone here thinks it’s hilarious that she is a health minister in South Africa.” 6

She presided at the ministry from 1999 to 2008, during which time HIV/AIDS infected more than four million South Africans, and deaths from the disease doubled. Called “Dr. Beetroot” for her stubborn insistence that a diet of vegetables could cure AIDS, she made headlines when she blocked U.S. funding to assist in the distribution of antiretroviral drugs, effectively sentencing many infected South Africans to death.

Tshabalala-Msimang had personal health problems as well, largely attributed to her alleged alcoholism. She pulled strings to receive a liver transplant that she would not otherwise have qualified for, given her age and condition. Allegedly, she needed the liver because of cirrhosis rather than autoimmune hepatitis, as she claimed. The Sunday Times alleged she drank right up to the transplant and continued drinking following the surgery, something the embassy’s contacts confirmed.

She came to personify a group of influential Africans known as AIDS deniers, and some critics suggested she be tried for genocide. Others were amazed she outlasted her detractors, but her number one defender was then–South African president Thabo Mbeki, who had spent his early years of political exile in the apartheid era with her, developing a deep bond. She did not leave office until he did. She died of liver failure in December 2009.7

Yahya Jammeh, president of The Gambia since 1994 (and evidently for life), also ran head on into Western medicine practices and HIV/AIDS, taking on the mantle of traditional healer. “Claiming healing powers, he paid well-publicized, televised visits to Banjul’s principal hospital, visiting patients in their beds, holding the Qur’an over them and rubbing a mysterious elixir over their stomachs. The patients, as shown on the local television news program, invariably responded to Jammeh’s treatment by sitting up and saying they immediately felt better.”

Embassy officers working in this tiny sliver of a country in West Africa, entirely surrounded by Senegal, grew concerned when Jammeh announced that he would be treating HIV/AIDS and asthma patients on a twice-weekly basis. Claiming to have a cure for HIV/AIDS, “Jammeh gave assurances that patients with the disease would test negative within three days of undergoing his treatment. His patients were to refrain from Western medication while in his care.” The post attributed his newfound interest in healing to a “penchant for erratic and sometimes bizarre behavior.” ⁸

Jammeh also made headlines—far beyond The Gambia—for his foreign policy gambits and homophobic tirades. In a two-hour meeting Jammeh called with the ambassador, he opened by saying, “I want your government to know I am not the monster you think I am.” After listening to a lengthy exposition on Gambian foreign policy, the ambassador responded, saying, “perception of [Jammeh] by outside observers could be attributed in large part to some of his more incendiary comments such as those related to human rights workers and ‘cutting off homosexuals’ heads.’” 9

Jammeh responded, “Yes I did make those comments but did I actually cut off anyone’s head? Have I ever arrested anyone for being gay? No. . . . There are gays here in The Gambia, I know that. But they live in secret and that is fine with me, as long as they go about their business in private we don’t mind.” ¹⁰

Jammeh’s views on the subject eventually grew more negative. In a 2013 speech before the UN, he decried “homosexuality in all its forms and manifestations which, though very evil, antihuman, as well as anti-Allah, is being promoted as a human right by some powers.” ¹¹

RUDENESS ON A GLOBAL SCALE

Latvia, a Baltic state admired for its environmentalism, offered an example of one of the most uncouth, obscene, and vulgar politicians ever to hold office. Gundars Berzins, seen by the embassy as the second most influential person in the Latvian People’s Party, served as the country’s minister of finance from 2000 to 2002, and then as minister of health from 2004 to 2007. The embassy found, to its consternation, that it had become a target for his criticism. He accused the former ambassador of “squeezing Latvians like lemons.” With growing dismay, the embassy watched as a series of interviews he granted to a daily newspaper became sharply anti-American, “full of rude, often obscene statements aimed at various high officials. He accused the Latvian intelligence chief of visiting the embassy two-three times a week and compared him to a kitchen maid for the ambassador.”

When the minister of foreign affairs resigned and left Berzins’s party, he scoffed, “The little boy should go change his wet pampers, put on the new ones and then come out to the public and reveal his true views on restitution to the Jewish community (adding some anti-Semitism to go with anti-Americanism). . . .

“Berzins did not even spare President Valdis Zatlers, comparing him to a carpet that just lays there which one can urinate or even defecate on. (Comment: The president is reported to have had a colorful reaction in his own right.)” 12

If there is a common theme among the scoundrels, it is a lack of self-awareness and common sense. A case in point is Kumari Mayawati, an Indian politician who served four terms as chief minister of Uttar Pradesh, India’s most populous state. The embassy described a pattern of almost unbelievable abuses of power and vicious reprisals.

One journalist related a story in which a state minister was forced to do sit-ups in front of her as penance for not first asking permission to call on Uttar Pradesh’s governor. “When she needed new sandals, her private jet flew empty to Mumbai to retrieve her preferred brand. She employed nine cooks (two as food tasters) and she constructed a private road from her residence to her office to enhance her security.” ¹³

Things took a more serious turn when Mayawati, long accustomed to throwing birthday parties for herself as a means of acquiring cash gifts, was accused of murdering a district engineer. Mayawati stalwarts visited the hapless engineer and demanded a birthday tribute to the governor. The engineer either refused or did not have the funds. He was tortured and killed in his home. His wife, locked in a bathroom by the assailants, heard her husband’s pleas for mercy as he was killed.¹⁴

Excesses with the trappings of office were a recurring theme in reporting cables. Few Americans will have heard of President Emomali Rahmon of Tajikistan. In office since 1992, Rahmon made a seamless transition from Soviet-era collective farm apparatchik to head of state, and he celebrated his third inauguration with a presidential medallion encrusted with jewels, along with a new Bentley. Tajikistan is one of the poorest of the former Soviet Socialist Republics. It is also one of the most corrupt, ranking near the bottom of Transparency International’s Corruption Perceptions Index.

But Tajikistan has geopolitical significance, lying next to Afghanistan. The United States has great interest in security cooperation, and Tajikistan granted unrestricted overflight rights for air transport supply flights into Afghanistan. It also occupies a key node in the Northern Distribution Network ground transit—both of which are essential for supplying U.S. troops in landlocked Afghanistan. This geostrategic importance goes some way toward explaining why U.S. embassy representatives would sit dutifully through Rahmon’s lengthy and costly inauguration for a third term that in no way celebrated a democratic transition of power. In fact, they had little choice since inaugurations are routinely a command performance for the diplomatic corps for almost all nations. They did, however, try to give a flavor of the event to Washington readers: “Rahmon’s speech emphasized that inauguration day is a holiday for the people of Tajikistan and he invited his guests to ‘celebrate like civilized white people’ (Comment: no comment). As the party went on, and on, the president took to the stage and began to sing. At this point, the television camera stopped filming.” 15

Racist comments from heads of state are not confined to out-of-the-way countries. Thorbjørn Jagland, a leading Norwegian politician—former president of the parliament, former prime minister, former head of the Norwegian Nobel Committee—also served as foreign minister, where he famously complained on national television about the onerous aspects of his job, “having to go around meeting Bongo from the Congo.” ¹⁶ That gaff—and a few others—were not enough to block his election in 2009 as secretary general of the Council of Europe, a forty-seven-member body focusing on legal standards, human rights, and rule of law.

Jagland was not alone. In an election campaign speech, North Rhine–Westphalia’s minister-president Jürgen Rüttgers said that Romanian workers are not punctual and not able to get the job done as well as German workers. That was bait for Social Democratic Party chancellor candidate Frank-Walter Steinmeier, who said Rüttgers’s remark played perfectly into the hands of the “right wing mob.” ¹⁷

But transgressions such as these pale against the lengthy rap sheet of Nicaraguan political player Daniel Ortega, whose long-running feud with the United States dates back to 1979. As one of the leaders of the Sandinista revolution and the Sandinista National Liberation Front (FSLN), the political party that overthrew the corrupt Somoza regime, Ortega was infamous during the Reagan years for leading his country toward socialism. Nicaraguan military support for a similarly motivated revolution in El Salvador led the United States to give aid to the Contras rebel groups, probably cementing the foundation for a difficult relationship ever after. Ortega ruled Nicaragua for a generation, from 1979 to 1990. He spent sixteen years out of power and then returned for a second act in 2007—albeit with only 38 percent of the vote—and has been at the helm ever since.

One might think such a long-standing relationship would lead to few surprises. On the contrary, the reporting revealed a U.S. fascination with Ortega, tempered by consternation as the embassy tried to make sense of the motives behind his quixotic actions.

On the foreign policy front, Ortega had an odd penchant for backing losers. His gadfly approach led to a meeting with former Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, support for former Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi, and near-instant recognition of the breakaway states of South Ossetia and Abkhazia in Eurasia. In his own backyard, his tight relationships with Fidel Castro and Hugo Chávez and support for leftist regimes elsewhere in the hemisphere burnished his anti-U.S. credentials.

The embassy cried foul when, in 2009, Ortega used the courts to overturn a constitutional provision that limited him to a single term. The U.S. ambassador’s speech at the American Chamber of Commerce denouncing this move spurred an angry mob to attack the embassy, “spray-painting anti-U.S. and pro-Sandinista graffiti on the embassy’s security fence, breaking lights and security cameras, defacing consulate signs, and breaking a window. . . Demonstrators waved FSLN party flags and held signs calling for ‘Death to the Yanquis, Death to Empire’ . . . Local police made little effort to control the demonstrations and in some cases facilitated the arrival of protestors.” 18 Ortega’s move to force constitutional change through the courts worked out well for him. He was reelected in 2011 with 62 percent of the vote and remains in charge at this writing.

Despite tensions in the relationship, the two countries continued to interact. A ceremony marking the thirtieth anniversary of the Nicaraguan army led to an Ortega rant against imperialism and an affront to military protocol.

In his most belligerent and openly anti-U.S. speech in months, President Daniel Ortega launched into a nearly hour-long tirade on the evils of U.S. imperialism . . . In a direct insult to the Marine Corps Marching Platoon [one of many foreign military units invited to take part in the ceremonies], baking in over 100 degree temperatures throughout the harangue, Ortega pointed to the Marines and said, ‘you young soldiers . . . you are not responsible.’ . . . He could not resist a final insult—giving only a perfunctory salute to the Marines as they paraded past along with cadets and marching teams from other countries, which got a much longer and more formal salute.¹⁹

Ortega further exasperated the U.S. by criticizing its assistance to earthquake-stricken Haiti, calling the efforts a military invasion and suggesting they were a subterfuge aimed at installing a military base in the country.²⁰ When the ambassador protested this mischaracterization, the foreign minister was ready with rhetorical questions. If there was no invasion planned, then why were there so many troops? Why weren’t they under the control of the United Nations? The ambassador retorted that Ortega’s assertions were absurd and so offensive that Secretary of State Clinton mentioned them at the State Department’s annual meeting of Western Hemisphere chiefs of mission.

Just when it seemed impossible for the relationship to decay further, the embassy was caught off guard by Ortega’s capacity to mount a charm offensive when it suited his purposes. Small but significant changes in behavior led to a meeting in which “Ortega apologized for the attack on the Embassy, noting that he had personally intervened with the Chief of Police to ensure the Embassy (eventually) had protection from anti-riot units (and for the ambassador himself on the following day). When the ambassador noted concern over the fact that senior FSLN leaders were seen urging on the violent protestors, Ortega somewhat sheepishly acknowledged that at times even he cannot control his own people.”

The embassy speculated on a number of motives for Ortega’s nice-guy act. “In our experience, Ortega’s charm offensives are . . . short lived and insincere. Perhaps in the face of his less than successful foreign policy to diversify his donor base . . . he simply seeks reassurance that we plan to stay on here. We will. And hope that this new beginning does not end in disappointment, again.” 21

Despite the love-hate relationship, an American presence was expected at Ortega’s inauguration and return to power in January 2007. Embassy Managua described an event that “projected an odd image of disorder, amateurism, and unceremonious conduct, where populism trumped protocol, and security was virtually non-existent.” The reporting cable excerpts, describing alternating moments of tedium and hilarity, hint at the risks of keeping VIPs unoccupied for lengthy periods.

The American delegation did not have its meeting with the president-elect until 10 p.m. the evening before the inauguration. The day itself was punctuated with other lengthy delays. The late arrival of President Hugo Chávez of Venezuela left heads of state, royalty, ministers, and other dignitaries waiting nearly two hours in the sun and gave new meaning to the term jockeying for position.

The U.S. delegation was unable to take their seats since the Palestinian delegation was already sitting in them, having been displaced from their own seats by the Central American delegations. By the time Chávez arrived, the seating had turned into a free-for-all, with people taking matters into their own hands, grabbing chairs and moving them at will, blocking aisles and walkways.

As the crowd of the unseated grew, many strained for a glimpse of the (non)proceedings, which acquired the feel of a football rally.

Embassy officers, along with ambassadors and assorted European colleagues who were previously displaced from their seats, stood on the sidelines, alongside a ragtag crowd of Salvadoran guests waving red and black Faribundo Martí National Liberation Front (FMLN) flags and cheering for Ortega. Interspersed among the FMLN and the diplomats were Venezuelans sporting radios and orchestrating the cheering for their leader.

People got testy in the hot sun, and it was duly noted that Crown Prince Felipe of Spain drew noticeably louder applause than Ortega. Many delegation leaders, including Presidents Uribe of Colombia and Calderón of Mexico were noticeably not amused . . . The erratic management led several to complain this would be their last inauguration.

When Chávez finally arrived, Ortega further delayed proceedings by ushering the leader around and introducing him to the delegations. Chávez obliged by insulting U.S. delegation head Michael Leavitt, Secretary of Health and Human Services, on the subject of infant mortality.

The long wait was rewarded with a lengthy sermon by Nicaraguan Cardinal Obando y Bravo, “ironically preaching on morality, ethics, and the evils of corruption while convicted embezzler [and former president Arnoldo] Aleman beamed in his seat of honor . . . The festivities also featured musical miscues, lapses in formal procedures . . . a gun salute that was ill timed and interrupted one of the speakers, followed by the lighting of a larger-than-life neon image of FSLN icon Augusto Sandino.” (Aleman’s conviction was overturned two years later by the Nicaraguan Supreme Court; all four justices who voted to overturn had ties to Aleman’s political party.)

With careful understatement, the embassy noted one of the “more entertaining components” was the commemorative medal ceremony to honor the delegation heads, set to the tune of a classic Nicaraguan folk song.

Although the program announced Comandante Daniel would award the Medal of Latin American Unity Free Nicaragua the task was performed by attractive young women dancers who draped medals over the necks of delegation leaders as part of the choreography. Marking another awkward moment, however, they ran out of medals halfway through, leaving Presidents Calderón and Chávez without their prize. To cover the oversight, the dancers and music continued to play while the first lady improvised.

Instead of giving his formal remarks as programmed, President Ortega closed the proceedings with the departing words, “my people await me,” and rushed off to Plaza de la Fe for a rally accompanied by Presidents Chávez and Morales, along with the President of Taiwan (looking as lost as an Eskimo in Africa), who had arrived with several busloads of at least 200 delegates.22

WOMEN OF COURAGE

Thankfully, embassies also found plenty of people to admire. The International Women of Courage Award, established in 2007 under then–Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice, gave embassies a platform to extol the bravery and leadership of women who might never attain high office but who had made a dramatic impact nonetheless. “The award honors women around the globe who have exemplified exceptional courage and leadership in advocating for human rights, women’s equality, and social progress, often at great personal risk. This is the only State Department award that pays tribute to emerging women leaders worldwide.” 23 The honorees come to the United States for the special International Visitor Leadership Program, which provides an opportunity to meet with Americans and make connections that will allow them to continue to empower women in their countries.

The number of honorees ranged from eight to ten in the award’s first four years and, perhaps not surprisingly, a number of recipients came from Afghanistan (six) and Iraq (four), both priority countries for U.S. foreign policy. Zimbabwe had two recipients, while others hailed from countries as disparate as Sri Lanka and Argentina.

Embassy Kabul set the stage for readers in a nomination cable describing the indescribable.

Women in Afghanistan face extraordinary circumstances that frequently prevent them from attending school, working outside the home, or even living free from the fear of becoming the victims of domestic violence. However, the number of courageous Afghan women who fight against pervasive cultural norms to better the lives of all women in their country is outstanding. Despite serious threats to their own safety, sometimes by members of their own families, numerous women in Kabul and the provinces continue their work to advance women’s rights in Afghanistan.²⁴

One Afghan winner, Mary Akrami, ran two shelters for women escaping domestic violence or forced marriages. “Several women at her shelter have made the bold and virtually unprecedented move of stepping forward and denouncing their abusers publicly and filing court cases against them.” A second Afghan winner, Aziza Siddiqui, traveled to remote rural villages to educate women on their rights, organizing meetings in more than fifty villages. Colonel Shafiqa Quraishi, unusual in being a female police colonel who worked for the Ministry of Interior for Gender, Human, and Child Rights, recruited thousands of women to the force and then created unheard-of benefits such as prenatal care and child care. She then managed to get forty-two promotions for women processed in the Afghan National Police—women who had been repeatedly passed over for a decade.

Shokuria Assil, one of only four female members of the Baghlan Provincial Council (roughly the political equivalent of a U.S. state legislature) also championed underdogs. When the Ministry of Education summarily fired three teachers, she challenged the decision and argued that the firings were unjust. She got the women reinstated and eventually convinced a ministry official to apologize publically. This would be impressive in the United States; it was unheard of in Afghanistan. She also advocated for programs for the mentally ill, started a networking group for professional women, and pushed to start a women’s driving school.25

The winner from Argentina, Susana Trimarco de Veron, is the mother of Marita Veron, kidnapped by a human trafficking ring on April 3, 2002, when she was twenty-three years old. Desperate to find her daughter, Trimarco dedicated herself to exposing the traffickers. Her search through global trafficking networks led to the rescue of ninety-six victims, including seventeen Argentine women who had been forced into prostitution in Spain. The embassy nomination read:

Trimarco’s efforts have led her into dangerous situations, disguised as a prostitute, trolling bars and alleys in search of anyone who might know something about her daughter’s whereabouts. She has been threatened, spied upon, and tricked. She has received false leads and death threats, but has not been deterred from her investigations into human trafficking in Argentina. Thanks to her work, the Argentine government is beginning to focus on this crime. 70 cases have been filed in Tucuman province.²⁶

The horrible reality is that some of the nominees and award recipients have been physically abused and beaten for their work. Iraqi nominee Najat Shakir Munshid al-Hameedawi was not only a civil society activist, but a district council member and a member of the Baghdad Suburban Services Board. Her duties on the municipal body focused on women’s and children’s services. At the provincial level, she served as the Istiqlal representative to the Baghdad Suburban Services Board and the chair of the Women and Children’s Committee for all of the rural districts of Baghdad. Unfortunately, none of this grassroots work was sufficient to prevent her brutal treatment. The embassy wrote:

What truly makes Ms. Najat’s achievements and tireless efforts amazing is her incredible story of courage. Ms. Najat put her life and that of her family in danger on a daily basis by working for the Government of Iraq and with Coalition forces. She risked her life further by speaking up for her strongly held ideas of democracy and women’s rights and against the terrorist groups and sectarian militias who do not want to see a stronger role for women in Iraqi society. The terrorist threat became reality on a Friday in the winter of 2006, when Ms. Najat was violently dragged from her home in front of her family by a gang of Jaysh al-Mahdsi (JAM) Special Groups militia. She was tortured and brought to trial in one of the Sharia courts operated by JAM and sentenced to death. However, on her way to execution, she convinced the executioner that she was innocent and to let her go for the sake of her small children. Her executioner released her with strict instructions to leave Baghdad and Iraq.27

Ms. Najat refused to leave and continued her work.

In Zimbabwe, Jestina Mukoko, a former television news broadcaster, turned her skills to the Zimbabwe Peace Project, an NGO made up of four hundred Zimbabweans who monitor human rights, providing the international community with accounts of human rights abuses.

Her work came to an abrupt halt early one morning, when she was abducted by state security agents, dragged from her home in her nightclothes, and held incommunicado . . . During her abduction, she was tortured by agents who beat her, subjected her to falanga (beating the soles of her feet) and forced her to confess to an alleged plot to mount a terrorist incursion from neighboring Botswana . . . She was repeatedly denied adequate medical care for injuries and medications that went untreated during her detention.28

It is reassuring to see a smiling Mukoko in a March 10, 2010, State Department photo standing between Secretary Clinton and First Lady Michele Obama, and it would be logical to assume such high-profile international attention would be enough to ward off further violence. But the Zimbabwean government continued to harass her even after her award, just as she continued, more determined than ever, in her work.²⁹

In fact, international visibility can cut the wrong way. One of the 2010 Women of Courage Award winners, Jensila Kubais of Sri Lanka, was so frightened at the prospect of government reprisals that she begged the embassy to revise the citation narrative. “In a meeting with us, Kubais underscored the implications of the wording of the award’s citation, noting the importance of avoiding references to her work on ‘human rights violations’ and focusing instead on her work as a ‘minority community leader.’” The embassy noted that Kubais and her group had been threatened by the Criminal Investigation Division of the police and that tagging her as a human rights activist could result in dire consequences. Kubais substantiated this fear by noting that a previous recipient had been vilified in the pro-government press.³⁰

Visibility from the award was also a problem for the U.S. embassy in Uzbekistan. The ambassador was summoned to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, where he was dressed down by an apoplectic foreign minister for the embassy’s nomination of 2009 award winner Mutabar Tadjibayeva. The embassy described the “icy tone” of the foreign minister, who concluded the meeting without shaking hands. The embassy was frank about the tradeoffs the award would bring, noting it would likely set back other initiatives, such as Uzbekistan’s role in the Afghanistan transit framework, an overland supply route, and the hoped-for return of DEA agents to the U.S. mission. Cooperation had been suspended in 2007, and the embassy frequently raised the possibility of having two openly accredited DEA special agents join the mission—a move that would require Uzbek approval.31

The Tadjibayeva case is yet another in which a woman human rights activist was imprisoned for speaking out about government violence against peaceful protestors. “Tadjibayeva suffered horribly in prison, enduring forced psychiatric treatment and long stays in solitary confinement . . . She was placed in an unheated solitary confinement cell in winter for almost 50 days. She developed anemia, low blood pressure, and kidney problems.” In truly Orwellian fashion, the prison doctors performed surgery on her but refused to discuss her diagnosis or what the procedure was for. She was released on medical grounds during a June 2008 visit by Assistant Secretary of State for South and Central Asian Affairs Richard Boucher. Both the embassy and the State Department were reticent about whether Boucher had won her release, but both the BBC and the New York Times made the connection. According to the embassy, she continued her human rights advocacy and never shied away from criticizing authorities. She commented to a political officer shortly after her release, “They can break my body but they can never break my spirit.” ³²

There is a disconcerting postscript to the Tadjibayeva story. Coming from a part of the world where nothing is ever what it seems, even stories of heroism arrive laden with ambiguity. Tadjibayeva returned her award when she learned that a dissident turned president from neighboring Kyrgyzstan, Roza Otunbayeva, was honored with the same award in 2011. Tadjibayeva said that Otunbayeva, as head of state, bore responsibility for a bloody interethnic conflict in Kyrgyzstan in which four hundred people were killed and thousands injured in fierce clashes between ethnic Kyrgyz and Uzbeks. In a statement she said, “When Mrs. Otunbayeva was a leader of the opposition and was speaking out against injustice, I think then it would have been right to award her. But it is during her presidency that we have seen bloodshed.” 33

The embassy in Kyrgyzstan also had trouble making up its mind about Roza Otunbayeva, leader of the Social Democratic party and former foreign minister. Reporting on a lengthy conversation with her in December 2009 about the ruling Bakiyev family’s plans for succession, the embassy was dismissive. “We have little confidence in her information and less in her analysis.” ³⁴ Four months later, following widespread rioting that led to the overthrow of President Bakiyev, she was leading the country.

Tadjibayeva was correct; the coup that brought Otunbayeva to power unleashed deadly interethnic violence between Kyrgyz and Uzbeks. But Washington had a different interpretation of her role. The announcement of her award painted Otunbayeva in glowing terms, crediting her as the central figure in ridding her country of authoritarian rule, becoming Central Asia’s first female head of state and head of government in a traditional, majority Muslim country, and pulling a divided opposition into a provisional government that kept Kyrgyzstan whole.

Other women of courage nominees stayed away from politics and chose instead to focus on service. North Korean Lee Ae-ran was unable to enroll in university because her family came from a “bad class.” Faced with hopelessness, she tried to take her own life by drinking insecticide. U.S. Ambassador Kathleen Stephens picked up the story from there, describing how Dr. Lee Ae-ran finally went to college in 1985, majoring in engineering, when the North Korean authorities opened the doors of science and engineering colleges to those from so-called bad classes.

She left North Korea in 1997 with nine members of her family, and in 2009 she was the first North Korean female defector to receive a PhD. “For many years, Dr. Lee has been helping with the rehabilitation programs for North Korean women who were divorced or have autistic children.” She organized Hana Women’s Group “to provide leadership training for North Korean female defectors . . . She has been supporting college students of defector families with scholarships. Last year, she created a fund of 30 million won to provide North Korean adolescents with 100,000 won each month for their private tuition fees. She has been stressing to the students ‘As long as you hope, you can live.’” 35

Many of the awardees successfully operated at the margins—filling an obvious need, keeping the government at bay, and connecting with the larger international community. Sister Clauda Isaiah Naddaf (aka Sister Marie-Claude) of Damascus, Syria, was an exemplar of that savviness. The embassy admired—and was intrigued by—the way she had found space to maneuver in the “murky no-man’s land” between civil society and the government. Like many recipients, she worked for women who were victims of violence and sexual trafficking. She faced down strict cultural taboos and paved the way for other groups. The embassy was smitten.

A visit with Sister Marie-Claude is never an everyday affair. She sits you down, unveils her vision for assisting women in need, explains the moral framework in which she operates, engages you in a discussion on how we, united, might begin to alleviate suffering, and then you meet the very women and girls to whom she has devoted herself. It is a powerful experience. Her boundless energy, fiery intelligence, and tremendous courage have won the respect of SARG (Syrian Arab Republic Government) officials, diplomats, and NGOs alike. She has stood firm in the face of political indifference and kicked down the doors of cultural constraint to better (and very often save) the lives of women and young girls who have found themselves abandoned, beaten on the street, or slaves to traffickers.36

And finally, Hadizatou Mani of Niger tells the story of how, when she was twelve, she was sold into slavery for $500. “I was negotiated over like a goat,” she said. Mani was a slave because her mother was a slave, purchased by a man in his sixties who beat her, sent her to work long hours in the field, raped her, and made her bear him three children.

When Niger outlawed slavery in 2003, Mani’s master tried to tell the government that she was not a slave but one of his wives. Hadizatou fought for and won a Certificate of Liberation and married a man of her own choosing. Her challenges did not end, however. Her former master sued her for bigamy and she spent six months in jail. According to embassy follow-up reporting, even after her award as an International Woman of Courage, her children still lived with her former master.³⁷

The cables offer examples of embassy human rights work that goes well beyond mandated reporting cables. They represent months and years of careful relationship-building and hard-won trust that provided a window into communities fearful of authorities in their own countries. The officers’ long-standing relationships with these women personalize the work of human rights and hint at a vast world of impoverished, abused, and unwanted victims.

PEOPLE WHO JUST DON’T LIKE US

The U.S. relationship with Germany is among the most important in the world. Allied since the end of World War II, Germany’s industrial strength has been the backbone that rebuilt Europe. The reunification of East and West between 1989 and 1990, with its accompanying risk of a more neutral European position, tested the bonds of that relationship. Since that time, Germany’s steady leadership as the single strongest member of the EU has provided further opportunities for collaboration. This is one country whose leaders are household names in the United States. Christian Democrats such as Konrad Adenauer, Helmut Kohl, and Angela Merkel are well-known figures, thanks in part to their long tenures and generally pro-U.S. stances. Social Democrats such as Willy Brandt, Helmut Schmidt, and Gerhard Schröder often pulled at those bonds, causing consternation for U.S. policymakers. In the years since reunification, for the most part, U.S.–German relations rarely make headlines, remaining solid, reliable, and rarely colorful.

No one would ever call the German politician Guido Westerwelle gray. The embassy in Berlin saw him as “a wild card” and warned that his “exuberant personality does not lend itself to taking a back seat to Chancellor Merkel on any issue. If he becomes foreign minister, there is the possibility of higher profile discord between the chancellery and the MFA.” 38

In fact, the prediction was on target in several ways. Westerwelle’s Free Democratic Party (FDP) surged to gain 14.6 percent of the votes in the September 2009 elections, making it a junior partner to Angela Merkel’s Christian Democratic Union and Christian Social Union coalition. This opened the way for Westerwelle to take on the job of foreign minister, which comes with the title of vice chancellor.

Westerwelle’s foray into the realm of foreign policy, with a speech at the German equivalent of the Council on Foreign Relations, came in for scathing reviews. His remarks earned him the nickname of Guido Genscher, linking his ideology to that of his mentor, former FDP foreign minister Hans-Dietrich Genscher. Genscher’s penchant for charting a middle course between two superpowers alarmed the United States, which was concerned that his path would lead to German neutrality. The politics of resistance to fully aligning with the United States became known as “Genscherism,” a label for Germans seen as less than fully committed to NATO membership and to a U.S. presence on the European continent.

The embassy, sketching a biographic profile of Westerwelle in September 2009 following the FDP’s good showing in the election, found his remarks to be “short on substance, suggesting that Westerwelle’s command of complex foreign and security policy issues still requires deepening if he is to successfully represent German interests on the world stage.”

He harbors resentment that he has not been taken more seriously by the Washington political establishment . . . By his own admission, Westerwelle has never seriously harbored a fascination for international affairs.

There is a contrast between Westerwelle’s increased public support and successful leadership of the FDP versus the continued skepticism, often bordering on contempt, shown by much of the German foreign policy elite toward him.

The embassy continued with a series of damning assessments. “One foreign policy analyst told poloff [political officer], ‘he lacks the gravitas and is seen as too opportunistic to be trusted as foreign minister.’ Several Ministry of Foreign Affairs desk officers said they were not persuaded that Westerwelle ‘had the foreign and security policy expertise necessary.’ . . . There was a consensus among desk officers, driven perhaps by political bias, that Westerwelle was arrogant and too fixated on maintaining his cult of personality.”

The embassy seemed to reach for invidious comparisons. “Like Dan Quayle in 1992, Westerwelle wants to compare himself to his mentor, Hans-Dietrich Genscher, but in the eyes of the foreign policy community, he is no Genscher.”

The biggest problem seemed to be his personality—it is clear the embassy found him hard to like. “Westerwelle found it hard to conceal his resentment toward Washington based on his feeling that neither its top leadership nor the embassy in Berlin courted him during his time in opposition . . . He has little professional experience of the U.S. since he never made extensive efforts to introduce himself to the Washington policy community. Unfortunately our attempts to reach out to Westerwelle were often rebuffed with the excuse that he would only meet with the Ambassador. Only after extensive embassy negotiations with Westerwelle’s staff were former CDA [chargé d’affaires] and poloff able to secure a meeting.” 39

Less than a week later, on September 22, 2009, the embassy’s postelection analysis insisted that results did not signal change but fretted that Westerwelle’s “unpredictability” would require what it euphemistically termed “focused diplomatic engagement.”

As it turned out, the embassy had a far more intimate means of understanding the worldview of Westerwelle. It had a source within the FDP, a “young, up-and-coming party loyalist,” who offered the embassy documents on many occasions. The source, revealed as Helmut Metzner, “was excited with his role as FDP negotiations notetaker; he seemed happy to share his observations and insights and read directly from his notes and provided copies of documents from his binder.” The embassy was extraordinarily lucky to have found Metzner. While cultivating party insiders is the bread and butter of diplomatic work, this level of engagement with a source was unusual, as was Metzner’s willingness to serve, for all intents and purposes, as a mole. Unfortunately, for Metzner, it was not destined to last.

Westerwelle struggled to balance his role as foreign minister with his role as party leader. By February 2010, the embassy was reporting Metzner’s prediction that Westerwelle would leave diplomacy to the drawing rooms while using straight talk in the world of domestic politics. Straight talk could prove controversial, evinced by Westerwelle’s infamous gaffe that “promising people prosperity without work would encourage Germans to indulge in late-Roman decadence” and that working people “are increasingly becoming the idiots of the nation.” ⁴⁰

Despite the embassy’s dubious views, Westerwelle had a long run as foreign minister, from 2009 to 2013. In an interesting footnote, the WikiLeaks cables claimed a political victim: Metzner was dismissed from his job as Westerwelle’s chief of staff after admitting he was the source of U.S. insights into confidential negotiations on the formation of the new government.

PLASTIC PEOPLE OF THE UNIVERSE AND OTHER PERNICIOUS ARTISTIC INFLUENCES

Even the most democratic governments have an uneasy relationship with artists and intelligentsia. They go too far, they say too much, they push from the comfortable center of an issue out to the furthest extremes. They make people think—and they also make them nervous. Diplomats seek out writers, playwrights, filmmakers, and musicians and value them for the nuances they can add to an issue. Engaging with artists is one aspect of cultural diplomacy, a catchall term that is often associated with soft power, the idea of espousing foreign policy goals in a less direct and less confrontational way. Cultural programming can be as simple as a traveling exhibit of American quilts, but the savviest diplomats see cultural programming as a two-way street. Local artists serve as a window into the subtleties of the society in which they live and work. Like the figures from other nongovernmental agencies, members of the artistic community provide an alternative view often at odds with conventional wisdom.

Sometimes the controversy they create is as silly as David Cerny’s sculpture Entropa, which served as the Czech Republic’s artistic contribution to its 2009 presidency of the European Union, a rotating honor shared by each member state for six months. The embassy reported that the sculpture, a map of Europe, served as an irritant for its irreverent (either funny or rude, depending on taste) stereotypical depictions of member states. Some were harmless and predictable—Denmark was built of Legos, Sweden was an Ikea box; but others, such as Bulgaria’s depiction as a toilet, were insulting. The sculpture caused the Czech government, already notorious as one of the most skeptical members of the EU, significant embarrassment and was a prelude to other disasters in its presidency term.

Sometimes the conflict between intellectuals and the state is more serious and offers insights into the thinking of the societies from which they spring. Orhan Pamuk, winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2006, is probably Turkey’s best-known novelist for works such as Snow, My Name Is Red, The Museum of Innocence, and many others.

In February 2005, in an act that he said was deliberately calculated to test the limits of free speech in Turkey, he stated, “Thirty thousand Kurds have been killed here, and a million Armenians. And almost nobody dares to mention that. So I do.” He reinforced these thoughts in numerous interviews with world media. “What happened to the Ottoman Armenians in 1915 was a major thing that was hidden from the Turkish nation; it was a taboo. But we have to be able to talk about the past.” 41

Pamuk was subsequently charged under Turkey’s infamous Article 301, a 2005 law, amended in 2008, which made it a crime to insult Turkishness or the Turkish nation. The debate Pamuk ignited featured rallies at which his books were burned. He was also the target of assassination attempts and spent considerable time outside the country teaching at Columbia University and Bard College.

Pamuk was not the only intellectual to test the waters of free speech. Turkish-Armenian journalist and human rights activist Hrant Dink was assassinated in 2007. The seventeen-year-old perpetrator, once apprehended, openly admitted to the act and expressed nationalistic pride for it, reportedly saying during his interrogation, “I don’t regret it. I would do it again.” ⁴²

The embassy in Ankara was alarmed by the upsurge in nationalism, writing that it was seeing a lynch-mob atmosphere. “Having gone unchecked, it appears that nationalism is exceeding the bounds of political expediency. In the wake of the Hrant Dink murder, most Turks were stunned by video clips released February 2 that show police proudly taking photos with Dink’s murderer before a Turkish flag. The photos fueled rumors of police involvement in the shooting . . .” 43

Pamuk continued his campaign for free speech, telling Russian magazine Timeout Moscow that freedom of expression did not exist in Turkey. He complained that the secular vision of the modern founder of the Turkish state, Mustafa Atatürk, and the politically influential Turkish military’s understanding of secularism were completely different.⁴⁴

The Turkish parliament finally amended the infamous Article 301 after an extended debate that highlighted the deputies’ divided sentiments. Speaking for many of his parliamentary colleagues, Bekir Bozdag said the law had stained Turkey’s image. “Noting the irony of Turkish Nobel laureate author Orhan Pamuk showing the world the beauty of Turkey only to be prosecuted under Article 301, Bozdag said onlookers threw eggs and tomatoes at Pamuk as he entered the courthouse to defend himself against the charge of insulting Turkishness.” ⁴⁵

The embassy saw Pamuk’s case as a bellwether for democracy and came to a pessimistic conclusion. “The fundamental problem lies in the un-reformed mentality of GOT [government of Turkey]) officials, starting with Prime Minister Erdogan, who have yet to fully accept freedom of speech in its broadest form as a core value.” Embassy officers said Turkish officials reassured them several times that Pamuk would never be imprisoned, a fact they found more troubling, since it implied officials saw the case as a troublesome one-off, rather than as a test of societal values. They worried that intellectuals without Pamuk’s high profile would still be endangered. “A Turkish free speech activist noted numerous speech-related lawsuits Erdogan brought against cartoonists who have lampooned him, as well as writers and demonstrators whose speech he considered personally insulting as evidence that the GOT leadership had not embraced the western concept of free expression.” 46

Turkish discomfort with freedom of expression, as evidenced by the Pamuk case, was sometimes characterized as the reason Europeans were leery of granting Turkey full membership in the European Union, but within the EU, countries that were undeniably Western faced similar problems, personified by writers, filmmakers, and journalists who asked uncomfortable questions that resonated far beyond their own societies.

The Danish cartoon controversy, which surfaced in September 2005 when a paper published a dozen cartoons caricaturing the Prophet Mohammed, was one aspect of this problem, and nearby Netherlands faced several crises as it worked to define the difference between free speech and hate speech. In November 2004, filmmaker Theo Van Gogh had been murdered by an enraged Muslim because of his film Submission, which dealt with violence against women in Islamic societies. The Netherlands has one of the highest Muslim populations of any European country—close to one million, comprising nearly 5 percent of its seventeen million people. Van Gogh’s murder led to an explosion of reprisals and fueled debate that followed on the heels of the earlier 2002 assassination of Pim Fortuyn, a member of parliament who had run on an anti-Islam platform.⁴⁷

Geert Wilders, another high-profile anti-Islamic member of the Dutch parliament, mounted a film attack on the Qur’an called Fitna (an Arabic title meaning disagreement or division among people), which aired in March 2008. The embassy advised Washington to view him as more of a hatemonger than a free speech fighter.

Golden-pompadoured, maverick parliamentarian Geert Wilders’ anti-Islam, nationalist Freedom Party remains a thorn in the coalition’s side, capitalizing on the social stresses resulting from the failure to fully integrate almost a million Dutch Muslims, mostly of Moroccan or Turkish descent. In existence only since 2006, the Freedom Party, tightly controlled by Wilders, has grown to be the Netherlands second largest, and fastest growing, party . . . Wilders is no friend of the U.S.: he opposes Dutch military involvement in Afghanistan; he believes development assistance is money wasted; he opposes NATO missions outside “allied” territory; he is against most EU initiatives; and, most troubling, he foments fear and hatred of immigrants.48

The embassy wrote that release of his film only emboldened him. He campaigned by calling Islam a “fascist religion” and asked voters whether there were “too many Moroccans” in the Netherlands.⁴⁹

On the tenth anniversary of Theo Van Gogh’s murder, it seemed his killing was still a third rail for the Dutch. Prominent cultural figures preferred to stay silent, “either because they feared any comments would contribute to further divisions; that comments would be exploited by right wing politicians; or that even the slightest criticism of Van Gogh would be seen as an apology for his killer.” Van Gogh’s friends claimed “tolerance had become a cover for cowardice,” ⁵⁰ all of which demonstrate that such a killing harms a whole society, and that the wounds take a long time to heal.

Film has been a powerful way to test political dialogue in countries without Western freedoms. The creative community in autocratic Singapore tested these waters when film censors reversed a ban on Singapore Rebel, a film about opposition candidate Chee Soon Juan, but restricted it to adults only. The embassy reported that another film, Zahari’s 17 Years, about a former political prisoner, remained banned as a “threat to the public interest.” The film featured an interview with Said Zahari, a former journalist arrested as a communist conspirator and detained without trial from 1963 to 1979. The censors refused to classify a polemical film entitled One Nation Under Lee (now viewable on YouTube) because it incorporated clips from the banned Zahari film. Yet another film, Francis Seow: The Interview (also on YouTube), features footage of the former solicitor-general “who was detained and allegedly subject to harsh interrogation in the late 1980s after he was accused of taking money from the U.S. government to lead political opposition to the People’s Action Party. (Singapore also expelled an American diplomat, Hank Hendrickson, in that episode.)” 51 One reason for the easing up may be the authorities’ realization that the films are readily available on the Internet.

In some cases, embassy efforts to support artistic works have led to trouble, as was the case with a political film in Nigeria that was at the center of clashes between Muslim traditions and state authorities. The embassy reported that film producer Hamisu Lamido, known as Iyan-Tama, was tried, convicted, and sentenced to fifteen months in prison and a 300,000 naira ($2034) fine for violating censorship laws by releasing the film Tsintsiya, a Hausa adaptation of West Side Story, without first having it approved by the state censor board. The embassy had a prominent role in the film, ironically having sponsored production of Tsintsiya to encourage interfaith dialogue. The case went back and forth through the court system, and Iyan-Tama was granted bail with bond of 500,000 naira ($3390) and released after spending more than sixty days in detention.⁵²

Sometimes artists and activists take breathtaking risks. In Azerbaijan, a group of dissidents staged a press conference in which a donkey held forth surrounded by a group of sycophants and furiously writing journalists. As the YouTube video went viral, Azeri president Ilham Aliyev failed to see the humor and threw the offenders—by now known as the donkey bloggers—in jail. Aliyev’s country occupies a strategic position, and his NATO overtures, tailored suits, and flawless English make him an attractive political partner. But he also removed presidential term limits, stifled opposition, and wrangled with U.S.-sponsored Radio Liberty when it dared to mock his plan to build the world’s tallest flagpole in the Baku port.⁵³ It took concerted international work, including pressure from President Obama and Secretary of State Clinton, to secure the donkey bloggers’ release.

Artistic license is also a challenge in Saudi Arabia. An officer from the U.S. consulate in Jeddah raved about the play Head Over Heels, performed before a mixed-gender audience in February 2009. What made it extraordinary, the cable explained, was that it was written—and performed—by a woman and dealt with sensitive themes.

“Maisah Sobaihi’s performance included a skit in which a Saudi couple remain married but separate after the husband secretly takes a second wife without wife number one’s knowledge or approval. Sobaihi raises the issue of ‘misrah’ marriages, discreet ‘marriages of convenience’ in which the man bears no financial obligation to the woman. The fact that a female playwright was able to perform a play with frank dialogue seeking to highlight the challenges and injustices Saudi women face is no mean feat in Saudi Arabia. And perhaps as important, Ms. Sobaihi was able to stage a work in which she freely drops references to sex and women’s lingerie before a mixed gender audience.”

The diplomat-reviewer had impressive foresight. Sobaihi won a Fulbright scholarship to study at New York University, and in 2013 she was a featured performer at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. The cable, written four years earlier, is an example of talent spotting from a diplomat who was ever watchful for signs that tolerance for freedom of expression might be growing in one of the world’s most challenging environments.54

Elsewhere, it was music that provided the inspiration that helped topple hated regimes. At the time of the Czechoslovak Velvet Revolution in 1989, the U.S. embassy had been so lulled into complacency by the seeming eternal presence of communism that few staffers had much contact with dissident Václav Havel. No one was more surprised than former ambassador Shirley Temple Black when Havel, by then propelled to the role of Czech president, said he longed to meet Frank Zappa. Zappa’s band, the Mothers of Invention, and their album Absolutely Free had been the inspiration for the Czech band Plastic People of the Universe, which had provided the sound track for the Czech dissident community.

Havel, who gained international fame writing absurdist plays that poked fun not only at communism but bureaucracy and pomposity, was a uniquely cultural figure. Forging a close relationship with him and his confidants required a deep appreciation of the influence of the Czech artistic community. Havel set himself the task of making government—symbolized in the enormous Prague Castle—less frightening and more humane. The castle, once the home of the hated Reinhard Heydrich, the Nazi ruler of the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia, had been subsequently inhabited by a series of equally frightening communist leaders. Havel set about exorcising the bad karma. He had the castle lit up by set designer Jan Svoboda and then costumed (there is no other word for it) the castle guard using the same artist who worked on Milo Forman’s film Amadeus (an Oscar-winning film about Mozart with key scenes filmed in Prague). Havel replaced dusty portraits with modern art and used a scooter to get from one meeting to the next in the building’s endless marble corridors. It was perhaps inevitable that the president would invite his musical hero Frank Zappa to Prague and then appoint him an ambassador of trade and culture. Zappa stayed for a time, enjoyed his rock star status, and moved on.

This was too much for exasperated Secretary of State James Baker, who rerouted his plane from Moscow for a stop in Prague, reportedly to rebuke Havel. “You can either do business with the United States or you can do business with Frank Zappa,” he warned.55 Havel must have been dismayed that the American response was as humorless as that of the communists, who never had much use for Zappa either.

Soon enough, Havel’s government faced real crises with the break-up of Czechoslovakia into the Czech Republic and Slovakia, and the Merry Prankster days faded of their own accord as the Czech Republic assumed a more traditional role as a state in the heart of Europe, albeit one in which Havel’s zany whimsy would linger, along with his wistful motto: “May truth and love triumph over lies and hatred.”

AMERICAN VALUES VS. AMERICAN INTERESTS: DO PERSONALITIES TRUMP POLICIES?

This cast of characters offers a small sampling of descriptions from diplomats of the people they encountered across the globe. Were this chapter a full inventory, the scoundrels would far outnumber the saints, and the scoundrels were usually the ones in power. Their poor records on democracy, human rights, and freedom of speech forced American policymakers to choose between American interests and American values.

This ongoing dilemma in foreign policy is not new. The list of unsavory characters the United States historically supported—the Pinochets, Somozas, and Duvaliers—is long. The biographic reporting cables detailing excesses and abuses pose the question: Where to draw the line between American interests and American values? The cables provide plenty of evidence that the United States continued to deal with unsavory characters; there is grim reading about the Mubaraks, Bouteflikas, and others. Embassies dutifully reported on how the dictators behaved toward their own people. Almost invariably, Washington’s view was that in spite of problems, American interests were best served by continuing to deal with them.

Whether that was the right decision certainly varies by country. But it is hard to find an example in which embassy reporting on dictators became the foundation for a policy review. Also troubling is the lack of debate. The embassies gave Washington far more information than what was available in the media, but relationships continued—sometimes for decades—with dubious leaders. The cables show that at least sometimes, political pressure works. Aliyev released the donkey bloggers; Richard Boucher ultimately got Tadjibayeva released.

Even more disconcerting are the stories of the saints. While it is important to celebrate the courage of these women, it is appalling that they endured hideous conditions. A photo op with the secretary of state seems a small reward for their pain. Even more disconcerting are the nominations of all the women who endured equal hardships but were not selected for the award.

The focus on the plight of women in Islamic countries stands at odds with many public pronouncements in which U.S. officials pay deep respect to Islamic culture but remain reticent on the status of women. Most disturbing of all is that this well-intentioned award process encourages the notion of women as victims. It reinforces existing impressions instead of changing the debate. An idealist might look forward to the day the Women of Courage Award is phased out—because there is no need of it.

The Havel-Zappa story points to a persistent underappreciation for the role of cultural diplomacy. Chronically underfunded and misunderstood, cultural diplomacy is about far more than sending American performers to remote capitals. Truly effective cultural diplomacy engages a country’s intellectuals and artists on a continual basis. This is hard work, requiring not only language skills but a fluency with the world of culture. Many public diplomacy officers have the skills to do this, but without a strong mandate from an ambassador who sees the connections and makes culture a part of the mission, it is often the first program to languish in the face of budget and personnel cuts. If Washington evinces no curiosity about a country’s cultural thinking, cultural reporting will fall by the wayside.

The cables also show the risks of drawing too many conclusions from personalities. It is human nature for Americans to assess leaders solely by their attitude toward the United States. The embassy’s dismissiveness of Guido Westerwelle was a good example of this. The message to Washington, reinforced with phrases such as “lightweight,” “lacks gravitas,” and “wild card,” was: here’s a man who doesn’t matter and one who often disagrees with us. The embassy accurately predicted the spectacular decline of his political party after the 2013 election, in which it failed to cross the 5 percent threshold, the minimum percentage of the vote required for a political party to enter parliament. But Westerwelle was still young, had impressive media skills, and, with nearly four years as foreign minister, should not have been counted out. Had he not been sidelined by leukemia, he might well have gone on to a second act. People who disagree with the administration in Washington often are not inconsequential.

One might want to think of foreign policy as an intellectual process grounded in history, founded on principle, and carefully calculated. But there is an inescapable personal aspect to diplomacy. And in some cases, the personal trumps all.