1.
June
21, 1978, Dirksen Senate Office Building
Washington,
DC
“Mr. Chairman; distinguished members of
the committee, I am honored to have the opportunity to appear before you
today.” As David Morgan leaned forward, his hands, fingers interlaced, resting
in front of him on the dark blue cloth covering the long table at which he sat.
His throat felt dry, and he was afraid his voice would crack, but he didn’t
dare pour water from the crystal pitcher into the tumbler at his left hand,
fearing he might spill it and look like a bumbling fool. “I am also honored to
have been nominated by the President to be the United States Ambassador to the
Republic of Naganda, and if confirmed, I will do my utmost to carry out our
nation’s policy, and protect its interests there.”
Morgan paused, looking up at the four men
sitting behind the long, curved desk. Two Democrats and two Republicans –
members of the African Affairs Subcommittee of the Senate Foreign Relations
Committee, they held his fate in their hands. Sitting here in the fourth floor
hearing room of the Senate Dirksen Office Building, just northeast of the
Capitol, he could not help but be awed by his surroundings. The medium brown
wood paneled walls and high ceilings; the darker brown – a mahogany – of the
dais behind which the committee members sat, elevated so that they could look
down upon those called to appear before them; the stern, uncompromising looks
on the faces of the six white men who were sitting in judgment on him; it all
combined to give him a hollow feeling in his gut.
Discretely, he removed a handkerchief from
inside his dark blue suit jacket, and wiped at his dark brown brow. He took a
deep breath, looked down at the neatly typed notes, and resumed.
“The nation of Naganda is currently at a
crossroads,” he said. “One of West Africa’s poorest nations, it has recently
suffered a coup d’état, with former army captain Musa Gweru overthrowing the
former ruler, Joshua Saidu. While Saidu was a despotic, often violent, ruler,
we expressed our concern at his extra-legal, unconstitutional removal from
power. The new leadership has committed to improving Naganda’s human rights
record, restoring democratic government to the country, and complying with
international norms of behavior and rule of law. As American Ambassador, if I
am confirmed, I will continue to monitor events, and as appropriate, recommend
actions to assist Naganda and its people return to the fold of civilized
nations.” He was aware that he shouldn’t talk too long – just make a brief
opening statement and shut his mouth. The rule of thumb he’d been given at
State over in Foggy Bottom during the weeks of preparation for his hearing was,
talk 25% of the time, listen 75%. They’re not there to hear your views, but to
express their own. “Thank you again for the opportunity to appear before you. I
will now be pleased to answer any questions you might have.”
He took a deep breath and sat back in his
chair. He could feel the people behind him, sitting on stiff backed, but not
too uncomfortable chairs. Staff of the State Department’s Africa Bureau, mostly
the West African office and the Naganda country directorate. They’d worked with
him for weeks, cramming his head with names, dates, events relating to the
country of Naganda, a poor, landlocked former British colony in central West
Africa. In the front row of spectators seats, between State Department Deputy
Assistant Secretary Jason Symington and Naganda Country Director Ed Harris sat
the only three people he considered friends. Lee Kennedy, a senior agent in the
Diplomatic Security Service (DSS), his sixteen-year-old daughter, Rachel, and
Alison Chambers, an analyst in the State Department’s Bureau of Intelligence
and Research (INR), were there for moral support. Morgan had met Kennedy and
Chambers three years earlier when he was serving as deputy chief of mission at
the American embassy in Dagastan, and they’d become friends. He’d met Kennedy’s
daughter, Rachel, when he was called back to Washington to after being
nominated to be ambassador to Naganda. Kennedy and Chambers, he’d learned, had,
after over two years of an on-again, off-again relationship, recently married.
The three of them made a picture-postcard family group. The two women – and
Morgan had quickly learned that Rachel, like her father, was mature for her
age, and a very serious person – had a close and intimate relationship, unlike
many step-parent, step-child lash ups. Even without looking back over his
shoulder, he knew that they were smiling at him, while the rest of the group
would be looking anxious, worried that he’d flub his responses to questions
despite the stack of index cards with talking points they’d prepared for him.
Truth be told, he worried about that himself.
It wasn’t lost on Morgan that the room, though
dealing with the business of a black African country, was overwhelmingly white.
Except for himself, and two junior desk officers, neither of whom dealt with
Naganda, everyone in Dirksen’s Room 419 was white, including the two men who
sat to either side of him. On his right, Senator Jonathan Appleby, a democrat
from North Dakota, had insisted on appearing in his support, even though Morgan
wasn’t from his state. The man had been a strong supporter from the beginning,
and was in all likelihood the reason he’d been nominated in the first place,
despite some objection from a few in the State Department bureaucracy who
resented his independent streak. Senator Leland Kirk, the junior senator from
Maryland, Morgan’s home state, sat on his left. Never very interested in
politics, Morgan had never met the man before, but he seemed an affable sort,
and had quickly agreed to present him to the committee. Both had extolled his
abilities and virtues, with Appleby, as the senior legislator in time served,
going first – ensuring the committee that the country couldn’t have chosen a
better representative than David Morgan, a decorated military veteran and an
accomplished diplomat who had served his nation in some most challenging
assignments.
Now that he’d finished his short
presentation, it was time for the main event. Beginning with the committee
chairman, each of the six members of the committee would make a speech,
highlighting the contributions each had made to American foreign policy,
supporting or taking potshots at the administration, depending upon their own
political party, and then asking him one or two questions. He’d been assured
that it was all a pro forma exercise, and because the Senate would soon be
going into the July 4th recess, his confirmation would come
speedily.
The committee chairman, a gaunt man with
stooped shoulders and flowing white hair, was the junior senator from
Connecticut. A democrat, he’d been the ranking member until the democratic
takeover of the Senate. He cleared his throat and looked down at Morgan, his
thin lips turning up in a half smile.
“The committee welcomes you, Mr. Morgan,”
he said in a deep, resonant voice that was out of character with his
appearance. “We also welcome the presence of our two colleagues, the gentlemen
from North Dakota and Maryland.” Appleby
and Clerk nodded and mumbled their thanks at being allowed to be present. “Now,
Mr. Morgan, I want to thank you for your many years of service to your country,
especially your service in the military.” He went on for several minutes about
the importance of service and his pride in his own service as a young
lieutenant during World War II. After mentioning the emphasis the
administration placed on human rights, he cleared his throat again. “To that
end, Mr. Morgan, can you tell me what your actions will be in Naganda to
improve that country’s human rights performance?”
It wasn’t exactly a softball question, but
he’d been well prepared and anticipated that at least one member of the
committee would ask it. Among the many issues of his campaign, the president, a
democrat and former state governor, had placed respect for universal human
rights as enshrined in the United Nations Charter high on the list. American
diplomats around the world had now to include this topic in the list of issues
they took up with the governments to which they were accredited. Morgan wasn’t
sure what his opinion was on it – considering the dismal human rights records
of most of the world’s countries, including sometimes his own – but, he gave
the man credit for having the compassion and sheer gall to push such a new and
strange agenda in Washington, a town that lived on precedent. This emphasis was
unprecedented.
He took his time answering. He’d learned
during his time in the military that it was never a good idea to respond too
quickly to a question.
“Mr. Chairman,” he said finally. “I will
make it my main issue to engage the government of Naganda at every opportunity
on this important issue, while at the same time not forgetting my most
important mission – the protection of American citizens and their interests.”
The chairman smiled. Morgan felt relieved.
He’d given the answer that was expected. In short, he’d said nothing, but it
had sounded profound.
The chairman asked one or two more
perfunctory questions, and then turned the floor over to the ranking member of
the committee, a dour looking republican from California with a bad comb over
vainly attempting to cover the broad bald spot on his florid skull. He also went
on at length about his contributions to America’s security, and his support of
robust diplomacy, although he didn’t mention any former military service. He
then halfheartedly praised the president and his administration for the
emphasis placed on support for American business abroad. “Tell me, Mr. Morgan,
if confirmed as ambassador to Naganda, what will you do to improve the business
climate there for American companies?”
This was not a question that Morgan had
anticipated, nor had he been really prepared for it. Oh, he’d been briefed on
Naganda’s economy – what there was of it. Basically agricultural, with eighty
percent of the population living in rural areas, the country grew cotton,
maize, tapioca, and peanuts primarily. There was gold, titanium, and alluvial
diamonds as well. A jointly-owned British-American firm controlled the titanium
mining, and a few rogue Americans occasionally participated in the largely
unregulated diamond market, but other than that, there were no significant
American commercial interests in Naganda.
Morgan reasoned, though, that he would
have to give the senator a satisfactory answer to his question. He’d always had
the ability to think on his feet, although it had gotten him into trouble on
more than one occasion. But, he’d been chosen to be ambassador, a job that
surely required the ability to handle unexpected situations.
“Senator,” he said. “I take the duty to
support American industry seriously, and I assure you that, if confirmed, that
will be a high priority for me in Naganda.”
Again, a profound sounding answer
completely devoid of substance. He heard quiet murmurs of approval from behind
him. The senator from California smiled thinly and yielded to the gentleman
sitting on the chairman’s right, a democrat from New York. Younger looking than
any of the others on the panel, he continuously ran his hand through his thick
brown hair, smiling at nothing in particular.
“Mr. Morgan,” he said. “What are your
views on the chances for democratic reform in Naganda?”
About as much chance as a snowball rolling
through hell and not losing weight, Morgan thought. Of course, he would never say that aloud – not here.
“Senator, that is difficult to assess. If I am confirmed, however, I will
continue my predecessor’s efforts to help the Nagandan government move to
greater transparency and a more representative government.”
His predecessor had, in fact, done little
beyond occasionally mentioning to the foreign minister when they met that
Washington would like to see democratic elections in Naganda. The foreign
minister would reply that Nagandans would like to see democratic elections in
Naganda, and that would end their conversation. He had no doubt that his
efforts would be similar. His answer, though, seemed to satisfy the senator,
who yielded to the last member of the committee, a firebrand republican from
Georgia who, despite being on the foreign relations committee, felt the United
States gave too much money to foreigners, gave in too much to foreign interests,
and that it should tend more to its own business ‘back home.’
Morgan had been warned about him, and the
fact that he would be likely to ask an unanticipated question; a question
designed to throw him off guard or to embarrass the administration, or both. He
could feel a knot in his stomach as he looked up at the man’s vulpine features.
The beady blue eyes, thin lips, and narrow nose, all set in a narrow-faced head
that, with his receding hairline, all combined to add to his menacing look.
Unlike the other three, he didn’t bother
making a speech about his great achievements, nor did he mention the
administration. He steepled his fingers and rested his pointed chin on them,
glaring down at Morgan.
“Mr. Morgan, the former ruler of Naganda,
Joshua Saidu, was little more than a tin pot dictator, bereft of a scintilla of
intelligence or compassion for his people,” he said in a voice dripping with
scorn. “According to the intelligence and news reports I’ve seen, he was more
interested in dallying with underage girls than leading his country.” He
stopped and took a sip from the glass at his elbow. “But, having said all that –
he was nonetheless recognized as the legitimate head of state, recognized by us
and other governments. Now, we have this upstart army captain ousting him from
power and taking over in what can only be described as an extralegal usurpation
of power. Can you explain to me why we are granting recognition to this illegal
leader and his cabal? Doesn’t this fly in the face of our calls for more
democracy on the African continent?”
Morgan felt his cheeks flame. He was glad that
his dark complexion hid what was a blush of anger. He was too close to his goal
to screw it up by engaging in an argument with a member of the committee that
could sink his career by voting against his confirmation. It galled him that
he, in fact, partially agreed with the man. By recognizing the coup in Naganda,
the U.S. had undercut its own message about the need to foster democracy in
Africa. He knew that he was treading on dangerous ground, and no matter what he
said he was likely to offend powerful interests, either in the senate or the
administration.
He concentrated on his briefing cards,
shuffling them as if looking for the answer to the senator’s question, but
knowing that nothing in the notes he’d been given addressed this potentially
explosive issue. Finally, after allowing his breathing to ease, he looked up,
straight into the senator’s eyes.
“You make a valid point, senator,” he
said. “I can only say that the decision to recognize Captain Gweru’s takeover
was made after careful consideration at the highest levels of government. If we’re
to encourage more transparency and accountability in Africa at large, and
Naganda specifically, we have little choice but to work with what exists on the
ground. It is my hope that, if confirmed, I will be able to exert some
influence on the current government of Naganda to move as rapidly as possible
to a more representative form of government.”
He let his breath out. He hadn’t heard any
gasps of surprise from behind him, so he was fairly confident that he hadn’t
inadvertently said anything that would paint the administration or the State
Department into a corner. Whether or not the senator bought his response was
another matter entirely. The man’s glare changed into a leering smile. That,
thought Morgan, couldn’t be good.
“So,” the senator said after a pregnant
pause. “You plan to encourage the
junta to relinquish power? That might take a powerful lot of arm twisting, Mr.
Morgan – are you sure you’re up to it?”
Morgan didn’t need talking points to
respond to that question. It was directed squarely at his ability to get the
job done. He fixed the senator with a cold gaze.
“Senator, I am capable of twisting arms when necessary,” he said. “But, in
order to twist a man’s arm I must first take his hand.”
The senator from Georgia’s eyes went round
with surprise. “Ah ha,” Morgan
thought. “Bet you weren’t expecting that
answer.” He continued to lock gazes with the man. It was important, he
knew, not to look as if you were cowed – impressed, and respectful, but not
fearful. He’d learned that during his years in the army, especially his time in
Special Forces in Vietnam during some of the most ferocious fighting of that
war. Finally, the senator broke the gaze, and smiled.
“Well said, Mr. Morgan. Well said. You
know, I think you just might be the man for this job. Mr. Chairman, I
relinquish the rest of my time.”
Morgan let out a slow sigh of relief.
While he wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, he had the feeling that he’d
just passed some crucial test. He turned his gaze to the chairman, who was smiling
down at him.
“Thank you for appearing before us today,
Mr. Morgan,” he said. “On behalf of the committee I also want to thank you for
your candid answers to our questions. I wish you the best of luck in your
future . . . endeavors. Ladies and gentlemen, this hearing is now closed, and
thank you all for coming.”
Jonathan Appleby leaned in close to Morgan
and in a voice that was barely above a whisper, said, “Good work, David. You
showed the bastards what you’re made of. I know you’re unfamiliar with the
workings of this place, but I can tell you that your confirmation is a shoe-in.
Now, get up there and shake hands with the committee, and then get out of here
and get yourself a stiff drink and some rest – you earned it.”
Morgan shook hands with Appleby and Clerk,
thanking them for coming, and then rose and walked up to the curved dais to
shake hands with the members of the committee, starting with the chairman and
ranking member, and then with the other two. The smiles seemed genuine and the
handshakes were firm – each of them congratulating him and thanking him for his
service. In a few short minutes the atmosphere in the room, so tense until now,
had warmed to a comfortable level.
After greeting the committee, Morgan
turned to the audience, heading straight for Alison, Lee, and Rachel. Lee shook
his hand and clapped him on the shoulder.
“You aced it, David,” he said. “No doubt
about that.”
Alison and Rachel hugged him.
“It
was like an inquisition,” Alison whispered into his ear. “But, you were so calm
and cool.”
“Cool as a cucumber,” Rachel quipped.
Symington pushed between Alison and
Rachel, holding out his hand. “I must agree,” he said. “You did a great job.
Now, you need to go unwind. We’ll see you in the office tomorrow morning.”
Morgan was still in a semi-daze. It had,
he knew, all been theater, with the members of the committee reading their
lines – from a script that hadn’t been shared with him – and him responding
mostly adlib. He thanked everyone for coming and started for the door. A stiff
drink and a nap was the only thing he wanted. It hadn’t been all that different
from the times he’d come back from an extended patrol in Cambodia during the
war. He’d maintained his cool, calm demeanor throughout the operation, much as
he’d done while on a combat patrol. Now that it was over, he was on the verge
of collapse, and for that, he needed to be alone.
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