Month: November 2024

US Defense Attaché Office (USDAO) Beijing, China: D-60 days:

“Cam, I want you to be our office lead for the Strategic & Economic Dialogue—the S&ED—in May. Any conflicts?” My boss, Brigadier General Stilwell, glances up from his notes and trains his gaze on me. We huddle inside a secure room inside an equally secure Defense Attaché office in the bowels of the Marine-guarded US Embassy in Beijing. 

“No, Sir. But I’m not exactly sure what the military role is for that. Isn’t that the Clinton/Geithner visit? State and Treasury?” The embassy’s State Department personnel have been spinning up for this round of S&ED negotiations for a month already, and I’ve been relieved not to be included in the meetings. We’ve got enough on our plate without getting involved with State’s visits.

“SECDEF Panetta wants defense interests represented for the security angle of these talks. He tried to join State & Treasury on the visit, but they don’t want him overshadowing their role here. So Panetta’s sending Dr. Miller, the Acting Undersecretary of Defense. I want you to run the logistics of his visit. My job will be to get him a seat at the table with the Chinese next to State and Defense. Your team’s job is everything else.”

“Good luck with that, Sir,” CAPT Tony Dearborn, the Naval Attaché, chimes in from the end of the table. I join the other two attaches in turning toward our colleague as the general also shifts his attention to Dearborn. “It’s not just US State and Treasury that don’t want him there. If the US puts a SECDEF representative in the talks, then the Chinese military has to do the same. They won’t be interested.”

“Valid point. I’ll work it,” Gen Stilwell says. “Anyone else have input?”

LtCol Andy Drinkard, the Marine Attaché, says, “We’ve got the Military Maritime Consultative Agreement talks at the end of May. I’m going to need planners that month.”

CAPT Dearborn raises his hand. “I need manpower too. The PACOM Commander is due at the end of May.”

Gen Stilwell points at me. “Torrens’ visit has priority. The whole world watches SECSTATE. If we screw up DoD’s role in this, SECDEF will be all over us.”

As we walk from the meeting room, CAPT Dearborn nudges me, speaking in a low voice. “Nice power move. You’ve got all the staff helping you. Andy and I are going to have to plan our visits solo.”

I open my mouth to respond, but Dearborn continues. “Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes for the shitshow you just got assigned.”

US Embassy conference room, Beijing, China: D-03 days:

“You can’t arbitrarily pull Dr. Miller from the meeting,” I explain to Secretary Clinton’s advance team lead, James Gillespie.  

James—he’s asked us to call him by his first name—disagrees. “Not my call. The Secretary is the senior official, and she says she has the strategic security issues covered for this meeting. Your guy is in the meetings the next day.”

The twenty-something-year-old aide’s long hair, mild acne, and unproven confidence make it easier for me to get used to using his first name. “James, the SECDEF wants Dr. Miller in the meeting, Gen Stilwell coordinated with the People’s Liberation Army, and there are strategic implications if the Chinese send a PLA rep, and then we don’t show up after being listed as an attendee.”

“Cam—”

“It’s Colonel Torrens.” I’ve grown accustomed to using my formal military title with the Chinese, but my State Department coworkers in China know me by “Cam.” James isn’t my coworker and he’s pissed me off.

“Colonel Torrens, whatever.” James looks at the civilians in the room as if for support. I don’t notice any. “Dr. Miller won’t show up as an attendee because I’ve already removed him from the agenda. If you want me to revisit this issue with the Secretary, see me after the meeting.”

“Thank you. I will.” I’ve done enough public arguing. If James can get my concerns to the Secretary, I’m sure she’s savvy enough to see why Dr. Miller needs to be added back to the attendee list.

After the meeting, I beeline for James, who talks to a Treasury Department representative I recognize as part of Secretary Geithner’s visit. James must have caught me coming in his peripheral vision because he raises his palm in my direction like a safety patrol officer outside an elementary school. I stop and wait for the conversation to finish, annoyed at James’s assumption I was planning on interrupting him.

Minutes pass before James sends the Treasury rep away and turns to me.

“How can I help you, Colonel?”

I’m momentarily confused. He remembers to call me “Colonel” but has already forgotten why we need to talk?

“Dr. Miller. Undersecretary of Defense. The first-day meeting. I gave you three reasons to take to SECSTATE about why he needs to be there.”

“Actually, Jim is the ‘Acting’ Undersecretary. Did you know that?”

Thank God they’ve given me all this diplomacy training. I want to grab James by the ear and bring him to his knees while I whisper in his ear: It’s DOCTOR Miller, not “Jim.” I don’t give a shit about the word “ACTING” in his title. He represents Secretary Panetta. And you, James, are old enough to vote, old enough to drink, but not quite old enough to realize you get more accomplished by listening to others than by flashing your boss’s rank and telling people what to do.

Instead, I say, “I just need you to take my three points to Secretary Clinton: Dr. Miller is Secretary Panetta’s rep, it’s already coordinated with the PLA, and there are strategic implications to the US-China military-to-military relationship if we don’t have a seat at the table.”

“Col Torrens, have you heard of Chen Guangcheng?”

I give James my best “are you shitting me?” furrowing of the brows. Chen is the blind human rights activist purportedly taking refuge from Chinese government persecution inside our embassy while US and China diplomats discuss his future. This standoff has the potential to affect our pending bilateral negotiations. James asking me this question is like asking if I’ve heard of Hu Jintao, the current Chinese premier.

“Why yes, James. I believe I have.” My voice is even, and I convince myself I’m the only one who hears the sarcastic lilt.

“Then you know how busy Madam Secretary is with this incident. I’ve been instructed to take care of her administrative issues.”

I lower my voice. “Right. That’s what I’m asking. For you to take my points up your administrative chain and fix this administrative issue.”

“I don’t need to do that. I’ve made my decision. ”James nods at me and leaves the room. My rage burns slow. The immediate concern is working another angle for Dr. Miller. But the future of our country in the hands of little James look-a-likes worries me.

The Forbidden City, Beijing, China: D-Day:

The tour guide trails Dr. Miller to the left as she provides a running dialogue: “As we approach the Gate of Supreme Harmony, you’ll notice it is the grandest of all the gates in the Forbidden City. Originally built in the early 15th century during the Ming Dynasty, this gate was once reserved for the emperor alone. The emperor would pass through here on his way to the Hall of Supreme Harmony for important state ceremonies.”

To Dr. Miller’s credit, he appears fascinated with the tour and over any anger he might have felt at missing the ongoing meeting taking place near our tour.

Dr. Miller’s aide, Samantha, walks on my left and a half step behind me. “Tell me again why we were bumped from the meeting, Cam?” Samantha can’t be much older than James, but this woman has already proven through her maturity and social skills why she’s working at the highest levels of the Defense Department. I encouraged her to call me Cam.

“Evidently, Secretary Clinton felt that she had the security issues covered for this meeting and determined DoD representation wouldn’t be needed.” This is what James had told me. He implied he spoke for the Secretary. There’s risk in telling Samantha, who might tell Dr. Miller, who could tell Secretary Panetta, that James is a little power-hungry shit who has no idea what a political ramification is. And I don’t see any immediate gain for shoving James under that bus.

“But I still don’t see—” Samantha stops, grabbing her pocket. I pull up and wait as she answers her phone.

“What?” she says. “Like right now? We’re in the middle of the Forbidden City.”

Samantha’s eyes meet mine as she listens.

“Hang on.” She lowers the phone. “Do you know where The Great Hall of the People is?”

I point over her shoulder. “Less than a mile. That’s the meeting we’re missing.”

“The senior Chinese official is asking where Dr. Miller is. Secretary Clinton is furious that Dr. Miller didn’t come. They’re taking a break to wait for his arrival.”

            Diaoyutai State Guesthouse, Beijing, China: D +1:

Today concludes the dialogue—morning negotiations followed by lunch then closing statements after the meal. Diaoyutai is reserved for the highest-level officials, a private setting rich in diplomatic tradition. After the attention-grabbing debacle with Dr. Miller’s absence yesterday, nothing will interfere with his role in today’s talks.

I stand with the other aides waiting for our delegation to exit for lunch. The leaders’ short walk from the meeting room to the banquet room will be the only time we aides can take any messages our principals might have for their staff members.  

James stands talking to several colleagues and I make my way over to him. I want to know more about Secretary Clinton’s reaction yesterday. Samantha said others thought she looked confused and angry that Dr. Miller wasn’t present until summoned. Was she putting on a show or did James work this whole “dis-invite defense” initiative on his own?

I swear James has eyes on the side of his head like a cow because he whirls as I approach from behind.  

“Col Torrens. Just the person I was looking for.”

Not the greeting I was expecting. “Great. How can I help you?”

“Lunch happens in thirty minutes. We’re not satisfied with the food.”

My mouth drops. I’ve never heard this statement from any previous delegation. The Chinese are famous for their cuisine, and when it’s a state luncheon, the presentation and selection of delicacies are unprecedented.  

“James, I can assure you the Secretary will love her meal.”

He squints at me. “Not the principals. I’m talking about us.” He waves his hand around the room. “They’ve prepared box lunches for us to eat in the lobby. There’s no separate dining facility for us to sit in. Were you involved in coordinating this?”

I don’t answer right away. Yes, I helped arrange this, and was thrilled to find out the Chinese side was feeding us at all. Normally, in these situations, with a small-group banquet setting, the rest of us will suck it up and eat at the end of the day.

“Box lunches are fine, James. We’re lucky to get them.”

“The Secretary doesn’t think so.”

“James, with all due respect, the Secretary hasn’t left the talks and has no way of knowing what your lunch situation is. You’re the one that has an issue here.”

I know I’ve caught him in a lie, but his lip does this curl thing like he knows something I don’t.  

“The Secretary told me when I took this job that she puts her people first. She said if I ever saw her people mistreated, I should use her name to fix the problem. I’m doing it now. The box lunches are inadequate. We want club sandwiches and a room to eat them in.” He glances around the lobby. “With chairs.”

“The Chinese don’t do club sandwiches, James.” Even as I utter the words, I recognize they’re pointless.

“Lunch is in thirty, Cam. Make it happen.” It’s not until he reverts to my first name that I realize it’s a personal thing. It’s not Hillary Clinton versus Leon Panetta. It’s not State Department versus Defense Department. It’s James against Cam. He’s fucking with me.

I’ve been in this business long enough to know exactly how interagency conflict at the aide level works. One aide tells their boss about the other aide at the other agency. At the end of the day, one agency or the other loses an aide, and it’s embarrassing for all sides. I can hear it now: You jeopardized these talks because the State Department requested sandwiches and you refused to help?

My team doesn’t quite make James’s thirty-minute cutoff time. But his State Department team still has time to wolf down the club sandwiches the Assistant Air Attaché has found in the lobby café of a high-rise hotel catering to foreigners. More than one of James’s colleagues comes by to thank my DAO team for helping them get lunch. While I’m unable to locate James after I return, I notice smiles all around in the side dining room I’ve talked the Chinese aides into allowing us to use.  

Three hours later, the principals exit from the final talks, lines creasing their eyes, some with sweat shining near their brows. The dialogue is finally over. Secretary Clinton appears as weary as the others. She walks in my direction, her head moving side to side in what I assume is a search for a familiar face. Finally, her eyes fall on my blue service dress uniform with US tabs on my collar. She raises her eyebrows at me and flashes a smile. I can’t help but smile back. She winks at me before continuing on to find her team.

I pull my phone from my pocket to call Gen Stilwell.

“She smiled?” he asks.

“Yes, sir.”

“And winked? Are you making this shit up?”

“She winked, Sir. At me.”

“She’s happy then. Hell of a job, Cam. Tell your team the same. Well done.”