I haven't written for over a year. I'm not sure if I legitimately did not have the time or if I did not have the mental space to process everything I was experiencing. I'm still not sure I have the latter. But for those who keep asking me incredulously, "Are you still going to Libya?" I wanted to write about why I still feel safe while officially abroad.
I left Pakistan after a one year tour as economic officer in Karachi on September 4, 2012. My last day in country a vehicle borne improvised explosive device (VBIED) struck a U.S. government vehicle in Peshawar resulting in American injuries. About a week later massive protests at the compound I called home for a year saw a protester shot to death and many of my colleagues temporarily left the country for their safety.
Next I am slated to be the information officer in Tripoli, Libya. During my home leave, an attack in Benghazi, Libya resulted in the death of my ambassador and three colleagues, none of whom I had yet met but whose families I pray for. I had the strange distinction of knowing that both the post I had just left and my onward assignment were currently on draw down.
When I left for my tour in Karachi, I made a concerted effort to explain to my family all the reasons I wouldn't really be in danger. I explained that security procedures existed limiting my movements and providing pretty much a bubble of safety for me to do my work in. I stressed the dedication and professionalism of our Diplomatic Security agents and the Marine Security Guards. Admittedly though, I downplayed the threats that existed while stressing how well I was being taken care of.
My downplaying of the threats led to one comically heated moment with my mother. While on my second home leave in June I went to a wine tasting at a vineyard near her home with her. She was talking to the owners and inquiring about the vines' health because there had been an early frost. "I've been praying for those vines, I was just so worried" she intimated. "Really Mom? Really? You've been praying for vines?" I incredulously spat out. "What? Of course I prayed for the vines!" my mom innocently retorted. "Your daughter lives in the most dangerous city in the world and you are praying for vines?" I shot back. "But you told me you are perfectly safe. What do you mean dangerous city?" she asked worriedly. "Mom, the cover of Time magazine a few months back was Karachi: Pakistan's dark heart and the cover story went on to call it the most dangerous city in the world." I replied.
And then wished I hadn't. I prefer her to pray for vines and not know the threats I face. Because when I tell her I'm perfectly safe I mean it. I trust my security officers. I follow their instructions. I trust the host governments in the countries I serve. Because when I serve abroad I am not just me but rather I am a U.S. diplomat. And so if something happens to me, it doesn't just affect me and those who care for me. If something happens to me it literally could become an international incident. So the incentives to keep me safe are so high that I trust my security people and the host governments.
I know though that outsiders looking at my situation can't understand the levels of security that exist to protect me and allow me to feel safe. They haven't met the diplomatic security teams, the agents of high integrity and deep knowledge who do my worrying for me. They don't understand just how much thought, time, money, effort, intelligence, care, planning, training, and drilling goes into designing how I will be kept safe. They don't appreciate how much HAS NOT happened because of this attention to detail.
Nothing is ever 100% though. But nothing is 100% safe in the United States either. Every day when I get out of bed here in D.C. there are risks I face in the world. Every day when I get into bed there are risks I face in sleep. Life has risks. While I am abroad the threats and the risks are greater because my status as a U.S. diplomat means that unfortunately there are people out there who want to do me harm. But when I am abroad my protection level is also greater. And in balance I feel nearly as safe abroad as I do when I am home, with the amount of good I feel I can do abroad justifying the risk differential.
Successful attacks on U.S. government targets do happen. But they are rare. Just as plane crashes happen. But they are rare. Lightning has been known to strike people but I still walk in the rain. Because I feel the risk is small in relation to the reward.
Recent incidents have allowed the nation to appreciate the sacrifices that diplomats make. Ambassador Stevens' death challenged the public perception that diplomats spend their time in tuxedos attending champagne receptions and generally wasting U.S. taxpayers money.
As diplomats we do important and difficult work overseas. And we face threats. Most of the time the areas where the work has the most impact are the areas where we face the deepest threats. But we face those risks. Because the rewards are worth it.
We must remember that those who want to do us harm are a minority. A dangerous minority. The majority of people in the riskiest areas hope for a better life for themselves and their families. As diplomats, our interactions with those populations bring hope and promote understanding that inspires new solutions and speeds progress. When we stop engaging, we allow the minority that wants to do us harm opportunities to grow their base. For me, the opportunity to engage in the areas where hope is needed most gets me out of bed in the morning. The rewards far outweigh the risks.
I left Pakistan after a one year tour as economic officer in Karachi on September 4, 2012. My last day in country a vehicle borne improvised explosive device (VBIED) struck a U.S. government vehicle in Peshawar resulting in American injuries. About a week later massive protests at the compound I called home for a year saw a protester shot to death and many of my colleagues temporarily left the country for their safety.
Next I am slated to be the information officer in Tripoli, Libya. During my home leave, an attack in Benghazi, Libya resulted in the death of my ambassador and three colleagues, none of whom I had yet met but whose families I pray for. I had the strange distinction of knowing that both the post I had just left and my onward assignment were currently on draw down.
When I left for my tour in Karachi, I made a concerted effort to explain to my family all the reasons I wouldn't really be in danger. I explained that security procedures existed limiting my movements and providing pretty much a bubble of safety for me to do my work in. I stressed the dedication and professionalism of our Diplomatic Security agents and the Marine Security Guards. Admittedly though, I downplayed the threats that existed while stressing how well I was being taken care of.
My downplaying of the threats led to one comically heated moment with my mother. While on my second home leave in June I went to a wine tasting at a vineyard near her home with her. She was talking to the owners and inquiring about the vines' health because there had been an early frost. "I've been praying for those vines, I was just so worried" she intimated. "Really Mom? Really? You've been praying for vines?" I incredulously spat out. "What? Of course I prayed for the vines!" my mom innocently retorted. "Your daughter lives in the most dangerous city in the world and you are praying for vines?" I shot back. "But you told me you are perfectly safe. What do you mean dangerous city?" she asked worriedly. "Mom, the cover of Time magazine a few months back was Karachi: Pakistan's dark heart and the cover story went on to call it the most dangerous city in the world." I replied.
And then wished I hadn't. I prefer her to pray for vines and not know the threats I face. Because when I tell her I'm perfectly safe I mean it. I trust my security officers. I follow their instructions. I trust the host governments in the countries I serve. Because when I serve abroad I am not just me but rather I am a U.S. diplomat. And so if something happens to me, it doesn't just affect me and those who care for me. If something happens to me it literally could become an international incident. So the incentives to keep me safe are so high that I trust my security people and the host governments.
I know though that outsiders looking at my situation can't understand the levels of security that exist to protect me and allow me to feel safe. They haven't met the diplomatic security teams, the agents of high integrity and deep knowledge who do my worrying for me. They don't understand just how much thought, time, money, effort, intelligence, care, planning, training, and drilling goes into designing how I will be kept safe. They don't appreciate how much HAS NOT happened because of this attention to detail.
Nothing is ever 100% though. But nothing is 100% safe in the United States either. Every day when I get out of bed here in D.C. there are risks I face in the world. Every day when I get into bed there are risks I face in sleep. Life has risks. While I am abroad the threats and the risks are greater because my status as a U.S. diplomat means that unfortunately there are people out there who want to do me harm. But when I am abroad my protection level is also greater. And in balance I feel nearly as safe abroad as I do when I am home, with the amount of good I feel I can do abroad justifying the risk differential.
Successful attacks on U.S. government targets do happen. But they are rare. Just as plane crashes happen. But they are rare. Lightning has been known to strike people but I still walk in the rain. Because I feel the risk is small in relation to the reward.
Recent incidents have allowed the nation to appreciate the sacrifices that diplomats make. Ambassador Stevens' death challenged the public perception that diplomats spend their time in tuxedos attending champagne receptions and generally wasting U.S. taxpayers money.
As diplomats we do important and difficult work overseas. And we face threats. Most of the time the areas where the work has the most impact are the areas where we face the deepest threats. But we face those risks. Because the rewards are worth it.
We must remember that those who want to do us harm are a minority. A dangerous minority. The majority of people in the riskiest areas hope for a better life for themselves and their families. As diplomats, our interactions with those populations bring hope and promote understanding that inspires new solutions and speeds progress. When we stop engaging, we allow the minority that wants to do us harm opportunities to grow their base. For me, the opportunity to engage in the areas where hope is needed most gets me out of bed in the morning. The rewards far outweigh the risks.
Come on out - we'd love to have you! Hope to see you soon. h
ReplyDeleteGreat post. Wishing you the best of luck and safety in your new posting. A post with you and Hannah is a lucky post indeed.
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