DIP-lomatic immunity!

Well, after our Delhi Darbar dinner debacle, we went to the embassy compound for another Thursday evening “happy hour.” I met my friend Jessica, who works there, because she sent me the original warden message about how dangerous it is in Afghanistan and how one shouldn’t go there. I think I replied that the information was very old and that the contract I was working on was from the US government and REQUIRED an American teaching assistant…so then we started going back and forth. She’s been very welcoming and I’m glad she was able to come out of the compound for dinner with us last time around. We’d been to the embassy compound before—other ISAF and international buildings are in the same area as well and the roads to it are shut off two or three blocks from the main entrance. So N dropped us off and we walked on foot to get to the entrance, guarded by Gurkhas. Once inside, Jessica showed us a big SUV that had been hit by an IED in a convoy on Jalalabad Road (where 80% of all attacks apparently happen). It was all black and charred—and I guess put there to warn people of the dangers of the place. We stopped at an outdoor bar near a large firepit, then took our drinks up into one of the huge apartment buildings where someone was having people in their apartment. Most of the attendees were (enormous) Marines and private security people. We went back down to the outdoor bar and stayed there the rest of the night, talking with mostly State department people. I, of course, was letting them know how I missed the FSOE by .05. Most didn’t really know what that meant—they’d taken the exam when it was different. There seemed to be a clear line between the older career State people and the younger ones, who mingled with the Marines. Perhaps the younger ones are single and still in it to mingle. I had a general feeling, there sipping a cocktail inside the heavily fortified Embassy Compound, with the tennis court, swimming pool, and sand volleyball courts a stone’s throw away, that people stationed here were not really “in Afghanistan.” The more tenured State people I talked with seemed to have a decent sense for that dynamic and knew that they relied on people the met with for information on the environment outside. But the younger people who likely have only internal work and no interaction with Afghanis—I wondered what they knew about Afghanistan and if they had any feel for the country. Mostly, I wondered how you can conduct diplomacy across a 30-foot wall. I guess I’d like the State people to be out in the street more—not in their big SUV convoys, but in a regular car, not calling attention to themselves—getting a sense for the people and understanding the country. And I’m not saying I have that understanding, mind you, but I’m also not a diplomatic professional. I was talking about it with Mary, and she raised a good point that if diplomatic people get killed, it sort of ups the ante for everyone and creates an “international incident.” (It’s Thursday 6:30 AM and about a dozen helicopters have flown overhead in the last 20 minutes. A little respect for late risers, fellas!) Even so, I left the Embassy feeling the people inside a bit detached from the life of the country, though unsure of how that could be remedied. The issue would be brought to light even further by my trip to US Army Camp Phoenix the next day. We got back to the minivan and N promptly informed us he’d been waiting for us “for three hours!”