World in Danger. Wolfgang Ischinger
We Germans have an aversion to pomp on our own part, for historical reasons. After the destructive aspiration to put Germany “über alles” in the world, the general consensus is that a degree of humility is more becoming. The official residence of the federal president, Bellevue Palace, is Prussian in style: unpretentious and unadorned. Nevertheless, this former summer residence of Prince Ferdinand, Frederick the Great’s brother, commands a certain admiration. By contrast, the prosaically modern office building in which Angela Merkel resides, the “Chancellery,” has the charm of an underground parking garage, sending a clear signal: This place is for working, not for flaunting.
It is true: Ultimately what counts in foreign policy is not symbols and words, but decisions and deeds. The pomp and circumstance surrounding state visits and political summits often contrast with the seriousness of the foreign policy conflicts addressed there. In April 2018, Emmanuel Macron’s elaborate state visit to Washington and Angela Merkel’s brief working visit with Donald Trump right afterward offered a good object lesson: Does a grand state dinner really yield more than a serious work meeting during a brief visit?
Today as in previous centuries, communication between the powerful is more than the legal formulation of texts and treaties—it is always an interpersonal interaction as well. Otherwise there would be no need for summits and state visits. Instead, experts (or maybe even some kind of artificial intelligences) could draw up contractual texts, which would then be sent back and forth until an agreement was reached. But as anyone who has ever signed a contract knows, mutual trust that both partners will comply with the contract is more decisive for the signature than the small print. And this is what must be nurtured. The first thing anyone who works in diplomacy realizes is how complicated a meeting between two important political representatives can become. It starts with deciding on the location and agenda of the meeting, and continues with the body language and seating plan for all of the participants. This does not just apply to diplomatic meetings; the procedures for installing a new ambassador are also subject to strict rules. But these rules only become apparent when things get off to a bumpy start.
In early May 2018, a new U.S. ambassador took office in Berlin, after a protracted appointment process in Washington that had lasted an entire year. Finally installed, the new ambassador lost no time in tweeting, “German companies doing business in Iran should wind down operations immediately.” Richard Grenell’s tweet was directed at the nuclear agreement with Iran, which his president had just renounced, and reinforced Trump’s threat to sanction foreign countries that made business deals with Iran.
In response, I offered Ambassador Grenell, with whom I had already been corresponding for some time—also by Twitter—the following well-intentioned suggestion: “Ric, my advice after a long ambassadorial career: Explain your own country’s policies, and lobby the host country—but never tell the host country what to do, if you want to stay out of trouble. Germans are eager to listen, but they will resent instructions.”
Within a few hours my tweet had generated nearly 3,000 “likes,” over 700 retweets, and a broad debate in the media about the role and function of ambassadors, and about the rules and limits of diplomacy. Because an ambassador acts with the express permission of the host country, a good diplomat is one who explains his or her country and its politics in public everywhere but, if the need arises, only criticizes the host country in a “diplomatic” form—that is, not through public channels, but in direct conversation with the host government. This is just one of the ways diplomacy follows rules that have evolved and proven effective over centuries.
But let us start from the beginning: All of the rules start with accreditation.
“LET’S TALK ABOUT HORSES”
Upon arrival, a new ambassador is accredited by presenting a letter from his or her own head of state to the head of state of the host country.
In Berlin this process is not terribly glamorous. The new ambassador drives up to Bellevue Palace and has a cup of coffee with the federal president. The ambassador may be accompanied by a staff member, and a representative of the foreign office and an advisor to the federal president attend as well. They conduct a friendly discussion, exchange a few ideas, and become acquainted. The whole thing is usually over in half an hour.
The procedure may be much more elaborate, however, as is the case in London. There the ambassador does more than merely present the queen with his credentials—quite a bit more. Days before my appointment with the queen in 2006, I received a visit from “Her Majesty’s Marshal of the Diplomatic Corps in the Royal Household of the Sovereign of the United Kingdom,” who fortunately also bore the somewhat simpler name Sir Anthony Figgis. Sir Anthony explained to me that it would be unseemly to start a conversation with the queen myself, let alone ask any questions, and that the conversation would follow the queen’s wishes from start to finish. I was told how to enter the room—this is quite important, please!—and to never turn my back to the queen. The dress code was obvious: tails, medals, and top hat. My wife would face even greater challenges, as the “lady in waiting” assigned to her explained in a separate meeting. She was to wear a dress; under no circumstances could it be black, but neither should it be white or royal blue. Her shoulders had to be covered, and her heels should not be too high.
On the day of the official visit as new ambassador in London, a royal carriage and four stood in front of the German ambassador’s residence on Belgrave Square. It used to be that only the ambassador was allowed to ride in the coach—his wife had to be driven behind in another vehicle—but the customs are no longer so strict. The bobbies stopped traffic to clear our route to Buckingham Palace, then the coach drove around the palace into the inner courtyard. My wife had to wait in a parlor. The queen, protocol stipulates, speaks first with the ambassador alone. Later, Jutta was asked to join us.
Of course, I had asked around beforehand for tips about what I was allowed to, could, or should say to the queen. British colleagues said I would have to wait until she asked me something. But one good friend, the permanent under-secretary of state in the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, shook his head: “That’s all nonsense,” he said. “The poor queen, she has to conduct conversations like that all the time. Everybody waits until she says something. She would be thrilled if you would tell her something clever. Think of something smart to say! She has been in office for fifty years, and has known them all—from Churchill, Adenauer, Eisenhower, Kennedy and Reagan up to today. You’ll see, she’s an interesting conversationalist!”
Fine. But what is something clever?
We discovered by chance that Zara Phillips, the queen’s granddaughter and a very successful equestrian, would be competing in an international tournament in Aachen, Germany, the following week. So I called Michael Mronz, the impresario of the Aachen tournament and husband of the late Guido Westerwelle, who had served as German foreign minister, and asked him what I needed to know about the tournament, the British team, and Zara Phillips. Soon I knew all about who the rivals were, what the name of Zara Phillips’s horse was, how the obstacle course would go; I knew the prospects for success, the betting odds, and so on. I went into the meeting with the queen fully briefed by the expert.
As my foreign office friend had recommended, I did not wait long for a question from the queen, but simply started out by saying how regrettable it was that she would not be at the equestrian tournament in Aachen the following week, although her granddaughter was sure to win the gold medal there.
Wide-eyed with amazement, she looked at me and asked how I had ever got this impression.
I was interested in equestrian sports, I said (which was true), and everyone was saying that Zara was favored to win, which is why it was truly a shame that she, the queen, would not be there.
“Ambassador, I’m afraid you have no idea.” The queen leaned forward, “But you may not tell anyone, you know.…”
And then she revealed to me that Zara’s horse had a lame back left foot, and that just yesterday they had tried out a new salve to treat it. She told me the whole story, from the animal to the veterinarians, all the way to her granddaughter’s worry that the wonderful horse might not be able to compete in the tournament.
The queen went into such detail that all I had to do