bout de papier, Vol. 7, No. 1 (1989), pp. 13–14
by Sidney Freifeld
Lest my “Tales from External Affairs” in earlier issues of bout de papier give the impression that life in the Canadian Foreign Service is a succession of amusing pleasantries, let me relate the most traumatic episode in my three-decades career, viz. receiving instructions, barely six weeks after I arrived in distant Montevideo, to close down the first Embassy to which I had been appointed Head.
Towards the end of a tour of duty at our Permanent Mission to the United Nations, I was appointed resident Chargé d’Affaires of the Canadian Embassy in Uruguay. My wife, Crenia and I arrived in Montevideo at the end of August, 1969, happy with the prospects of our new, although modest, post. Uruguay, justifiably, had the reputation of being the model democracy of South America, although we knew it had been going through difficult times. Montevideo, with a population of about 1,500,000about half that of the entire country — was considered one of the most intellectually stimulating and cosmopolitan capitals in all Latin America. Like neighbouring Argentina and Chile in South America’s cono sur, Uruguay had a racially homogeneous population of Italo-Spanish descent. In addition, it had been a haven for Europeans fleeing from the Nazi juggernaut in the 1930’s and 1940’s. While indeed there was poverty, there was much less of the extreme social and economic disparities to be found in nearly all other Latin American countries; Uruguay was not a country with a tiny oligarchy owing most of the wealth and the land, and ruling despotically over a mass of illiterate peasantry. Of all Latin American countries, it was the closest to being, or becoming, a middle-class society and, in one respect at least, it stood out from the rest of Latin America: from the early years of the twentieth century, it had been developing a social welfare state, due to the vision of President José Batlle, and however imperfectly this had functioned due to mounting economic difficulties after World War II, Uruguay had gained the image of being a Latin American “Denmark-Switzerland”
The mores of the country were well described by a contributor to Montevideo’s influential liberal-left weekly, Marcha, in the early 1960’s: “The Uruguayan does not wish to be a very important man, or an insignificant one. He just wants to live in freedom, without making any great sacrifices, and without forcing others to make them. Here is a country whose people do not aspire to greatness, or to anything absolute, but who desire that things shall be kept in good, human proportion and that the human values shall be treated with proper respect. With such a people one does not build empires or alter the course of history.”
According to the conventional wisdom, the increasingly middle-class countries of the cono sur should have been among the last to be the targets of domestic terrorism, but Uruguay became one of the first. Political scientists began pointing to it as an example of the dysfunctioning of a democracy, due inter alia to the difficulty of maintaining over-ambitious social welfare programs —
Uruguay had a special interest in Canadian policies.
By the time we arrived in 1969, Uruguay’s sophisticated urban guerrillas, the Tupamaros, were undergoing a metamorphosis and change of tactics. In earlier years they had carried on a Robin Hood type of derring-do — robbing stores, banks and casinos and ostentatiously turning over the proceeds to the poor. By the time we left Montevideo, we could hear Tupamaro gunfire from our residence and my British colleague, Ambassador Geoffrey Jackson, was soon to be kidnapped and held in a “People’s Prison” for a year. When I went fishing in the Plata River with the United States Ambassador, protecting helicopters hovered overhead and the nearby coastline was guarded heavily. Montevideo was rapidly resembling the sets for Costa-Gavras’ film “Z”
About six weeks after we arrived in Montevideo, the Canadian Thanksgiving holiday had come around and we spent the day at our new home-away-from-home, hanging the last of the paintings we had brought with us. I remarked to Crenia that I felt we were finally getting settled in our new post; I had finished calls at the Foreign Ministry and on diplomatic colleagues, and we had met the handful of local Canadian residents. The use of Spanish was returning after eleven years absence from Mexico.
Late on Thanksgiving morning, the telephone rang. A Canadian clerk had passed by the office on the holiday and found the telex machine clattering long messages in cypher. He had decyphered a few lines. He urged me to come down immediately to the Chancery.
Two confidential telegrams for me had arrived from Ottawa — one from Mitchell Sharp, the Secretary of State for External Affairs, and the other from Under-Secretary Marcel Cadieux. What they added up to was simple — and jolting: for reasons of austerity, the Government was contacting a number of persons of all ranks stationed at Canadian posts abroad and, as part of this process, was closing down eight posts entirely, three of em in Latin America and one of which as Montevideo. I was instructed to seek an gent appointment with the Uruguayan reign Minister to inform him that we suld be closing out the Embassy by nuary 31 at the latest, i.e., within four onths. Our Uruguayan employees were to u given notice, the Department would attempt to arrange cross-paintings for our Canadian staff, and I was to return to Ottawa for re-assignment. Leases were to be cancelled, contracts annulled, and furniture, vehicles and other items were to be disposed of or shipped to other posts, as would be subsequently directed by the Department.
So began the final four months of our short stay in Montevideo, during which I had to terminate our fine, loyal and shocked Uruguayan employees, negotiate transfers of our Canadian staff and totally liquidate our small diplomatic mission. My first task that morning was to seek an urgent appointment with Foreign Minister Venancio Flores and tell him this astounding news.
In October, 1969, Uruguay was a tense nation. A strike of banking employees was paralyzing the country. The old-line Colorado and Blanco parties were at loggerheads, and Congress seemed paralyzed Tupamaro urban guerrilla tactics were becoming bolder — they had just staged a spectacular rescue of imprisoned comrades by digging an escape tunnel out of Montevideo’s main prison. To bolster exports there was a ban on the domestic sale of beef — the three-meals-a-day staple of every Uruguayan’s diet. To illustrate the prevailing mood: if, for example, Pan American Airways were to reduce the frequency of its flights into Montevideo from seven to six weekly, this would be looked upon as a portenous event; conversely, if the Blue Star Line were to add one extra call a month to Montevideo, it would be cause for rejoicing. For Canada — of all admired countries — to close its Embassy and scuttle out of the country would be onimous and foreboding. With these thoughts in mind, I went downtown to keep my urgent appointment with Foreign Minister Venancio Flores.
I thanked the Minister for granting the immediate appointment I had been instructed so urgently to seek and, in accordance with instructions, stated that, because of economic conditions in Canada, our Government had decided that it would have to reduce expenditures in the Foreign Service (amongst other measures of austerity), that it was reducing its diplomatic and consular staff around the world and that, as part of this process, it was closing eight of its diplomatic missions — of which Montevideo was to be one. Shocked aston Miment and or am fein for a few moments said nothing. Then in a sad voice he replied.
“Mr. Chargé d’Affaires, I imagine that to be instructed to come here and to tell me this must be difficult and painful for you, especially after having arrived so recently. I will say simply this. Please tell your Government that Uruguay, too, knows what it is to experience economic difficulties and to have to introduce measures of austerity. We, too, have had to close several of our missions abroad in recent years. But, just as we found that we could manage subsequently to re-open our missions, we are confident that Canada, too, will find that it is able to do the same thing.” He then went on to assure ine of his Ministry’s co-operation to facilitate our closing-down procedures and to liquidate or transfer our contracts and property. Fortunately, he had not learned that on that same day, Ottawa was announcing the opening of new posts at the Vatican and in Atrica.
Less than a week before I was due to leave Montevideo, the Chief of Protocol called to say that the Foreign Ministry wanted to tender a luncheon before my final departure. This was a surprise; I knew that it was not the custom for the Ministry to give luncheons or dinners for departing Heads of Mission. I urged the Chief of Protocol not to go to this trouble, but he was quite insistent. I then said that the date he proposed, and the time, was the same as that on which the Diplomatic Corps would be giving me the customary reception for a departing colleague. He said he would tell the Dean to arrange another date.
I had expected the Foreign Ministry’s
14 bout de papier Vol. luncheon to be a small and informal affair. Instead, it was held in the penthouse dining room of Montevideo’s leading hotel, was co-hosted by the Under-Secretary of Foreign Affairs and the Director-General of the Ministry, and was attended by the Directors- General of all Branches and their Heads of Division. Word must have gone out that this was a must; the Ministry was on a summer timetable and many of these officers had already moved down the coast to Punta del Este.
The Director-General of the Ministry, Sr. Marques Sere, whom I had known when he was Uruguay’s Permanent Representative at the United Nations, opened the farewell remarks and took the line that there was no other country in the world for which Uruguay had greater respect and regard than Canada. The Uruguayans were a genuinely democratic people and Canadians occupied a special place in their hearts. Canada had achieved a special place in the western world and had played an extraordinary role in multilateral organizations. The reputation of our Foreign Service was second to none. Living herself alongside giant and powerful neighbours, Uruguay had a special interest in Canadian policies. Uruguay had been going through trying times and needed the support of her friends, amongst whom she counted Canada foremost during this difficult period. It would be difficult to conceive of Montevideo without a resident Canadian mission and, after our present difficulties were over, we would surely find it possible to return. This line, au revoir but not farewell — was echoed by other officers through the luncheon.
It was a hard act to follow. I emphasized that our decision to close had been dictated by harsh budgetary considerations only, and should not be construed in any way as reflecting any diminution of our appreciation of the unique place that Uruguay occupied in South America, or of her superb performance on the international stage and in multilateral organizations, such as the United Nations, where we had co-operated closely. I emphasized that nothing would change in our relationship with Uruguay except the modalities of conducting our local business; our Ambassador in Buenos Aires and other officers at our Embassy there would be accredited to Uruguay and would henceforth make frequent visits to ensure that the happy and close relationship between our two countries would continue unchanged.
A week later, at the end of January 1970, and barely six months after arriving, Crenia and I were on a plane for the long flight back to Rio, New York and February’s Ottawa.
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Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 7, No. 1 (1989), pp. 13–14. Read the rest of this issue →
