bout de papier, Vol. 23, No. 4 (2008) — Summer 2008 // Été 2008, pp. 19–20
The following tribute was written by Mr. Basil Robinson and read by his daughter Brigitte Ann at the Memorial Service to celebrate Geoffrey Pearson’s life held at St. Bartholomew’s Anglican Church on Saturday, April 12, 2008.
We are here today to pay tribute to Geoffrey Pearson — great diplomat, and dear friend.
I first met Geoff in 1955 in Paris when I joined him at the Canadian Embassy there. He had already shown interest in the political life of France. He spoke freely and confidently in French, and this facility with language gave him access to the inner sanctum of the Quai D’Orsay, the French foreign office.
France, in partnership with Britain, was involved in the Suez crisis, and one of Geoff’s many responsibilities was to represent Canada in the discussions. I used to see some of his reports to Ottawa, and I was impressed by their range and clarity.
I was 37 years old at the time and it struck me that, at the young age of 28, Geoff was already making his mark in the diplomatic world.
Geoft’s first priority as a diplomat — then and for the rest of his career — was to absorb the political culture in which he found himself, and to respect his hosts. Whether he was in Mexico, India, or the Soviet Union, he was a diplomat in the true sense of the word.
As it happened, our wives Elizabeth and Landon were the best of friends. The two young families needed to get away from the Paris heat for the summer and before long Landon had found a small chateau with a walled garden (very much in need of repair) in Nointel — just 30 minutes north of Paris.
It was ideal; far enough away from the heat and noise of the big city, yet close enough for Geoff and me to commute to the office and back. We shared the driving as well as our concerns about Canada’s place in the world. A daily commute, if only for a couple of months, is a special thing.
I also remember many Nointel afternoons when Geoff and I tossed a baseball back and forth. The summer progressed; our small children grew, and before long we had in these informal ways come to understand one another and become good friends.
When I was asked to write something about Geoff it struck me that many of the qualities which made him a valued friend were the same attributes that helped to distinguish him as a colleague worthy of the highest respect.
1. He had a fine analytical mind, balanced by good judgment and a sense of discretion.
2. He was refreshingly direct in his language — for some people, perhaps a little too direct!
3. He had a capacity to see the big picture, while never losing sight of the smaller things.
4. And, perhaps most important, he had a sense of humour. Among friends and colleagues both, the playful side of his personality was legendary. That is the Geoff I will remember — a great diplomat, a dear friend.
A Memory of Geoffrey Pearson
by D. Colin Robertson “They’ve forgotten that ‘soft power’ needs ‘hard power’ to be effective. This was a lesson that my father never forgot.” It was the late 1990s and Geoffrey Pearson had generously invited me to lunch at Wilfred’s in the Chateau Laurier. We were discussing the active, revivalist approach to international relations of Foreign Minister Lloyd Axworthy that was receiving both positive attention and favourable reviews. While complimentary to the renewed emphasis on multilateralism, it was not exempt from that probing contrarianism that was Geoffrey Pearson’s trademark. Our luncheon was another in what I considered to be a series of continuing tutorials from Geoffrey in critical thinking: once endured, now enjoyed, and always an education.
Joining the Department of External Affairs in September, 1977, I was assigned to the United Nations Bureau. Canada had a seat on the Security Council and the son of our most famous diplomat was the big boss. Together with our colleagues, working under Bill Barton at the United Nations, we felt that what we did mattered and that we were making a difference for Canadians. It was heady times.
Jimmy Carter was determined to make human rights integral to foreign policy but the idea had not yet “taken.” Assigned to do research on a Canadian approach to human rights for the ubiquitous “Memo to the Minister,” I was “invited” with my deputy director, Allan Rowe, to see Pearson. At the appointed moment Allan was diverted; as I would learn later, he would do about anything to avoid an encounter with Pearson. His secretary was a formidable, tidy woman who typed and took dictation with tornado-like speed. One of a now nearly extinct cadre that were effectively married to the “Department,” she escorted me into the corner office on the fifth floor of A Tower.
Sitting behind his desk, Pearson was looking out the window with its splendid view of Parliament Hill and Gatineau. I’d recently cycled up to MacLaren Cemetery to see the grave sites of his father, Hume Wrong, and Norman Robertson but I decided that this might not be the ideal conversation opener. After a few moments, he swung about, sucking his pipe, and giving me that quizzical half smile that I would come to know well.
We got through the preliminaries: where was I from, what had I done and finally, why I was in his office? Human rights. Then came the questions: Did I think human rights had a place in foreign policy? What did I think President Carter was trying to do? Should foreign policy have a moral strain? And if so, how would it be expressed? Wasn’t it just rhetoric and cant? I reeled, wrote, told all and knew and then some. But still the questions came. It was a “sink or swim’ introduction to the Pearson method. I don’t think I impressed him, but he sent me away with the suggestion that I do more research and, “By the way, had I seen the article by Lloyd Cutler in Foreign Affairs?”
I liken the experience to defending my Master’s research paper and I understood now what Ian Ferguson meant when he told
me Pearson didn’t suffer fools. Maybe not, but he did take sympathy on junior officers and, as I would learn, relished the debate when you pushed back.
I learned a lot in that first assignment, not least the importance of critical thinking and looking at issues from every which way. Pearson’s thinking and train of thought was not conventional. He may have wound up in the same place, but the approach would be very different.
While Geoff pretended otherwise, there was heart and sensitivity beneath the brusqueness. As Ian has reminded me, he was generous in allowing junior staff, officers and secretaries, to have access to his cottage and canoe in Burnet; a godsend in the days when junior staff could not afford cottages or air conditioning.
Pearson believed that if you wanted to work at UN issues you had to do “time” in our mission and in committees to understand the rhythm and culture and, thanks to his commitment, I did a stint at the General Assembly working with Dan Livermore on the Third Committee. One Friday in December after I’d returned, I put on a turtleneck. My director, a stylist in both word and dress, invited me into his office and asked, “What would I do if I had to brief the minister that day.” “I’d go,” I told him. “And did I have a shirt and tie in my office?” I blushed, left and it would take a posting to Los Angeles before I’d wear a turtleneck to the office. Word of my faux pas got about. The following Friday morning, there was a knock at the inside office I shared with Jim Crowe. It was Pearson, walking down the hall to his office, not his usual route. He nodded. I said hello. He stopped to talk to my director. Then it hit me. He was wearing a turtleneck!
Pearson’s help came again, a year later, when, posting confirmation in hand, I was off to our Permanent Mission in New York. A fortnight before departure, Pearson asked if I had any other thoughts for a posting. No, I told him, I was delighted with my assignment. The next morning, as part of a series of cuts, the assignment was cancelled. It was December, and the alternates offered were Teheran, Addis Ababa, or the Consulate General in New York. After securing the signature necessary to make a long-distance call (it was different then), I spoke to Chips Filleul in New York and decided that if it couldn’t be Turtle Bay, then Broadway was just fine. But Personnel had changed its mind. I shared my disappointment with Pearson. That afternoon, I got a call from Personnel: New York was back on and I was to report immediately after Christmas.
Later, months after I’d settled into the Big Apple, I met my former personnel officer at a cocktail party. Down for a few days of shows he asked me how I was enjoying New York. I loved it. “You’re lucky, you know … if Pearson hadn’t phoned my boss you’d be in Addis Ababa or god knows where today …”
“Circumstances create opportunities, they do not ensure results,” Geoffrey Pearson observed in Seize the Day, his elegant appraisal of L.B. Pearson and crisis diplomacy, during the 1950s. But Geoff knew how to manage circumstances, realize Opportunity and ensure results.
After leading the UN Bureau, Geoff went on to Moscow as our ambassador, returning to work as our envoy on Prime Minister Trudeau’s peace initiative. He would later become head of the Canadian Institute for International Peace and Security. In retirement, he devoted himself to those causes, including the United Nations Association that reflected his commitment to international peace and security. Pearson was genuinely interested in “outside” perspectives from both academe and the NGOs. This meant listening and consulting; not always easy or appreciated but both necessary and essential to developing policy. He would have applauded Bill Barton’s recent generosity in establishing a chair at Carleton’s Norman Patterson School of International Affairs to enhance understanding of arms control and disarmament.
I last saw Geoff at an event to celebrate youth and service. He appeared with Justin Trudeau. We both witnessed a new generation dazzled by “Trudeaumania.” Geoff was bemused by the phenomenon; history may not repeat itself but it does rhyme.
Geoff would have enjoyed his memorial service, filled with the old hands and those “great and good” included Joe Clark and Bob Rae. Those who had come to honor him overflowed into the annex. He would have smiled to see Allan J. MacEachen sitting beside Flora MacDonald. Time, places and memories from his children, a song from two of the grandchildren, and a vignette on his time in Paris from Basil Robinson, read by Basil’s daughter Brigitte Ann. Then again, as son Michael observed, he might just have slipped off to watch the Master’s tournament.
I reflected on how he had helped me, as he helped others, quietly and effectively, but in a fashion uniquely his own. His was a career that counted, in a time when diplomacy not only mattered, but was seen to matter. As I left St. Bart’s, on that wet Saturday afternoon, I thought of Geoff and his generation and how, tempered by war, they strove to make a better world. I was reminded of the passage from Ecclesiasticus: “… all these were honoured in their generations, and were the pride glory of their times.”
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Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 23, No. 4 (2008) — Summer 2008 // Été 2008, pp. 19–20. Read the rest of this issue →
