bout de papier, Vol. 9, No. 3 (1992) — Summer 1992 // Été 1992, pp. 36–37
A recent ruling of the United Nations Human Rights Commission has created a stir in Canada, comparable to recent Supreme Court decisions on capital punishment in the United States. The UN has ruled that the current procedures in External Affairs and International Trade Canada for getting policy advice up to the Minister represent “cruel and inhumane treatment of individuals, far beyond the realm of what is normally regarded as acceptable in a civilized society.”
The ruling has had an immediate impact on the Department. For those two hundred and seventy-eight officers who have Memoranda to Ministers or Treasury Board submissions languishing in the system, expectation of a speedy resolution and execution of their policy advice is high. For those who were victims of the old system, there is hope for a process of healing and reconciliation. For the Department’s management, there is the challenge of change.
Relief on Fret Row
It is a dark, glum corner in the farthest reaches of the Lester B. Pearson Building cafeteria. The harshness of the locale and its despair keep out any interloper. Known to some as Fret Row, this corner of the cafeteria harbours a hardened, cynical core of officers who have Memoranda or Treasury Board submissions awaiting resolution as they wind their way through the murky labyrinth of External.
Donald Mypay, former lawyer for the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and now President of the Professional Association of Foreign Service officers, is in a buoyant mood. “The UN decision is fabulous. It publicizes the fate of hundreds of individuals caught up in an unfair and oppressive system. It will give hope to those who are on hold here waiting for movement on their memoranda to the Minister.”
Mypay’s sense of jubilation is not entirely shared by those sentenced to wait for a decision. Freddy “The Wall” Greggy stirs her coffee in her quarried white coffee mug and stares out the window. As usual she is chewing her lucky omen, a piece of the Berlin Wall. “Yeah, o.k., like I am relieved by the UN ruling. But at the same time I am resentful. The Department stole my youth, my idealism.”
Freddy continues. “Do you known that it was almost two and a half years ago that I tried to get a Ministerial hearing on resources for the new Berlin Embassy. At first, things seemed to move. I got a draft memorandum to the eighth floor and a decision of the Program Management Board. But then my case got sidetracked by a Treasury Board submission. My lawyers have been going back and forth between the M-Branch, Treasury Board and the eighth floor since then. I have yet to get a memorandum or a Treasury Board Submission to the Minister.”
She looks ruefully down at her coffee. She notes bitterly, “You know I could have been a contender. I could have been a contender.”
A couple of other officers are playing cards at the next table. They are oblivious to the trays of institutional food cluttering their lunch benches. “Snap,” says the taller one, gruffly reaching for the cards.
“I was moving with a fast crowd”, admits “Numbers” Preston. “Everyone in the Bureau seemed to be putting forward a Memorandum to the Minister. It seemed like an easy way to get known in the Department, to make a reputation. Everyone seemed to be doing so well. The DG had flashy clothes and dressed like a pimp.”
“So, I tried it. I put forward a memorandum on debt forgiveness to the middle income countries as a Summit initiative. That was two years ago. How was I to know that Finance, Treasury Board and the EDC would come down on me like a ton of bricks? My friends at the Bureau deserted me, left me out to dry. I believe the memorandum is still in the in-basket of the ADM. It was a set-up.”
“Ah, calm down, Numbers”, the other officer says. “It’s always the same old story.”
“Well, how did you end up here?”
“Baby face” Guimond shifts his regard toward Preston. “One misdemeanour led to another. First, I left off a couple of divisions in the transmittal slip; then I forgot to clear the memorandum through the three relevant Directors-General; then I didn’t make enough copies for the eighth floor registry; and finally there was the need for a reworked Communications strategy. Hell, here I am still waiting to get the Memo to the Minister, five months later.”
The two dolefully return to their game of cards.
The Foreign Service Halfway Home
The Foreign Service Halfway House is located beside the bicycle stand in the parking garage of the Lester B. Pearson Building. A therapy session for thirty Foreign Service officers is getting underway. Officers sit around in a circle, each one eyeing the other warily. Some have a wild-eyed craziness in their stare, a cross between Charles Manson and John Foster Dulles. Some have a fatigue born of a thousand consultations…. The rest have a longing for acceptance in their eyes, a searing call for a simple sign of approval, or better yet a simple signature of approval.
One officer finally breaks the silence. “It started so innocently, really. How was I to know that it would lead to a downward spiral of depression, agony, despair.” His voice cracks.
“The SSEA was going down to the United Nations General Assembly. We had five weeks’ notice to prepare a Memorandum suggesting a delegation list.” He breaks into an audible sob.
Others in the group comfort him. “Come on, Gerry. You can do it. Stop your denial. Get it out in the open. You will feel much better.”
Gerry takes a deep breath and starts again. “I suppose deep down inside I wanted to do it — draft a memo and get it approved. There was the element of risk, of daring. Besides, others in the division egged me on — ’Try it, do it,’ ’the Minister’s office will know your name’”
He stops, “Oh God, please help me.” He closes his eyes and continues. “The first draft was completed in a couple of days. I thought I had consulted sufficiently both with other departments and within External.
I thought I was ahead of the curve with four weeks’ advance. But then, it happened, my world collapsed.” His hands tremble and perspiration breaks out on his forehead.
“The first draft, the DG did not like some wording and wanted shorter sentences; the second draft, the ADM hated short sentences and wanted more detailed explanations; the third version, there was a problem with the margins and with the signature box; the fourth version, someone decided that Wayne Gretzky, and not Bernard Woods should be part of the NGO delegation; the fifth version, the size of the delegation had to be reduced; the sixth version saw the delegation increased.” By now, Gerry is reduced to a sobbing hulk, no longer the arrogant and unresponsive diplomat he used to pride himself on being.
The members of the group listen sympathetically, nodding their heads in agreement to a story that oddly resembles their own downward descent into uselessness.
“The seventh version, the PMO wanted to make changes; the eighth version ran into problems with Protocol over scheduling; the ninth version had some problems with the geographic divisions which claimed that they had not been consulted on any versions beyond the fifth one: the tenth version ran into financial problems and we had to go to the M-branch for resources to cover the size of the delegation; the eleventh version was called back after Policy Branch wanted to add in a large strategic overview; the twelfth version was sent back to the eighth floor after some smudges were found on the corner of the transmittal slip; the thirteenth version came to a halt when the ADM took a week’s holiday; the fourteenth version was sent back because it was too long. Oh, God help me, all the while the Minister’s office is phoning, asking for the suggested list of some twelve names.”
The others in the group consoled the now nearly desolate Gerry. “Same thing Gerry with me. It’s o.k. big guy.”
“And you know what”, Gerry lifts his face from his hands. “I did get the memorandum up to the Minister’s office.”
“Great going, Gerry. See you achieved something.”
Gerry looks blankly at the others. “Only thing, it got up a week after she left for New York.” Her staff gave up on us and put together a delegation based on a mailing list from the Ottawa UNICEF office.
Sister Heather, who runs the Halfway House, puts her arm around Gerry and ends the session. She says calmly, “You know, these are the victims. The ruling of the Human Rights Commission is too late for them, but maybe it will prevent further abuse. I admit I was part of the old system, but now I have dedicated my life to helping these poor souls.”
The Department’s View
Geoffrey MacLosealots, the Assistant Deputy Minister, International Legal Aid Bureau, paces his office, fingering a walnut gavel he won in a recent Gavel Throwing Competition at the annual picnic of the Bar Society of Upper Canada. He is visibly at a loss for words.
“Frankly, I am at a loss for words,” he explains, brushing his hand through his thick mane of curly hair. “I had warned Senior Management that the UN case had the potential to be a landmark human rights “cause célèbre”. I warned them that it was imperative for the Department to act immediately. I advised them that the case would cause the government embarrassment. I stressed that a press line should be developed without any further delay.”
MacLosealots turns slowly around. “Unfortunately, my memorandum on the case never made it to the Minister. It got stuck in the system, somewhere…. Pity.
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Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 9, No. 3 (1992) — Summer 1992 // Été 1992, pp. 36–37. Read the rest of this issue →
