The Foreign Service Journal, April 2009

L ast December marked the 20th anniversary of the downing of Pan Am 103 in Lockerbie, Scot- land. Because I kept no diaries and took no photographs, I have only im- pressionistic memories of the scene. But they are still vivid even now. I remember observing on my first visit to Lockerbie, as one of several junior officers who would play a part, that the houses appeared to have been sliced at the very angle of the giant plane’s path to earth. From outside one of the houses I could see a mantle clock, no doubt still keeping time that the occupants no longer had. And I heard the story of a boy who had been playing with friends down the street, thus avoiding the fate of the rest of his family. Tents had been set up to enable forensic doctors to work on identifica- tion. Each time I signed another “Re- port of Death of an American Citizen Abroad,” I tried to imagine something of the life of the person and silently honor him or her. What struck me most powerfully was how young many of the victims were. I remember speaking on the phone with families in the U.S. during that first period. Many begged for infor- mation — “Where was he found?” “What was she wearing?” —confirma- tion of the horrible news that had been conveyed to them. I recall heading out to find a local stationery store, where I bought out the stock of those wonder- ful “ordnance maps” showing the area in detail. When I could learn precisely where a victim had been located, I would mark it on the map and send it to the U.S. Later, when the Scottish police began to release personal effects, I took regular trips from Edinburgh to Lockerbie, where a sorting facility had been set up in a concrete building that, despite a monstrous heater in the cen- ter, never felt warm. Day after day I sorted through items, my fingers grow- ing so numb I could barely move them. The victims were, for the most part, returning for the Christmas holidays, so I was prepared to see the heartbreak- ing remnants of gifts and stuffed toys. Wildly contorted metal suitcases con- veyed the power of the impact, but at the same time there were items that had miraculously survived: beautifully folded clothing and an improbably in- tact bottle of white wine. I recall the resilience of the women of Lockerbie. Though they had lost 11 of their own, they put in long hours sorting, washing, drying and cleaning the effects, or cooking hearty fare for those of us working there. And, of course, there were more calls, day in and day out, night after night. Though our little core of staff provided as much personal support to the American families as we could, it never felt adequate. Afterward, I remember feeling that I had absorbed so much sadness, often in cold and darkness. I asked for time to decompress, but could be spared for only one day. Instead of a direct train to London, I decided to detour to the Lake District, where some of my fa- vorite poets had lived, and where I hoped my spirits could revive. At Lake Grasmere, perhaps the most picturesque spot in Great Britain, signs of spring had started to appear: sparkling sun, bright green grass, in- numerable white clouds. There, on a gently sloping hillside, I wept. Images, conversations, interactions and procedures all ran through my mind. But nothing really answered the question of “Why?” As the sun went down, I arose, dried my tears, picked up my bag and headed back to town, the bus station and London. Lockerbie would be lodged inside me, forever. Mitchell Cohn, a Foreign Service offi- cer since 1985, is currently a cultural affairs officer in Rabat. Previous as- signments include Mexico City, Lon- don, Istanbul, Jakarta, Tunis and Washington, D.C. This is excerpted from a longer piece solicited by the State Department’s Bu- reau of Consular Affairs in honor of the Lockerbie victims’ families. Day after day I sorted through items, my fingers growing so numb I could barely move them. 68 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / A P R I L 2 0 0 9 R EFLECTIONS Recalling Lockerbie B Y M ITCHELL C OHN