The Foreign Service Journal, July-August 2003

F O C U S Only the Defense Attaché’s Office seemed immune to his powers, probably because the DATT once said “POTUS and FLOTUS are in CONUS” with a straight face. Frank was, however, attracted to DAO’s seemingly bottomless supply of laser pointers, and found they unlocked the gateway to a dizzying world of increasingly elaborate Power Point presentations to serve as glitzy vehicles for his jargon. The embassy soon resembled a summer evening in the Loire Valley, as Power Point sound-and-light extravaganzas dazzled meeting partici- pants into submission. F rank’s passion for foggy phrases had a particularly pronounced effect on Amb. Lefevre. He was soon “tasked” (“assigned” has the same number of syllables, but suffers the relative disadvantage of being an actual word) to write all of her speeches. His grandiose mangling of the English language scratched some sort of inner itch for the ambassador, who took to styling herself as a cut-rate Margaret Thatcher. Her coif grew steadily in volume, and the frayed seersucker and scuffed flats were replaced with blinding black patent leather pumps and stiff wool suits festooned with brass buttons. Although singularly inap- propriate for the tropical climate, the woolen armor induced rivulets of sweat that resolved the ambassador’s dandruff problem. The ambassador began calling press conferences to announce even the most mundane of new initiatives from Washington, hectoring the press into obeisance with her hortatory renditions of Frank’s prose. At a joint press con- ference with the foreign minister, the moderator tried to cut her off with a gentle “I’m afraid we’ve run out of time, so I must stop you there, Madam Ambassador.” “No, you must not!” she trilled. “Robust implementation of appro- priately sustainable initiatives will impact all of us, now and forever.” “On the margins” of the press conference after her speech, the ambassador “expressed regret” that her “tour d’horizon” was so cruelly “nipped in the bud.” I had all of my “ducks in a row,” she lamented. Too late, Frank realized he had created the proverbial monster. The ambassador decreed that, “henceforth,” the Pol/Econ Section would be known as the “Political and Economic Analysis and Policy Reform Implementation Division” (PEAPRID), and the counselor made a peti- tion, speedily granted, to become the “senior PEAPRID chief.” A few days later, he overcame the DCM’s initial resistance and succeeded in adding “Regional” to his title, despite the fact that he didn’t even have a constituent post under his jurisdiction. Frank himself morphed from “Pol/Econ Officer” to “Foreign Policy Implementation Specialist.” In the linguistic megalomania sweeping the embassy, he took small solace that his EER testified to the fact that he had performed all of his duties “with aplomb,” single-handedly saved the American Republic from cer- tain demise, and, indeed, “walked on water.” The last straw (Frank didn’t even have the energy to dredge up “the straw that broke the camel’s back,” which would have offered a nice “segue” to a “camel’s nose under the tent,” particularly loved by NEA “types”) came when the Senior Regional Political and Economic Analysis and Policy Reform Implementation Division Chief changed “happy” to “glad” in what would have been yet another robust policy memo. He should have cared that he’d lost a syllable and “reclama-ed” the decision since he had vital “equities” at stake. But he didn’t. Frank longed for simple, plain-spoken language once again. At that moment, Amb. Lefevre burst into his office. Afternoon sunlight shone through her bouffant and sparkled on her brass-buttoned epaulets. “Franklin,” she announced, “the strength of my work here has led me to be named the first career ambassador to France in living memory. I hereby invite you to join me and serve as my speechwriter.” Sweet salvation! The tortuous clauses and impenetra- bly layered tenses of French presented a virgin field on which to do linguistic battle. After all, the natural turgid- ity of the French language only enhanced its value as a tar- get for abuse. Small flecks of foam formed on his lips as he contemplated the damage he could inflict on la belle langue francaise. His thoughts raced ahead to the prospects of Paris. Perhaps there the euphonious sound of “J. Franklin Leigh” might pass muster.… ■ 30 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / J U LY- A U G U S T 2 0 0 3 Frank couldn’t be sure the sentence would produce the hoped-for largesse back in Foggy Bottom.