The Foreign Service Journal, July-August 2011

M y family moved to Peshawar, in the Northwest Frontier province of Pakistan, in July 1998. That name always suggested a certain wildness to me since the area is located at the edge of the country, with a wide ungovernable belt known as the Tribal Territories between it and the Afghan border. As long as we stayed in the city, we were assured safety; but if we chose to venture west, a military guard was required. It is the duty of members of the dominant Pathan tribe, which is closely affiliated with the Taliban, to protect guests with their lives if necessary. This sense of honor helps explain why no outside force has ever conquered the areas held by the Pathan, and why the Pakistan government concedes that the Tribal Territories are still ungovernable. In 1998, Peshawar was not yet on the world’s radar screen. Al-Qaida had not yet made the news, nor was Osama bin Laden a household name. But within weeks of our arrival, the bomb- ing of the U.S. embassies in Nairobi and Dar es Salaam changed our lives: our talk became grim, and we adopted a “but for the grace of God” attitude. Unknown to us, the U.S. government was making plans to respond. At 3 a.m. one mid-August day, with just a 24-hour warning, every American in our mission was gathered in front of the consulate — about 20 people. We were told we would be driving to Is- lamabad, then flying from Pakistan. None of the families knew why. We were puzzled, sleepy and scared, but we tried not to upset our children. While waiting, we talked among ourselves, and learned from the few al- lowed to stay in-country that our gov- ernment had declined to tell the NWFP authorities why we were leav- ing. These authorities had expressed concern, for the omission disturbed the traditional sense of Pathan honor by implying that we were running from their protection. After all, they would keep us safe no matter what. Even so, we drove east on the Grand Trunk Road toward Islamabad. The trip through the night and into the gold-rimmed dawn was quiet. A plane would meet us in Islamabad for a 30- hour trip to Baltimore, but we were still in the dark. Only after the Red Cross met us in Baltimore did we learn that, while we were in the air, the United States had launched cruise missiles at suspected al-Qaida strongholds, one of them only 60 miles from our home and barely outside Pakistan. Rioting followed. We later heard from third-country friends who had stayed in Peshawar that, after a few days, life returned to normal, and the international school re- opened. But it would be five months before our government allowed us to return to post. The “Pak-Evac” families, as we came to be known in Washington, came close to rioting ourselves over this delay. Still, what I remember most poignantly is our convoy through the NWFP toward the Punjab. The U.S. government had not only refused to tell local officials why we were leaving, but later bombed perilously close to the province. Yet as we left, they did what they could to protect us until we had left their territory, fulfilling their sense of duty by providing an escort. As we drove into the dawn, at every dusty kilometer along the route, we saw a pair of fatigue-clad soldiers standing at attention, guns held ready. By the time we crossed into the Punjab, the sun had risen and our honor guard was gone. Victoria Hirschland Hess was married to a Foreign Service officer for 17 years. Their fourth overseas tour, in Pakistan, included three evacuations, a car bombing and a coup, interspersed with moments of joy from the hospitality of their hosts. She and her children now live in Jackson Hole, Wyo. We drove east on the Grand Trunk Road toward Islamabad. R EFLECTIONS The Greater Honor B Y V ICTORIA H. H ESS 76 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 1 1