Cheers to Diplomacy

Nine years and some change ago, Obama-appointed Representative to the U.N., Joe Torsella, led a courageous crusade against one of international diplomacy’s greatest challenges. No, he did not raise his voice in opposition of the amelioration of fossil fuel usage; nor did he pipe up against regimes hell-bent on subjugating their own populace. Instead, Mr. Torsella squared in on the grave, consequential matter of inebriated delegates. It was an issue that caused grown men to giggle like schoolchildren, and an even greater representation of the ages old “diplomatic culture” that had become synonymous with back room deals and wealthy white men chewing away on cigars. Richard Gowan of the Center of International Cooperation noted then that the U.N. was in a continual process of “cleaning itself up” and that drunkenness among diplomats worsened an already “miserable process”.

I do not doubt for one second the ineptitude displayed by drunken individuals chosen to represent their country based upon the numbers they add to a check or the surname they inherited. Nor do I doubt how dreadful it can seem when that drunken fool across you is the only means at striking a deal. Yet, there are many things that I can imagine being worse than a Tipsy Tunisian Tee-heeing after listening to the German Ambassador mispronounce the letter “w”. For instance, I cannot fathom sitting through the ramblings of one Muammar Gaddafi — much less listen to Russia’s permanent representative to the U.N., Vasily Nebenzya, work out how many times he can teeter around the truth with blatantly false assertions and anecdotes. The only way I could stomach either of these moments, ironically, is with a stout drink in hand. An incredibly stout one, at that.

I, like much of the “moved from my small town to DC to work on foreign policy” crowd, know full well that alcohol and foreign policy are inextricably linked. No truth serum comes close to whiskey or bourbon in extracting one’s true opinions on any given topic. It is one thing to state your opinion in a classroom, at risk of being labelled a pariah by your tenured, snooty professor — or by your colleagues who believe they will be the next Richard Holbrooke. It is another thing entirely to give a full-bellied answer on what you truly think about that hot-topic issue in that hot-topic region of the world. That is what alcohol brings to the table for the practitioner of foreign policy (aside from the beer gut, liver complications, and shortness of breath caused by walking up a flight of stairs).

With this in mind, I present to you the Drunken Diplomat — a collection of foreign policy analysis on a broad range of issues covered by a broad range of my colleagues, friends, and occasionally those I despise (though you will never know which is which). The catch is that those who present any analysis must do so with at least a drink notched. For those who choose to reject the partaking of booze (you know who you are, you Anti-Saloon League culprits) an alcohol-free Heineken will have to suffice. Here’s to healthy discourse. 干杯！