The Battles of Bangui
By June Perry - August 2023 Edition
Bangui Erupts
Sitting
at my desk in March 1996, with a large picture window behind me, in my
role as deputy chief of mission in Bangui—the capital of the Central
African Republic (CAR)—it seemed a normal lunch hour. Several people had
left the chancery, including the ambassador and the consular officer.
The
silence of the moment was suddenly broken when the country’s then
president, Ange-Felix Patasse, called. In French, he asked first for
the ambassador, but since she was away, he spoke to me and uttered one
line: “Madame, the soldiers are on the move,” and hung up. Seconds later
I heard the crack of gunshots and fell to the floor, far from the
picture window. I knew the shots were close. Grabbing my cellphone, I
called the State Department’s operations center to give a quick brief.
The officer who answered was a woman who had been in my entering Foreign
Service class. “Vonda,” I said, “I’m calling you from the floor of my
office. The military here is beginning to attack the government and we
have shots in the embassy area.” She responded that she’d write up a
brief for the secretary of state immediately and told me to call back as
soon as safe to do so. My first reaction was not one of fright, but to
go into reporting mode: “start a log if there’s a crisis.” I did so on
yellow legal paper, aiming to capture every shot or movement.
About
five minutes later, the consular office ran into my office, hair askew,
his normally placid, serious demeanor mutated into one of fear. He
couldn’t get home to his wife and children. Manned barricades of
soldiers with AK-47’s barred access to the diplomatic residential
section located along the winding Bangui River Road separating the CAR
from the Congo. I instructed him to grab the list of all American
citizens registered with the embassy so they could be told of the
dangerous situation and advised to stay in place until further notified.
All this happened like clockwork; I don’t remember feeling anything
except the need to get the job done. That is, I must notify Washington
(check), start the log (check), and find the ambassador (check).
Fortunately, she too came running into the secured area. Her chauffeur
caught wind of the fighting as soon as they had begun traveling.
All
of this transpired within 15-20 minutes of the president’s call. I knew
that I next had to draft a reporting cable and call our country desk
officer at the State Department. All of this was automatic. Just like
our colleagues in the military, we diplomats undergo stringent training
for the unexpected, the sudden coups, natural disasters or civil wars
that might occur anywhere in the world. Knowing this methodology
intellectually is one thing; having it occur on your watch, another. But
my mind, body, fingers, and voice flew into action without a second
thought. On automatic, brain and body doing the necessary. Since my
secretary’s residence was located before the barricaded road, she had
been able to rush back as well. I began dictating the log to her,
referencing my legal pad, and then adding the analysis for Washington,
in this case for the National Security Council, the Defense Department,
intelligence agencies, our United Nations mission, as well as for our
allies in Europe, Africa and Asia. All would want to know, as they had
vested interests on the continent, and the potential of any conflict
bleeding over into a threatening environment for their citizens was
always a fear.
Precursors
I knew that President Patasse had harbored concerns about a move by his military against him. Shortly
after my arrival Feb 29, 1996, he had summoned the ambassador and me to
the presidential palace to meet with him, the foreign minister and the
prime minister. The palace was located about half a mile from the
embassy. What would normally have been a courtesy call for the
ambassador to introduce me turned into a diatribe by the president about
the lack of security forces from the French, the country’s former
colonizers. In fact, the French had their main African air base in the
CAR in the town of Buoar,
as well as a defense attaché and regiments either in the capital or on
call within minutes. What the president really wanted to convey was a
desire for US military forces on a regular basis and to imply that he
felt threatened by some disgruntled members of his own military. In that
still royalist-styled, darkened suite, I took in the following: the
aged, greying, yet cunning figure of the leader, the formality of
protocol at its height in the mannerisms of his staff—the slight bowing
of heads, the seemingly simpering obeisance of palace occupants, minions
or ministers.
Ange-Felix Patasse
The
ambassador calmly explained that the US could not provide forces based
only on his request, although she carefully absorbed his concerns while I
took copious notes. Both of us felt there must be a threat, but during
that encounter in an overstuffed, hot, majestic setting we could not
express our views, but only raise questions: “What made Patasse so
concerned? Who was behind this possible uprising? Who would gain and
what would they, in fact, obtain from such a major uprising?”
In
sum, he feared the French would not protect him, some of his cabinet
members, notably in his own defense department, would want to replace
him, and so forth. It was a schizophrenic moment to analyze, in my
view. This country that had suffered horribly as the Central African
Empire finally had had a few elections. But, as in all poor countries,
no matter where in the world, the lifestyles of the small elite and the
great, desperately poor majority were vast and evident. On Thursdays,
the Air France flight brought cheese, fresh fruits, meats and, of
course, wines to the local elite, the French military and to the
diplomatic corps. Foreigners could gather at certain locales such as the
French bar, a hotel near the seemingly peaceful, slowly winding Bangui
River. All this bounty was available to the foreigners and the
country’s elite, but not to the individuals hovering along the dusty
roads of Bangui’s so-called marketplace.
Once back at the
embassy, the ambassador and I took stock of the situation. Our
relationship with the country’s military was good following years of
training in English at US bases in America and continuing training in
country. Unlike the French, we had never been colonizers in Africa.
Americans respected the people as people; we did not discriminate, but
offered standard training courses on a non-discriminatory basis; kept
the doors to our library open; and traveled with the people, not just
with the elite. That relationship would turn out to be a saving grace
for us as those initial shots did develop into the first of several coup
attempts.
The Crisis Continues
As firing continued
around the embassy compound, I was tasked, in addition to drafting the
written reports, to call the key diplomatic representatives in Bangui,
including the United Nations, France, Chad, Japan, Canada, Russia,
China, and Germany. In addition to sharing information, I organized a
regular multilateral meeting and a daily telephone conference call with
all of the diplomatic corps. I had organized this within 40-60 minutes
of the first shots, then had to physically reach the American families
who were trapped behind the military barricade. Where does one find the
courage to do this? I didn’t think about it. I instructed the
ambassador’s chauffeur to go to the banks of the Bangui River, where we
encountered soldiers with the always present AK-47s blocking the way.
Our superb driver spoke both local dialects as well as French, and we
literally talked our way through the barricade. I learned you do what
you have to do. There were at least six children plus their mothers in
the several homes we had to reach, passing along the way my own house
and the deputy chief of mission’s residence, which was across the street
from the city’s poorly guarded prison. The families were terrified but,
once we had breached the barricade, we had the families form a convoy
behind the ambassador’s car and drove back to the Embassy, approximately
3-4 miles away. Fortunately, this embassy, an old, unsecured compound,
had the advantage of two sets of apartments for temporary duty
personnel. We settled the families in these buildings about 15 yards
behind the chancery-the building where the ambassador and embassy staff
worked, local and contract personnel on the first floor and USG officers
on the second. We had asked the families to bring food with them as we
had no idea how long the siege would last. With bullets flying, we did
not want people walking around shopping.
In addition to the
official American families, there were a number of American
non-governmental workers in Bangui. Among them were the Centers for
Disease Control (CDC), AFRICARE, and Population Services International
(PSI). One diabetic CDC US employee had to walk from the ministry of
health to the embassy, at least 8 miles, without medication. She
survived. The US citizen presence was compounded by 85 Peace Corps (PC)
volunteers spread around the country. We could only reach them via
broadband radio at the headquarters of missionaries serving in the
country’s rural areas. The Peace Corps director was located in Bangui
and assisted in calling the religious groups to ask them via their
networks to inform young volunteers of the situation and advise them to
await instructions and to stay away from the capital. I had strong
feelings for the Corps, both personally and professionally. I had lived
with my husband, a PC official, in Guyana, South America and in Kuala
Lumpur, Malaysia, where our first child was born. I had been public
affairs director for the Peace Corps’ Washington headquarters. So, this
was personal for me as it was for their parents and for members of
Congress and, of course, for State and the White House.
The
messages I received from colleagues around the world praising my
reporting and supporting the actions being taken by the embassy
encouraged me. But I, personally, was at post alone. My husband had
remained in Washington since our younger son had his final semester of
high school to finish. My colleagues became my family, sometimes a
dysfunctional one. This is not unusual today, but twenty years ago, many
officers never served the US in an ongoing atmosphere of war; today,
unaccompanied posts in danger zones have become common.
Putting
aside my personal feelings about the 10,000-mile distance between me and
my loved ones, what remained to be done to carry out the US mission
objectives? The most pressing was saving lives. One aspect of that which
affected me directly was staying put and continuing to send in reports
late into the night, hitting the floor, literally, with our secretary as
we transmitted message after message to Washington, explaining the
status of the fighting as rocket propelled grenades (RPGs) rang over the
Embassy’s fragile roof to strike militants. The radio station, desired
by all rebels, was on the opposite side of the chancery building. Thus,
we were in the middle of the opposing forces. In this surreal
atmosphere, we were placed on an “open line” with Washington, meaning
our office director and the task force in State comprised of interagency
personnel, kept watch officers talking with us. Pressure from Congress
was mounting on senior Department officials. Parents of Peace Corps
volunteers were calling the White House. I was on the phone with
colleagues in Paris and acting as spokesperson with the New York Times,
CBS, ITN, the Australian national radio and National Public Radio. The
ambassador spoke constantly with the commanding officer of US forces in
Germany, should we need an airlift plane. The bureaucratic obstacles
were many. Memos between agencies had to be signed. We and the UN
managed to have the secretary general send out a mediation team and we
convened several African presidents to meet with Patasse in his office,
trying to end the fighting before the walls of the Embassy literally
caved in on us.
A Short Cease Fire, But No Respite
Patasse
finally agreed, under strong pressure from his counterparts from Chad,
Mali, and Gabon, to make some concessions to the military. A formal
session of parliament was convened, a cease fire ensued. The US
families were able to go back to their riverside houses. The ambassador
and I considered the peace fragile. This gnawing feeling was enhanced by
a lengthy, rambling dinner at President Patasse’s personal home
highlighted by expensive champagne, a young second wife with several
children under the age of 10, and an extensive oration by Patasse on the
“goodness” of the now late Moammar Ghaddafi. After this extraordinary
experience, following a harrowing near-breakdown of the country, the
ambassador and I thought the next episode would be only months away. We
were right.
By May, fighting had broken out again, and we had to
evacuate all non-official American citizens and allies; the World Bank
president and the Egyptian charge, whose houses were ransacked and
burned; the quiet Canadians; and the American NGO director who had
declared he could “tough it out” but called us at 2:00 a.m. to request
rescue by consular and security officers when his house came into the
line of fire. We argued with the French ambassador for helicopters to
pick up PC volunteers around the country and to provide an armored
military vehicle to rescue 10 volunteers taken hostage by rebels as we
tried to drive them to the airport. By this time, the White House had
directed the American ambassador to France to convince then President
Jacques Chirac (a friend of Patasse who had provided him sanctuary in
Paris) to order his ambassador to give us the support we needed. Our
little war had become a bone of contention between the US and its oldest
ally. The French ambassador was recalled, blaming the US ambassador and
me for his dismissal, and a new, war-experienced envoy arrived.
Simultaneously,
we secured helicopters from France to airlift the families who had
moved back to the river area to be evacuated to American freighters
diverted from the war in Liberia to move civilian Americans out of the
CAR. Essential personnel—ambassador, deputy chief of mission, the
embassy secretary, communicators, a TDY administrative officer, and
local security personnel had to stay in Bangui. We lived on the top
floor of the chancery, listening to RPG’s passing over our heads
throughout the night. It was then that I decided when your time has
come, your time has come. One had to keep this mind set, even with a
cadre of Marines now stationed on the top of our compound walls as we
raced between sniper fire to reach the showers in the apartments and
rush back to the main building. The non-essential personnel resented not
being present. They were back in Washington criticizing how the
evacuation had been handled, and one woman vowed to “ruin my career.”
The promotion I received as the crisis continued demonstrated the
hollowness of her rants. In fact, our Bangui evacuation became the model
for the State Department’s procedures on how to handle a crisis
evacuation.
The Final Chapter
As the crisis continued,
following the removal of the ambassador to the US embassy in Cameroon,
we did have to evacuate my spouse, who, as a former USAID officer, had
been allowed to come to post, and others. The administrative and
communications officers and I stayed behind to do what was necessary to
protect US assets. Finally, a C-130 plane arrived and took me to
Yaoundé. From there, I flew to Washington and participated in my son’s
high school graduation. However, that was still not the end of the
story. I was still on duty and had to go back, as did the ambassador.
Finally,
after particularly robust cannon fire, I called Washington while under a
mattress at my home (as if that would protect me) before dawn and
insisted that we had to leave; we could not do business under wartime
conditions, even with US forces in Germany remaining on a live line with
us. The ambassador, who had returned from Cameroon as things had
appeared to calm down somewhat, drove the armored chief of mission
vehicle herself and we made it, once again, safely to the chancery. A
tiny group of us, just me, the administrative officer and the
communications expert once again remained. We destroyed files, just like
in the movies, and lived on whatever the always resourceful Chinese
locals could find and cook over a fire near our compound. Citizens
rioted in the streets, looted shops, raped French women, burned French
houses, and demonstrated the dismay of the dispossessed. A lieutenant of
the CAR military called me and in perfect English said, “Madame, do not
worry. We will not attack the houses of the Americans.” His statement
exemplified for me in the deepest way possible that the right
relationships can save one under the most horrific circumstances. I
survived, again, gave more media interviews, wore the clothes of a
departed secretary twice my size, pinning them in back before the
cameras rolled. When the file burning was nearly over, I again left
post under cover of night and with the help of Air France returned home.
Postscript
The
events of Bangui in 1996, often referred to by local citizens as a
“military mutiny,” remain fresh in my mind. I visualize the armed
soldiers at barricades. The memories of close encounters will never
leave me. Concurrently, feelings of sadness for the lovely people of the
Central African Republic remain. Our beloved LES information officer
has died. Our reliable local political LES received the Department’s
highest award in recent years and continues to contact me from time to
time with greetings from his beleaguered homeland.
The past and
present do not encourage hopes for a peaceful future. The State
Department posted two ambassadors following the 1996 disturbances. Both
had to close down the mission due to recurring violence. Yet, US
diplomats continue to promote democracy, even as fissures in the
American “experiment” expand at home. We must not let our fears for the
future of the CAR and other countries keep us from the struggle to
expand democracy, both abroad and at home. On the contrary, may the
sorrows of the CAR and other nations lead us to redouble our efforts to
strengthen democratic values. There is no other way to ensure a viable
global existence.
June
Carter Perry was US ambassador to Lesotho and Sierra Leone following
assignments as deputy chief of mission in Madagascar and the Central
African Republic, director of UN commissions in the State Department’s
international organizations bureau, chief of internal political affairs
in Paris and special assistant to the deputy secretary of state. She has
held a variety of academic positions, including as the Cyrus Vance
Visiting Professor at Mount Holyoke College. Her earlier career included
appointments by President Carter to positions at the Community Services
Administration and Peace Corps headquarters. She received President
Obama’s Meritorious Award for advancing US foreign policy. A University
of Chicago graduate, she currently serves on the advisory council of the
Foreign Policy Research Institute’s Africa program and on the American
Diplomacy board.