The ride:

I remember the ride with the Ambassador to the Justice Ministry, passing through the crowded streets of downtown Monrovia: the scores of street boys begging to watch people’s cars; the mangrove swamps, and downtown bridges leading to Bushrod Island, the poorest section of town, where people were crowded together in tin huts; the colonial era wooden office buildings where I would often meet with political leaders and artists; the Liberian soldiers in American green fatigue uniforms and helmets milling around the Presidential palace, market, and barracks areas; the Lebanese grocery stores sitting next to small indigenous cafes serving jallouf rice on wooden tables with checkered tablecloths, next to hotels also run mainly by Lebanese.

Riding along, I was thinking of my upcoming trip upcountry, and the pleasure of travel: the beautiful Atlantic coast outside of town, its sand beaches and the restaurant with terrace tables looking out to the sea, the sour taste of lemon on wonderful lightly breaded sole with butter oil.  I looked forward to riding in the Chevy Surburban along country roads with branch overhangs and dense vegetation all around, having rice in the village with the chiefs in the central palaver hut, with the native villagers and children looking in, and everyone sharing the same big rice spoon, enjoying the wonderful, spicy puri-puri hot chicken rice and collard greens.

Down the coast in Greenville, there were rubber plantations, and rides on logging trucks into the forest. In Cape Mount County, near the Sierra Leone border, I once swam in the ocean with two colleagues, suddenly realizing we were surrounded by dolphins riding the waves towards shore with us, the only time I ever swam with dolphins. The children of the city sat on the stone wall near the ocean, looking out to us in the sea and laughing at our pleasure, while drinking from coconuts. I thought, man, did I miss out. What an idyllic life for those villagers, remote from modern civilization. Unfortunately, the Liberian civil war caught up with them later.

The demarche:

We finally arrived at the Ministry of Justice building in downtown Monrovia. It was steamy hot inside. The Liberian Justice Minister, Wilbur Taylor, had worked himself into a tirade, as he was known to do, and this time his audience was the American Ambassador, Ed Townsend. Taylor was a lawyer, he was bright, and, like many Liberians, was a natural orator. He was on the way up, an adopted son of a wealthy Americo-Liberian family in the exclusive suburb of Paynesville. His mother was a native girl who was a servant of the wealthy Taylor family, and Wilbur was born from the union of the patriarch and the native servant who had become his “country wife.” This was not an unusual custom. Wilbur, like many such illegitimate kids, was adopted by the wealthy father and raised as his son with all the benefits of his legitimate children, including college. The mixed offspring of these unions were called “Congoes.”

The overthrow of the government in 1980 spelled the end of Americo-Liberian rule which had been in existence since the founding of the nation. Most of the Americo-Liberians, like Taylor’s father, were either driven into exile to the U.S. or into self-imposed internal exile in Paynesville, co-opted for service in the new native government, or executed. The anger of the native majority, who had been relegated to humiliating second class status over 150 years under the Americo-Liberians had come to the surface as Master Sergeant Samuel Doe and a group of native sergeants and lieutenants conducted a coup d’etat, shooting the President in his office and executing his fellow Americo-Liberian government ministers on the beach, where they were tied to telephone poles and shot by firing squad.

The United States tended to overlook this atrocity, seeing the need to maintain good relations with the new, if unappetizing government, for sake of Liberian strategic assets and support in the Cold War. We also felt we had no choice. Sergeant, later General, Doe became one of “our” dictators, brutal to his own people and totally corrupt, but a strong ally of the U.S..  Our Ambassador at the time of the coup was sickened by the executions, but felt Doe was educable. He was wrong. That did not mean, however, that we would give up on trying to support human rights in Liberia. Over time, as Doe expanded his brutality, our relations became increasingly strained.

“Congoes” like Wilbur Taylor straddled both sides, and usually, like Wilbur, chose the mother’s native side after the 1980 coup, switching allegiance out of ambition or fear. Perhaps Wilbur also harbored some hidden resentment over the treatment of his mother, and perhaps he felt it was not just that a five percent minority population ruled over the other 95 percent with total arrogance and indifference. At any rate, Wilbur was one of the brighter “Congos,” and many like him were allowed to serve Sam Doe, who needed what educated talent he could find to manage things. The Congos were always a bit suspect in the eyes of the true natives, however.

Taylor turned on his adopted father, as had many Congos, and became vociferous in persecuting Americos from his Justice Ministry position. It was an old story of hidden grievances and slights. Most likely, Taylor, who in 1980 had little resources to flee, was flattered when approached by Doe’s group, and had to go along with the new situation, rationalizing to himself that he had no real choice and had been wronged. Mainly he was ambitious and vain, and, perhaps a bit corrupt as well, wearing riding britches and German styled, dark green brushed wool hunter’s jackets with gray felt lapels. He was known to travel often to Germany, which had mining interests in Liberia. His native mother had been of the Kru tribe, closely linked to the ruling Krahn tribe of the new President. Doe probably felt he could trust a fellow tribesman to crack down on the other ethnic groups he was persecuting while promoting his Krahn-Kru rule. There hadn’t been many educated Krahn and Kru to draw from, since these tribes had been at the bottom of the pecking order under the Americos.

Despite Taylor’s henchman role for the corrupt Doe regime, we still had a feeling that he was trying to moderate some Doe’s excesses, carefully explaining to President Doe why Liberia could not totally circumvent international norms. This was risky, and he did not push it too hard, but he was seen as someone who could perhaps be a moderate force in the future.

But, on this day, Taylor seemed to have to show his loyalty to Doe, who was tiring of American human rights lectures and may have been whispering that Taylor was too effete and afraid of the West.

The American Ambassador, Ed Townsend, was, on this day, in the middle of a human rights demarche, or protest, on instructions from Washington, going through his talking points, noting “the USG’s serious concern over the downward trend of events in Liberia, including the intimidation of opposition political figures, the reported beatings of independent journalists, and arrest of candidates forming new political…”.

At this point, Taylor interrupted the Ambassador and exploded into a tirade, a five to ten minutes lecture. His face turning red, and pacing back and forth behind his desk while slapping a riding crop against his twill riding britches, he was Wilbur Taylor at his well-known theatrical and arrogant best, practically yelling that “the U.S. was hypocritical, persecuting its own blacks while preaching to others, turning a blind eye to abuses of the previous Americo-Liberian regime because it suited U.S. realpolitik interests to bolster a cruel minority, and trafficking false lies about so called Doe transgressions of law.” Taylor provided a loud point-by-point legal rebuttal to particular U.S. accusations.

Ambassador Townsend, a large African-American career diplomat, was one of the most highly respected professionals in the U.S. State Department. He was a career minister with numerous postings, and was inscrutable, quiet and diplomatic. He remained stoic throughout the Taylor tirade, sitting passively on the office couch, listening but reviewing his notes and not paying much attention to the outburst.

When Taylor finally finished, he jutted out his lower chin and looked us squarely in the eye with a belligerence and confrontational look, as if to say, “So, what do you have to say to that. Not much, huh? You can crawl back to your Embassy.”

Townsend, realizing Wilbur was through, simply picked up in mid-sentence as if the tirade had never happened, continuing to read from where he had left off,“…the arrest of candidates forming new political parties, such as the Liberian Action Party of Ellen Johnson Sirleaf.” He slowly, and with no emotion or response to Wilbur, finished his talking points.

Taylor was dumbfounded. He looked at me, Ambassador Townsend’s note taker, for some show of support or expression of surprise myself. Hadn’t the Ambassador heard him? I gave Wilbur no encouragement.

Finally, Taylor let out a sigh of exasperation and reverted to being the friendly Taylor, the one who really liked the United States. He ended the meeting on a friendly note, saying the U.S. was Liberia’s closest friend, and that we have a right to complain once in a while, like brothers. Taylor and Townsend shook hands, but there were no smiles as we left.  Townsend, without saying anything, had, through his demeanor, illustrated the dignity and position of the United States.  Our problems, however, were just beginning.