The Cold War & Me

From school bomb drills to the fall of the Soviet Union, I was enveloped in what JFK called the "long twilight struggle." Americans must pay heed.

The author - at the edge of the Free World

Berlin Station

As I wind up a month-long stay in Berlin, a torrent of memories and thoughts rushes through my mind — ruminations about the Cold War and how it enveloped much of my life. Berlin was the epicenter of that struggle, the past nodes and flash points now museum relics: Checkpoint Charlie. Tempelhof Airport. Soviet Military HQ. DDR Museum. Espionage Museum. Stasi Headquarters. Glienicke Bridge. The Berlin Wall. And much more. For a history and politics nerd like myself, Berlin is heaven.

The Cold War is so ingrained in me that I still must pinch myself when I read headlines about Ukraine and Russia being at war with each other. That the old “East Bloc” countries — for decades our enemies — are now our NATO allies still blows my mind, even though, like Forrest Gump, I found myself at the scenes of much of the action, from Cuba to Vietnam, Afghanistan to Europe. Somehow, wherever there were goings-on with the Soviet Union, I often landed there. So, I write this at the urging of a reader, bearing in mind I’m not composing my memoir, and must not cross my State Department censors, whose green light I need to publish this.

I am a Cold War baby, of the generation that went through bomb drills at school, when, at the sound of the bell, we had to crouch under our desks or hug the corridor walls. And the government urged homeowners to build bomb shelters. I recall the fear of adults as tensions flared with Moscow when the Wall went up, and when JFK ordered a naval blockade of Cuba during the missile crisis. I recall the raw pain of losing fellow classmates in Vietnam. And I followed closely diplomatic steps toward détente and “peaceful coexistence.” From early on, I knew I wanted to be involved somehow, to do my part in what JFK called the “long twilight struggle” against tyranny.

And fully aware that Americans have a shallow sense of history, I feel strongly that those of us who served the country countering Soviet aggression during the Cold War must now do our part to ensure we don’t slide back into isolationism and give in to authoritarianism; that we again stand up to renewed aggression by the Russian bear.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy in Communist Laos

I joined the U.S. Foreign Service following a brief stint as an intelligence analyst at the Pentagon, where I was introduced into the ways in which we spy on other nations. Having excellent German and Spanish, the Department thrust me into a crash course in the Laotian language and shipped me off to Vientiane, five years following the fall of Saigon. Our tiny embassy at that time was our only toehold in Indochina. The Lao communist government was hostile to us; the place was swarming with Soviet and East Bloc functionaries, technicians and spies. Much to my dismay, one KGB officer was my physical doppelganger, a constant cause of embarrassing mix-ups. Laos was a bejungled satrapy with lovely people dominated by thugs. Think The Year of Living Dangerously cum Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. And add a dash of Casablanca. My job mainly was to report on Vietnam’s influence and the growing Soviet and East Bloc presence. For my troubles, I was harassed by the KGB (including in a car chase), followed by Lao secret police and arrested at gunpoint and jailed while riding my bike along the Mekong. In a surreal experience, I had to act as interpreter as a Foreign Ministry official lodged a formal protest against me, telling my boss, the Chargé, that they might just make me persona non grata and boot me out (they didn’t).

Apocalypse Now! in Northeast Thailand

My next overseas post was Udorn, Thailand, where I was head of the U.S. consulate. Udorn was an Indochina watch post — eyes on Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia — the latter two and Thailand contending with guerrilla wars, which I followed closely. We were on the front lines of the Cold War in Southeast Asia. I followed and reported on guerrilla fighters, refugee flows, defectors, drug trafficking, genocide, mercenaries and Rambo-wannabes in search of phantom American POW’s. More an MRE and local grog scene than your diplomatic cocktail circuit. Think The Consul’s File cum Indiana Jones cum Apocalypse Now! For my efforts, I was seized while on a jungle trail along the Cambodian border by Khmer Rouge guerrillas. And on another jungle jaunt, I lost a spinal disk and parts of two vertebrae, which got me medically grounded in Washington for five years.

Flashman in Afghanistan

Hoping for a break from all that, the State Department thoughtfully thrust me into the crusade to bloody the Soviets in Afghanistan and force them to withdraw their troops. I devoted two tours of duty to this effort, based in Washington, with some TDY’s to Pakistan via milair. As Senior Country Officer, my task was to prosecute at the working level the diplomatic campaign against Moscow. The true heroes in this effort were my colleagues at the still open U.S. embassy in Kabul, one of the toughest assignments in those years. Apart from diplomatic actions, I was once tasked with locating for purchase 800 mules for the Afghan mujahidin, and participated in a task force to rescue and resettle Soviet POW’s of the freedom fighters whose lives were in danger and who wished to live in the West. For my efforts, the Department designated me to be Deputy Chief of Mission (#2) in Kabul. But with the Soviet troop withdrawal looming and concerns over safety, I instead participated in evacuating our diplomats and closing the embassy — thus putting myself out of a job. The Department offered me as a consolation prize chief of U.S. Consulate Peshawar. I, however, chose to move on. Think Flashman chained to a shitty GSA-issued desk.

Why We Fight: Communism’s House of Cards Implodes in Europe

Utterly exhausted and still medically grounded, I was assigned by Mother State to work on European affairs, as Special Assistant to the Department’s top official for Europe. Ah! Cushy, somnolent Europe. Where crises centered on fishing rights and linguistic spats. I envisioned many an hour browsing the International Herald Trib at sidewalk cafés while on TDY’s.

But just as I sat at my desk, the East German people were getting restless. The Wall came down quicker than you can say Selbstbestimmung. Their itch for freedom then spread. Like dominoes, communist régimes fell one after the other. Yugoslavia broke up. As did Czechoslovakia. The Poles took to the streets and Romania’s Ceausescu and his wife were shot after an impromptu street trial. Germany reunited. The Baltic States declared independence. The cherry on top was the collapse of the Soviet Union. Events moved so swiftly that policymakers had a hard time keeping up. I had the privilege of monitoring all of the diplomatic and much of the intelligence reporting, including highly restricted transcripts of President George H. W. Bush’s conversations with Kohl, Thatcher, Mitterrand, Gorbachev and other leaders. I had to help prepare my boss for multiple high-level conferences in Europe. It was a highly intensive, head-spinning two years of my life where I had a ringside seat at history in the making, observing our statecraft and military muscle over so many years coming to fruition. Think a dram of Why We Fight with a short jigger of Dr. Strangelove.

The Year of Living Dangerously in Cambodia

Medically cleared finally for overseas duty, I was assigned to be Deputy Chief of Mission in Cambodia just as peace accords were signed among the warring factions under UN auspices. Our small team had the double duty of starting up a new U.S. embassy while, at the same time, engaging in intense negotiations to bring an end to the civil war and formation of a new government. The Cold War’s end was driven home to me when the limousine of Moscow’s envoy pulled up to the Royal Palace (where the negotiations were held) bearing on its right fender a small, apparently home-stitched, flag of the freshly minted Russian Federation. What I particularly liked about this assignment was Russian diplomats suddenly acting like real human beings, easily chilling out with us Westerners. Vodka-infused zakuski meals filled with fun music and convivial conversation are among my fondest memories. The wife of one Russian diplomat, Anya, immediately graced the walls of their non-descript apartment with religious icons. When I noted this, Anya jutted her chin out and blurted, “Now I can do what I want. They can’t do anything about it!” This assignment included my role in negotiating the freedom of a young American female development worker from Khmer Rouge captivity. Having, myself, been a bunker guest of that genocidal band and negotiated my own release, we achieved success. The young lady was the only foreign hostage held by the Maoist Khmer Rouge to be let go unscathed. They murdered the rest (none of them Americans), a dozen in all, held by various units. It was a wild two-and-a-half year assignment marked by intrigue, constant danger and intense negotiations. Think The Year of Living Dangerously with a bit of 55 Days at Peking thrown in for good measure.

A Few Good Men: GTMO & Havana

Still seeking a respite for myself, Mother State had other ideas. Following a year at the Naval War College, I was assigned to attend monthly talks with the Cuban military on “The Line” at Guantanamo Naval Base. Think A Few Good Men minus the melodrama. We have yet to end our 64-year Cold War with Havana. But meeting regularly face-to-face with and getting to know some of Castro’s military officers was anything but. Both sides worked constructively to resolve practical problems, ranging from joint fire-fighting efforts around the base’s perimeter to returning would-be refugees rescued at sea to working out confidence-building measures to prevent clashes. We alternated hosting the meetings. While the cash-strapped Cubans provided excellent cafecitos and simple biscuits, the U.S. Navy offered up lavish luncheons under a large tent. This assignment had a triangle nature to it: based in D.C., I alternately flew out to GTMO, back to Washington, then off to Havana where I toured the island with a USINT officer to monitor the human rights of Cubans who had been repatriated after attempting to flee to the United States. Cuba’s secret police were all over us, at one point, slashing the tires of our car. Then back to D.C. to participate in NSC staff-level meetings at the White House. My wife saw little of me during this tour. Our kids therefore came later. I came away from this assignment with amebic dysentery.

The Diplomat in Vietnam

I finally got my long-deserved break when State plunked me into ten months of intensive Vietnamese language training in preparation for assignment as the first American Political Counselor in Vietnam since 1975 at our new embassy in Hanoi. My four years in Vietnam, a communist country, involved healing relations and building foundations for cooperation across many fronts. Cleaning up after the Cold War, if you will. That is not to say distrust was gone on both sides. It wasn’t. But this assignment with a positive mission was refreshing after all the years I’d spent countering the Soviets and their allies. While the Vietnamese secret police kept an eye on me and my family (including now two kids), I experienced none of the harassment I’d undergone at previous posts. And also absent were warfare and threats to our physical well-being, though, tragically, we lost seven military members in a helicopter accident. Think The Diplomat sans the lame plot, bad writing and dumbass characters. It was also my last Foreign Service assignment. I chose to become a full-time writer and husband/father. I had used up eight of my nine lives serving in danger zones and had no desire to climb further on the career ladder.

The Man in the High Castle: Preview of Coming Attractions?

I’ve felt very much in my element during my month in Berlin digging into Cold War history. Having dealt with apparatchiks, secret police, spies and political thugs in my past career, I could actually relate to the worst that East Germany, the Soviet Union and the latter’s other puppet regimes coughed up to exert control over their people — until the jig was finally up for Karl Marx’s Kafkaesque template for mankind.

All those years living in and studying autocracies and dictatorships make me fear for my own country. Not having had such exposure, I fear too many Americans are taking democracy too lightly, too willing to be led by a con artist strongman, too easily brainwashed with lies. That so many, including politicians, cozy up to a KGB thug is beyond me, especially given all the sacrifice this country made in battling tyranny. A number of fellow former national security officials have been sounding the alarm, the latest being Operation Saving Democracy. But will Americans pay heed? If they don’t, I fear our “long twilight struggle” will be with ourselves. John F. Kennedy said, “In the long history of the world, only a few generations have been granted the role of defending freedom in its hour of maximum danger. I do not shrink from this responsibility.” But will now the American people?

The opinions and characterizations in this article are those of the author, and do not necessarily represent official positions of the U.S. government.