way we treat the Indians.”
“Or the Métis.”
“Or the Métis. Nobody remembers their contribution in the war.” He then smiled and said, “There were a handful of Indian and Métis soldiers in the battalion I commanded in Normandy in 1944. They were mean, ruthless sons-of-bitches. Not afraid of spilling blood, but absolutely dependable and fearless. Whenever there was a tough job to be done, I always picked them.”
“I take it you’d like Canada to follow a more hard-headed approach to the world in its foreign policy.”
“If it was up to me, I’d pull Canada out the United Nations. It’s just a talk shop for Third World lovers anyway. I’d kill the aid program — it sends our hard-earned money abroad to be wasted. I’d put more money into the military — it’s ridiculously weak. I’d spend more on trade promotion, and strengthen our ties with the United States, NATO, and the governments of South America.”
“Anything else?”
“A lot of people in the Department, led by your friend Burump, think I’m a cold-war warrior who sees communists under every bed, but I know what I’m talking about.”
“Is Canada the target of any sort of communist conspiracy?”
“We Canadians are confronted with two levels of threat. The first is existential. The West, led by the United States, is fighting to hold the line against the Soviets and its friends around the world, including Cuba, in this hemisphere. The second isn’t existential but worrying just the same. I’m talking here about the FLQ and its escalating campaign of bombings, bank robberies, and murders in Quebec.”
“Are the two linked?”
“They are. As we talk, the Cubans are supporting terrorist groups trying to seize power in almost every country of Latin America. If they succeed, the Soviets will obtain bases in our backyard to threaten us with its nuclear weapons. And the FLQ will gain supporters to help it in its campaign to seize power in Quebec.”
In my naïveté, I agreed with Longshaft’s explanation, and told him so before asking what Canada could do to counter the threat.
“I’m convinced our first priority must be to help the United States combat the terrorists in Latin America. The free world must meet force with force. When pro-Cuban guerrilla groups pop up in the cities and countryside, we should stamp them out.”
“Why don’t we try pumping development assistance into these places to create jobs, deliver health care, and build roads and schools and the like to deal with the roots of unrest? Wouldn’t that be that be more effective?”
“That’s been tried but it’s never worked — takes too long and there’s too much corruption.”
“What about the morality of it all?”
“Just last Friday you agreed that, in exceptional circumstances, the usual rules of ethical conduct could be changed, didn’t you?”
“I did, but I came to that conclusion on logical grounds, not on moral ones.”
“I don’t see the difference.”
I didn’t press the point. Instead, I asked him how fighting terrorism in Latin America would help us combat the FLQ in Canada.
“The Americans know a lot about Cuban support for revolution in Latin America. They share that information with us. But they don’t know much about FLQ ties to the terrorist groups themselves. Or if they do, they’re not giving it to us.”
The subject interested me and I asked him what Canada was doing to find out more.
“At the moment, we’re getting ourselves organized. We’ve set up an Interdepartmental Task Force on International Terrorism to monitor developments and handle crises as they come along. One of the things I’m doing is posting hand-picked Foreign Service officer recruits to our embassies in the region to be our eyes and ears and report back on their findings. In your case, after a couple of years training at headquarters, you’re going to Colombia.”
“Does that mean I’m getting a job offer?”
Longshaft ignored my question and said, “I want you to find out what is going on under the surface in that country, get a feel for the political climate, and find out how the security forces are doing in their counter insurgency campaigns. I want you to make an effort to get to know people in the barrios — that’s what they call slums in Colombia — and get out into the interior to see if there’s any truth to press reports that the terrorists are growing in strength. I want you to send your reports directly back to me at headquarters. The Task Force has its own communication centre here on the ninth floor. I’ll see that the right people get to see your product.”
“Why me?” I said. “Surely there are plenty of more capable recruits who’d do a better job.”
“I don’t like it when junior officers fish for compliments. I picked you because in the interview last Friday, you said the use of torture was acceptable in exceptional circumstances. I liked that. It shows intellectual courage. Ruthlessness if you will — something the average Canadian diplomat, who thinks compromise and reconciliation are virtues rather than signs of weakness, doesn’t possess. Ruthlessness in my line of work is good. And ruthlessness will be needed in your new assignment. You’re also a brown-skinned Métis — no offense intended. Terrorists love Aboriginal people. Your identity will give you a level of entry into a milieu not normally open to a white diplomat.”
I was offended and a little confused. Burump wanted me in the Department because Aboriginal Foreign Service officers could help Canada live up to what he claimed was its potential for good in the world. When he said that, I thought he had read too many stories in his boyhood comic book collection about noble Indians and half-breeds. And now Longshaft had just told me he wanted me in the Department because I had demonstrated a ruthless streak in the interview, like the Indian and Métis sons-of-bitches in his battalion.
But should I wish to take it, a position as a Foreign Service officer was now mine — but for the wrong reasons. I persuaded myself that if I hadn’t turned my back on the interview board, I would have been offered a job anyway, based on my merits rather than on my race. I reminded myself that I had done well academically — actually better than well — I had been an A student, was widely read, and had learned to speak Spanish quickly and fluently. I took refuge in the thought that I hadn’t asked the board to give me a job because I was a Métis — something I would never do. I told myself it wasn’t my fault that Burump and Longshaft wanted me to work for them because I stood for something that fulfilled their deepest fantasies.
In due course, a registered letter arrived from the Department with the offer and I accepted it, rejoicing at my good luck. But my joy was tempered by a sense of doubt, a feeling that I hadn’t earned entry to the Department on my merits.
4: Courting Charlotte
I threw in my lot with Longshaft and spent the summer on the ninth floor as I prepared myself for my posting to Colombia, set to begin in November 1968. The security guard greeted me with a pleasant “good morning, Mr. Cadotte,” as he unlocked the steel door when I came to work in the mornings. Longshaft’s private secretary, Mary Somerville, now brought me coffee when I called on her boss. My new colleagues included two other recruits, Dan O’Shea and Gregoire Harding, who had joined the Department early in the year and would leave on their first postings
