Each morning as I traveled to my office in Dar es Salaam,
Tanzania, I drove by a small monument to the 11 people who lost
their lives in 1998 when al Qaeda detonated a bomb in a truck
parked outside the American embassy. In 2008, during the first ever
visit to Tanzania by a sitting U.S. president, George and Laura
Bush observed a moment of silence at that monument, and held a
private meeting with families of those who were struck down in that
terrible attack.
Later that same year, we marked the 10th anniversary of the
bombing with a solemn ceremony just feet from the same spot. The
remembrance was led by religious leaders, both Christian and
Muslim, and by some of those who were on the scene during the
explosion. A small tree was planted on the embassy grounds.
When we’re confronted with a brutal, murderous act like these
bombings, or like the terrorist assassination of Ambassador
Christopher Stevens and his three brave compatriots, naturally our
first reaction is anger. Unadulterated outrage at those who invaded
our consulate and murdered our people. We also feel great
frustration and a tremendous sense of loss. There is the pain of
losing four good men and great Americans. By all accounts Stevens,
the most prominent of the victims, was a simply outstanding
diplomat and a brilliant voice for the American people. There is
also the loss of what could have been. The attack is a terrible
setback for the newly free Libyan people, who have been trying to
take the difficult first steps down a path toward liberty,
democracy, and human dignity.
But based upon what I saw as ambassador to Tanzania, we should
also, at least some day in the future, feel hope. It may seem
impossible right now in the wake of the brutal events in Benghazi;
I’m sure hope seemed impossible to my friend John Lange, a fellow
Wisconsin Badger who was charge d’affaires in Dar es
Salaam during the 1998 bombing. But by the time I reached Tanzania
nine years after John’s courageous work, it was obvious that a warm
friendship and remarkable partnership had grown from the rubble and
destruction. In the months after the bombing, the American and
Tanzanian governments joined hands to take on a wide range of
poverty-driven challenges—from fighting AIDS and malaria to helping
create and distribute textbooks. We assisted the government in
strengthening democracy and tackling corruption.
Symbols of a close American-Tanzanian friendship could be seen
everywhere. When the new embassy was built in Dar es Salaam, a
magnificent ebony tree of life carving was placed in the chancery’s
common area. This traditional work of art has tremendous meaning
for Tanzanians and represents the continuity of life and the
interconnectedness of cultures and traditions. For visitors and
members of the embassy family, it represents how life can grow in
the wake of even the most tragic events.
The greatest privilege of my career was showing President Bush
the living signs of hope that exist all around Tanzania. I escorted
him as he visited an AIDS clinic in Dar and handed out mosquito bed
nets in Arusha, as he and Mrs. Bush walked through classrooms at
the Masai Girls School, and as endless crowds celebrated each part
of his historic visit.
When terrorists struck Dar es Salaam and Nairobi in 1998, they
undoubtedly believed that their attacks would cripple U.S.
influence in the region, and drive a permanent wedge between us and
Tanzanians. As I saw those crowds, as I reflected upon the open
letters from Muslim leaders welcoming President Bush and the many
billboards and handwritten signs expressing friendship and
hospitality, I couldn’t help but think that the terrorists had
utterly failed.
In the wake of the Benghazi murders, there’s one other emotion
we feel in addition to the anger, frustration, and sense of loss:
defiant resolve. Just as they did with their attacks on Dar es
Salaam and Nairobi, on the USS Cole and the World Trade
Center, the bad guys (my not-so-subtle terminology) want us to back
down from the cause of liberty and from helping others who seek to
lift lives and plant seeds of hope. I don’t want to give the
terrorists what they’re looking for.
I never had the honor of meeting Ambassador Stevens, but I’m
guessing he would have felt the same way.
