Scene from a silent embassy
What’s the protocol for diplomats when the government they serve has collapsed? The staff at the Tunisian Embassy here in downtown Washington DC, apparently deciding that the political paralysis at home required a visual metaphor at their foreign outpost, immobilized the building’s front gate with a tightly-coiled iron chain and a padlock. The modernist embassy ...
What's the protocol for diplomats when the government they serve has collapsed? The staff at the Tunisian Embassy here in downtown Washington DC, apparently deciding that the political paralysis at home required a visual metaphor at their foreign outpost, immobilized the building's front gate with a tightly-coiled iron chain and a padlock. The modernist embassy building served this afternoon as a silent backdrop to a couple of dozen Tunisian immigrants chatting excitedly among themselves as the occasional passing car honked in solidarity and two secret service officers casually stood to one side.
What’s the protocol for diplomats when the government they serve has collapsed? The staff at the Tunisian Embassy here in downtown Washington DC, apparently deciding that the political paralysis at home required a visual metaphor at their foreign outpost, immobilized the building’s front gate with a tightly-coiled iron chain and a padlock. The modernist embassy building served this afternoon as a silent backdrop to a couple of dozen Tunisian immigrants chatting excitedly among themselves as the occasional passing car honked in solidarity and two secret service officers casually stood to one side.
Chained-up as it was, the embassy was hardly making a show of hospitality, but a doorbell offered at least the promise of some normal communication. A man’s voice promptly answered over the intercom, "Oui?"
I introduced myself.
"We are closed."
Might there be someone I could speak with?
"There’s no one here."
And you are?
"Security."
Anyone else there?
"We are closed."
The demonstrators told me to give it up. "They are in there, but they are afraid," Monaem Mabrouki, a Tunisian immigrant, told me. "We don’t want to hurt them, but they don’t feel like celebrating with us." I imagine it’s only a matter of time: the scene on the street seemed a lot more fun than the aura of angsty silence coming from the embassy. But who can begrudge a day of private mourning for the passing away of a political order?
Cameron Abadi is a deputy editor at Foreign Policy. Twitter: @CameronAbadi
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