This article is an excerpt from Speechwriting for Leaders: Speeches That Leave People Wanting More by Charles Crawford.
Bosnia and Herzegovina was one of the six republics comprising the (Tito communist) Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. Its re-emergence in the 1990s as an independent state for the first time in many centuries prompted a ghastly conflict. For several devastating years, Bosnia came to symbolize the worst possible consequences of the end of European communism: horrible inter-communal fighting and attendant atrocities. The war ended with the Dayton Peace Accords in 1995, and the task of building a new country from the ruins began.
In the first years after the Dayton deal was signed, Sarajevo hosted all sorts of top foreign political visitors keen to see how the peace process and national reconciliation/ rebuilding were going, not least because taxpayers’ funds from their respective countries were pouring into these efforts.
However, as Diplomatic Courier readers have already seen in the article, “The hopeless attempt by the French and German Foreign Ministers to give assorted Bosnians a strong joint message,” Bosnia was, and indeed still is, a peculiarly tricky place to deliver meaningful political messages. Its politics and deeper political instincts have proved to be impressively good at ignoring, if not rejecting, external exhortations to “do better.”
In late 1997 President Clinton came to Bosnia. The Bosnian issue had been a huge foreign policy problem for his first Presidency. Deep divisions over how to tackle the Bosnia crisis—and in particular disagreements over riskily committing troops on the ground—had taken relations between Washington and the United States’ closest European allies to depths of acrimony not seen since the Second World War. So President Clinton wanted to strike an unambiguously positive, forward-looking, and generous note. He also had to send a message to Congress in Washington that the heavy U.S. military presence in Bosnia was a foreign policy winner and could be sensibly extended.
The centrepiece of his visit was his speech to an invited audience at the National Theatre in Sarajevo. U.S. security was tight to, and beyond, the point of obnoxiousness: the Sarajevo Diplomatic Corps along with other guests had no choice but to endure the ignominy of arriving several hours before the speech and being locked into the Theatre with no refreshments.
Still, it was worth the wait. The Americans knew what they were doing and put on a show. They paid for a new large stage curtain as the backdrop for the President’s speech. And the Clintons finally entered with a gesture of high Bosnian political symbolism.
At that point in Bosnia’s post-war development, the President of Republika Srpska—one of the two “Entities” of Bosnia agreed at Dayton—was Biljana Plavsić, someone seen as representing progress and compromise as compared to other Bosnian Serb leaders close to the war crimes indictee Radovan Karadzić lurking in the mountains above Sarajevo. Mrs. Plavsić nonetheless was a figure hated by most Bosniacs/Muslims for her role in the war; she had not been back in Sarajevo since the war started and was nervous about making the journey now, even for a speech by a U.S. President.
The front row of the audience included the two top Bosniac/Muslim leaders, President Izetbegović, and Haris Silajdzić. Mrs. Plavsić was seated well away from them, at the end of in the second row. The Bosniac leadership were obviously unhappy as the Clintons entered the auditorium to warm applause, and Hillary Clinton, in a blatantly pre-arranged gesture, moved to give Mrs. Plavsić a warm hug as a gesture of the highest U.S. political support for what Mrs. Plavsić (then) represented in Bosnia’s problematic peace process.
Mrs. Plavsić subsequently pleaded guilty to various war crimes and was sentenced by the Hague Tribunal to eleven years in prison. As Hillary Clinton now mulls over her prospects for running for U.S. President, is she wondering if photographs of her so fulsomely embracing Mrs. Plavsić, the War Criminal, will appear during her campaign?
President Clinton himself was introduced in a moving way by two young Bosnians, one in a wheelchair after being hit by a sniper bullet during the war. The President’s speech was beautifully delivered and tuned just right for the occasion. He used it to send various businesslike but also inspiring messages. Yes, the U.S. had committed its soldiers to help build a new, peaceful Bosnia, but U.S. peacekeeping was not infinite: the world rightfully expected Bosnia—and especially its leaders—to do their part too:
Most of all, the leaders here, you owe it to your country to bring out the best in people, acting in concert, not conflict; overcoming obstacles, not creating them; rising above petty disputes, not fueling them.
In the end, leaders in a democracy must bring out the best in people. But in the end, they serve the people who send them to their positions…
The end of the speech was unexpected and magnificent. At just the right moment in his speech, the new theatre curtain lifted and there behind the President was the Sarajevo Orchestra, which, as we all knew, had lost several members during the siege of the city:
Well, they're still here, and they're still Muslims, Croats and Serbs. And to tell you the truth, I know the tuba players from the violinists, but I can't tell the Muslims from the Croats from the Serbs.
The harmony of their disparate voices—the harmony of their disparate voices—is what I hear. It reminds me of Bosnia's best past and it should be the clarion call to your future.
Here at the dawn of the new millennium, let us recall that the century we are leaving began with the sound of gunfire in Sarajevo. And let us vow to start the new century with the music of peace in Sarajevo.
To the people of Bosnia I say, you have seen what war has wrought; now you know what peace can bring. So seize the chance before you. You can do nothing to change the past; but if you can let it go, you can do everything to build a future.
The world is watching, and the world is with you. But the choice is yours. May you make the right one.
Corny? Clichéd? Yes. But on that day there was tumultuous applause and scarcely a dry eye in the house. It was a top-end public speaking example of leader, words, tone, audience, venue, ambitious choreography, and wider context locking together jigsaw-style in a quite memorable way. More please.
A few months later, in April 1998, France’s President Jacques Chirac visited Sarajevo. Surely he too would rise to the occasion?
Hélas non.
A European leader has two ways to follow a U.S. President into town. One is to study closely what he did and then do something as different as possible. The other is to try to copy everything he did, down to the smallest detail.
The wise option is the first one: do something different! President Chirac’s team bafflingly chose the second unwise option, including an absurd prolonged security lockdown for much of the Balkans and, yes, a speech in the National Theatre to an invited audience.
However, the French did not have the resources or sense of showmanship to pull all this off effortlessly. They did come up with a clever and good new angle: to bring down to Sarajevo for the speech a crowd of young Bosnian Serbs. Voilà! La réconciliation! But this noble scheme was thwarted, of course, by the Republika Srpska authorities for “security reasons.” There was also undignified bickering in the margins over flags and whether wine should be served at the official lunch—to meet Bosniac/Muslim sensibilities it wasn’t, much to Bosnian Croat indignation.
President Chirac’s speech in the Theatre itself inevitably covered much the same ground as President Clinton in terms of urging Bosnians to bury their differences and build for the future, but he set out the issues in European terms, calling for “an open and tolerant Islam on our continent.” President Clinton’s speech had not mentioned the European contribution to rebuilding Bosnia. Pof! President Chirac hit back by not mentioning the Americans.
All in all the occasion felt and was “flat.” It did not help that the president’s earnest, long, and mainly humourless speech was in French, a language few in the theatre understood. There was none of President Clinton’s relaxed, almost sexy style, and, to use a French word, élan. No one felt any emotional engagement with either President Chirac or his message. No one had a good time.
More please? Zut alors, once was more than enough…
Photo: Agência Brasil (cc).
This article was published in the Diplomatic Courier's January/February 2015 print edition.
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President Clinton v. President Chirac: A Tale of Two Speeches
January 6, 2015
This article is an excerpt from Speechwriting for Leaders: Speeches That Leave People Wanting More by Charles Crawford.
Bosnia and Herzegovina was one of the six republics comprising the (Tito communist) Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. Its re-emergence in the 1990s as an independent state for the first time in many centuries prompted a ghastly conflict. For several devastating years, Bosnia came to symbolize the worst possible consequences of the end of European communism: horrible inter-communal fighting and attendant atrocities. The war ended with the Dayton Peace Accords in 1995, and the task of building a new country from the ruins began.
In the first years after the Dayton deal was signed, Sarajevo hosted all sorts of top foreign political visitors keen to see how the peace process and national reconciliation/ rebuilding were going, not least because taxpayers’ funds from their respective countries were pouring into these efforts.
However, as Diplomatic Courier readers have already seen in the article, “The hopeless attempt by the French and German Foreign Ministers to give assorted Bosnians a strong joint message,” Bosnia was, and indeed still is, a peculiarly tricky place to deliver meaningful political messages. Its politics and deeper political instincts have proved to be impressively good at ignoring, if not rejecting, external exhortations to “do better.”
In late 1997 President Clinton came to Bosnia. The Bosnian issue had been a huge foreign policy problem for his first Presidency. Deep divisions over how to tackle the Bosnia crisis—and in particular disagreements over riskily committing troops on the ground—had taken relations between Washington and the United States’ closest European allies to depths of acrimony not seen since the Second World War. So President Clinton wanted to strike an unambiguously positive, forward-looking, and generous note. He also had to send a message to Congress in Washington that the heavy U.S. military presence in Bosnia was a foreign policy winner and could be sensibly extended.
The centrepiece of his visit was his speech to an invited audience at the National Theatre in Sarajevo. U.S. security was tight to, and beyond, the point of obnoxiousness: the Sarajevo Diplomatic Corps along with other guests had no choice but to endure the ignominy of arriving several hours before the speech and being locked into the Theatre with no refreshments.
Still, it was worth the wait. The Americans knew what they were doing and put on a show. They paid for a new large stage curtain as the backdrop for the President’s speech. And the Clintons finally entered with a gesture of high Bosnian political symbolism.
At that point in Bosnia’s post-war development, the President of Republika Srpska—one of the two “Entities” of Bosnia agreed at Dayton—was Biljana Plavsić, someone seen as representing progress and compromise as compared to other Bosnian Serb leaders close to the war crimes indictee Radovan Karadzić lurking in the mountains above Sarajevo. Mrs. Plavsić nonetheless was a figure hated by most Bosniacs/Muslims for her role in the war; she had not been back in Sarajevo since the war started and was nervous about making the journey now, even for a speech by a U.S. President.
The front row of the audience included the two top Bosniac/Muslim leaders, President Izetbegović, and Haris Silajdzić. Mrs. Plavsić was seated well away from them, at the end of in the second row. The Bosniac leadership were obviously unhappy as the Clintons entered the auditorium to warm applause, and Hillary Clinton, in a blatantly pre-arranged gesture, moved to give Mrs. Plavsić a warm hug as a gesture of the highest U.S. political support for what Mrs. Plavsić (then) represented in Bosnia’s problematic peace process.
Mrs. Plavsić subsequently pleaded guilty to various war crimes and was sentenced by the Hague Tribunal to eleven years in prison. As Hillary Clinton now mulls over her prospects for running for U.S. President, is she wondering if photographs of her so fulsomely embracing Mrs. Plavsić, the War Criminal, will appear during her campaign?
President Clinton himself was introduced in a moving way by two young Bosnians, one in a wheelchair after being hit by a sniper bullet during the war. The President’s speech was beautifully delivered and tuned just right for the occasion. He used it to send various businesslike but also inspiring messages. Yes, the U.S. had committed its soldiers to help build a new, peaceful Bosnia, but U.S. peacekeeping was not infinite: the world rightfully expected Bosnia—and especially its leaders—to do their part too:
Most of all, the leaders here, you owe it to your country to bring out the best in people, acting in concert, not conflict; overcoming obstacles, not creating them; rising above petty disputes, not fueling them.
In the end, leaders in a democracy must bring out the best in people. But in the end, they serve the people who send them to their positions…
The end of the speech was unexpected and magnificent. At just the right moment in his speech, the new theatre curtain lifted and there behind the President was the Sarajevo Orchestra, which, as we all knew, had lost several members during the siege of the city:
Well, they're still here, and they're still Muslims, Croats and Serbs. And to tell you the truth, I know the tuba players from the violinists, but I can't tell the Muslims from the Croats from the Serbs.
The harmony of their disparate voices—the harmony of their disparate voices—is what I hear. It reminds me of Bosnia's best past and it should be the clarion call to your future.
Here at the dawn of the new millennium, let us recall that the century we are leaving began with the sound of gunfire in Sarajevo. And let us vow to start the new century with the music of peace in Sarajevo.
To the people of Bosnia I say, you have seen what war has wrought; now you know what peace can bring. So seize the chance before you. You can do nothing to change the past; but if you can let it go, you can do everything to build a future.
The world is watching, and the world is with you. But the choice is yours. May you make the right one.
Corny? Clichéd? Yes. But on that day there was tumultuous applause and scarcely a dry eye in the house. It was a top-end public speaking example of leader, words, tone, audience, venue, ambitious choreography, and wider context locking together jigsaw-style in a quite memorable way. More please.
A few months later, in April 1998, France’s President Jacques Chirac visited Sarajevo. Surely he too would rise to the occasion?
Hélas non.
A European leader has two ways to follow a U.S. President into town. One is to study closely what he did and then do something as different as possible. The other is to try to copy everything he did, down to the smallest detail.
The wise option is the first one: do something different! President Chirac’s team bafflingly chose the second unwise option, including an absurd prolonged security lockdown for much of the Balkans and, yes, a speech in the National Theatre to an invited audience.
However, the French did not have the resources or sense of showmanship to pull all this off effortlessly. They did come up with a clever and good new angle: to bring down to Sarajevo for the speech a crowd of young Bosnian Serbs. Voilà! La réconciliation! But this noble scheme was thwarted, of course, by the Republika Srpska authorities for “security reasons.” There was also undignified bickering in the margins over flags and whether wine should be served at the official lunch—to meet Bosniac/Muslim sensibilities it wasn’t, much to Bosnian Croat indignation.
President Chirac’s speech in the Theatre itself inevitably covered much the same ground as President Clinton in terms of urging Bosnians to bury their differences and build for the future, but he set out the issues in European terms, calling for “an open and tolerant Islam on our continent.” President Clinton’s speech had not mentioned the European contribution to rebuilding Bosnia. Pof! President Chirac hit back by not mentioning the Americans.
All in all the occasion felt and was “flat.” It did not help that the president’s earnest, long, and mainly humourless speech was in French, a language few in the theatre understood. There was none of President Clinton’s relaxed, almost sexy style, and, to use a French word, élan. No one felt any emotional engagement with either President Chirac or his message. No one had a good time.
More please? Zut alors, once was more than enough…
Photo: Agência Brasil (cc).
This article was published in the Diplomatic Courier's January/February 2015 print edition.
