Jeffrey Gedmin in Germany---
The Friendly American
by Kirsten Kueppers, 29.4.2003
When one's occupation doesn't trap one in the morning and then spit one out at 6:00 PM. When one is one's own occupation and work never stops. When one has no boss, but is the Direktor and heads up an Institute that supposed to bring Americans and Europeans together. When one is the American in Berlin, the days are filled with deadlines and people recognize one's face on the TV and cars slow on the street and drivers shout and when it seems that the whole world is full of people who either hate or love, nothing in between. When all this comes together, then one has to get up early to get things done.
Jeffrey Gedmin, the Director of the Aspen Institute, Berlin, has been awake today since five. Now it is nine and Reinhard Buetikofer has come to meet him at a cafe in the government center for breakfast, slings himself into a chair and cheerfully orders tea. And right away there's controversy.
Jeffrey Gedmin supports the war. He's been repeating it everywhere: on Sabine Christiansen's show, in newspaper articles and on the radio. "What do you want? A picture of Saddam Hussein having a beer with Ussama Bin Laden?" is what he started asking in the fall, long before the war in Iraq got underway. Gedmin was openly annoyed by the German Chancellor, by the local peace demonstrations and defended the American incursion into Iraq with caustic language.
That this fellow is sitting down with a Representative of the Greens, his "good friend Reinhardt Buetikofer" as he says, one who is trusted by the German government, which the neo-conservative Gedmin criticizes with such vehemence that one might think there's nothing to communicate, and engages in joking banter is enough to make one think.
But that's exactly what sets the 44 year old Jeffrey Gedmin apart. This tall man in a grey suit, who's been directing the Berlin Aspen Institute for over a year, who introduces himself to strangers with "Hi, I'm Jeff" and who's style has totally transformed the Institute, started in 1974 as a think tank. The relationship between Germany and America is currently not the best. Jeffrey Gedmin's job is to worry about that. But, instead of looking for union, he runs around and makes trouble. He projects power and polarization and meets his opponents for breakfast. What with this man?
The Aspen Institute is still a pretty bungalow on Schwanenwerder Island in the harbor, with a view of sailboats and water, financed by the Berlin Senate and staffed by a handful of co-workers and a cellar full of secretaries and one main employee. What used to be elite events have been moved into the cafes of the city where his many guests include, Henry Kissinger, Angela Merkel, along with the likes of Ralph Nader and the soon-to-be Premier of the Iraqi National Congress, Ahmed Chalabi.
"I'm more interested in critical conflict than consensus" he says. Jeffrey Gedmin used to be a high school teacher. Perhaps that's why.
He visits the bars in Kreuzberg on his discussion rounds, visits students in their digs in Prenzlauer Berg and talks with bus riders and the onhangers of the CDU. It's this constant churning in all directions, together with Gedmin's relentless support for the US Administration's war that has made the Aspen Institute a topic of conversation. That's why the phone is constantly ringing, the invitations are stacking up on the secretaries' desks and there's always a new journalist at the door when Gedmin arrives by taxi at the entrance.
So Gedmin blows into the Institute. It's 11:30 and everyone is waiting: the assistant, the technician, the reporter, a policeman. The police official is present because when the secretary opened up there was yet again something ugly hanging on the door. As so often in recent weeks, there was a transparent "Hate the American" on the door. Gedmin's been getting lots of emails--fan mail and hateful tirades from opponents who wish him death by Napalm, call him "Jew F!cker" and otherwise do not wish him well.
"On good days I don't take it personally," Jeffrey Gedmin says. He looks out the window. The sun is shining. Today is a good day.
If you ask, in spite of this, how comes it that someone can ellicit such strong emotions, you just have to watch what happens a few minutes later when a bus of American tourists arrives. They're the "Patrons of the Chicago Philharmonic Orchestra." The Aspen Institute is part of their Berlin tour program and Gedmin is supposed to enlighten them about the current German-american relationship.
He speaks for an hour. "Had we not put the subject of Saddam Hussein on the agenda, Gerhard Schroeder would never have taken interest in the human rights violations there," Gedmin yells. He pauses for effect.
The rich ladies from Michigan sip their apple juice and look sceptical. They do not know this fellow who sits himself at their table like a sympathetic young man and speaks and gestures like a practiced politician. Gedmin says the American President gets bad press in Germany; that the United Nations has proven itself as tired debating club in the face of international conflict; that the Americans sent their children to war and that Germany had tried its best to destroy the mission. And in that case, one can't really speak of an allied partner anymore. He doesn't believe America will attack Syria. He tells a few jokes. He says he knows almost nothing. He mentions the Pentagon and his listeners suspect that he has a whole head full of information, numbers and background knowledge; and he tells what his friends in the Bush Administration are thinking and relates what the cabbies in Berlin think. He seems to be an honest man.
It only last a little more than 60 minutes. The ladies came with a different perspective; now they have a new idea. Now they stand in the sun on the lawn and get their picture taken, arm in arm with their friend, Jeffrey Gedmin. It all looks very American, for a moment.
But then one can't stay with these new supporters because another journalist is waiting. Gedmin flies down the hall past his staff, who are all very happy with their boss. "We don't have to agree with him," says the Assistant "he can take criticism." "Those who wanted to go to the peace marches, got leave," relates one.
Perhaps it's because Gedmin isn't playing the big winner, even though the capture of Baghdad went quicker than expected. Maybe it's just the familiarity that suggests equality. The lady at the reception desk says, "He's still our Jeff."
And perhaps that's what Jeffrey Gedmin wants to show the Germans: that one can disagree and still not hate.
A few minutes later, he's off in his car to the city. He flies into the American coffeehouse, "Starbucks" in the Friedrichstrasse. He's in such a rush that his hair is blown back. "Starbucks" is Gedmin's second office. One after the other he meets with an Iranian exile, two Berlin students of politics and a BWL-Professor from Nuerenberg. There's a bit of fighting, little consensus, lots of discussion, and only the professor pats him on the back and says "Thank you for freeing Iraq."
At 7:30 Jeffrey Gedmin looks pretty tired and rubs his eyes. Now he's headed for the fitness studio. Then he has to write an article for the Washington Post. Tomorrow he'll get up at 4:30.
Posted by Hannah at October 2, 2005 07:55 AM