Read My Pins_ Stories From a Diplomat's Jewel Box - Madeleine Albright [16]
Wise owl, Lea Stein.
Fish, Nettie Rosenstein;
small ladybug, reproduction, The Metropolitan Museum of Art; large ladybug, designer unknown;
swans, Swarovski.
ASSOCIATED PRESS
In 1998, terrorists bombed the U.S. embassies in Kenya and Tanzania. Before flying across the Atlantic to honor those who were killed, I made brief remarks at Andrews Air Force Base. With sadness in my heart, I turned for help to an angel. Angel, designer unknown.
ASSOCIATED PRESS
David Yurman created this American flag pin in support of families affected by 9/11.
Sunburst, Hervé van der Straeten.
Because I am by nature a worried optimist (as opposed to a contented pessimist), I found many opportunities to wear my brooch of a brilliantly shining sun. Of course, part of being a diplomat is to make the best of a difficult situation, so I sometimes wore the sun more as an expression of hope than of expectation. In Haiti, for example, the Clinton administration had used force to oust an illegitimate military junta and restore the elected president. On every visit thereafter, I met with the civilian leaders, voiced America’s desire to help, and talked about the prospects for progress. Each evening, as I put away the sun, I feared that neither my words of hope nor my effort to suggest the start of a new day would be enough to transform a desperate reality. The Haitian people—anxious and impoverished—deserve a far better government than they have had.
Naturally, not every diplomatic encounter demands a sunny attitude. If I wanted to deliver a sharp message, I often wore a bee. Muhammad Ali used to boast that he would “float like a butterfly, sting like a bee” my message was that America would try to resolve every controversy peacefully, but if pushed into a corner, we had both the will and a way to strike back.
COURTESY OF WILLIAM J. CLINTON PRESIDENTIAL LIBRARY/SHARON FARMER
With Marine One in the background, President Clinton by my side, and the sun on my shoulder. Latin America, 1999.
All this, I subsequently found, was generating not only diplomatic sparks but also an economic jump start for the costume jewelry industry. In Paris, I went into the gallery where Leah Rabin had bought her dove and was startled to find my picture on the wall. Visiting an antique jewelry store in New York, I was thanked by the owner for saving her business. A group in the Northeast set up a pin watch over the Internet where they would find out what I was wearing each day and try to interpret my choice.
Yasser Arafat and I conferring by phone with President Clinton. I spent many hours wrangling with the Palestinian leader about the need for compromise in the Middle East. My pin reflected my mood. Bee, designer unknown.
REUTERS
Feature articles appeared in the foreign and domestic press, and—to my embarrassment—total strangers began walking up and trying to give me pins.
One instance in particular bears recounting. On July 4, 2000, I was privileged to stand on the steps of the home of Thomas Jefferson, the first secretary of state, to witness hundreds of people take their oath of allegiance as new citizens of the United States. A naturalized citizen myself, I was moved by the ceremony and astonished, as always, by the remarkable diversity in background of the American people. Appropriately, attendees were given small American flags to wave, but at the accompanying reception my attention was drawn to a more dramatic version of the flag. Two elegant Virginia ladies, Julann Griffin and her sister, Maureen, were introduced to me, the former wearing a jumbo star-spangled U.S. flag brooch. When I complimented Julann, she offered me the pin. I had to say no but later accepted when she repeated her kind gesture after I left office. That was when Mrs. Griffin