Getting the Lead Out
by Tom Tripp
In the fall of 1999, trade relations between the United States and the People's Republic of China were at a crucial turning point, and the atmosphere in negotiations between the two countries was tense. I was a part of the U.S. negotiating team then and, as they say, a funny thing happened on the way to the Forbidden City.
We had been in Beijing for several days already and the talks had stalled. President Clinton had decided he wanted to bring China into the World Trade Organization as a way of leveling the playing field for trade partners of this quickly growing economy. And he wanted the deal before the quickly approaching end of his second term in the White House. There had been some positive signals in recent months from the Chinese that formerly intractable issues might be re-opened, and so we packed up our delegation and flew to the Middle Kingdom.
But now everything had pretty much ground to a halt and we were wondering how to proceed. The Chinese were hard-core negotiators. They used every trick in the book (and some that weren't in the book) to gain leverage. We played hardball, too, however. At one point, our team leader, the U.S. Trade Representative, a full Ambassador, ordered us all to phone home and tell our families we were coming home. She knew the Chinese would be listening to our phone calls. We made a big deal of packing our bags and discussing flight logistics with the American Embassy. The Chinese undoubtedly knew it might only be a ploy on our part, but they couldn't take a chance. They knew their best chance at this agreement was with Clinton, versus a potentially unknown successor in the White House in 2001.
At the last minute, the Ambassador's phone rang. We were summoned back to the table. Now it was getting exciting. Soon, we were in our convoy leaving the hotel, but this time we drove right past the Trade Ministry and into the very heart of Beijing. Our motorcade passed directly in front of the southern gate of the Forbidden City and then turned into the main gate of the Zhongnanhai, one of the former royal gardens on the western side of the Forbidden City and the home of the Chinese leadership.
When we pulled up in front of the large, ceremonial hall, it was apparent that our new negotiating counterpart would be the Premier himself, Zhu Rongji. Zhu was the equivalent of the COO of the Chinese government; reporting only to the President, Ziang Zemin. The setting was intimidating — an extremely formal room, with very high ceilings and two large chairs sitting next to each other against one wall. Extending out from the wall were two opposing lines of chairs, one for each "team."
I was sitting out toward the end of "our" line of chairs and it was a bit hard to follow the conversation up at the head of the negotiation. But the mood was upbeat, a marked contrast to the past few days of dreary stagnation at the Trade Ministry. I studied the face of the Chinese diplomat across from me but he let nothing slip. Next to my chair was a table covered in delicate silk. A tall, green covered cup of something sat on the table. I peeked under the lid. Tea. Of course. There was also a pad of paper and two beautiful pencils.
The pencils. The more I looked at the pencils, the more I thought they were special. Yes, they were yellow pencils. But they had THE MOST exquisite gold lettering on them; intricate Chinese characters that ran almost the entire length of the pencil. I recognized the character for the Chinese word "Zhong," which means "middle" and is the main character for "China." I didn't understand any of the others, but that one character suggested something significant.
A profoundly important international negotiation was happening down at the other end of the chairs. One of the oldest civilizations in the world was negotiating with one of the youngest, yet most powerful. And they were discussing a subject that would quickly make a huge difference in the lives of millions of both Chinese and Americans.
But the pencils. Now THOSE were something else. I wanted one of those pencils. Actually, I NEEDED one of those pencils. I had been cooped up in diplomatic talks for the entire week and I had not a single souvenir. I SHOULD TAKE one of these pencils.
I looked up. My opposition was staring at me. Oy. How long has he been watching? Can he tell I'm coveting these pencils? I glanced up the row at the principals who were both smiling and laughing. I casually returned my gaze to the fellow across from me. Damn. He was looking straight at me; maybe even glaring just a bit.
I gave him a laser look right back. And I played with one of the pencils while I did so; flipped it right up and over my knuckles like Iceman did in Top Gun. Except Iceman didn't drop his and have it clatter all over the table, drawing stares from staid diplomats at least three chairs away.
Okay, I'll take a sip of tea. Draw attention away from the pencils. I lifted the lid and sipped the still scalding tea. I looked around the room, searching for surveillance cameras that might record the diplomatic pilfering of a State Pencil. There were none that I could see, so I made a plan to "remove" the two pencils from the negotiation. I rationalized it as the first implementation of the free trade scheme that had clearly just been agreed down at the other end of the chairs.
Both diplomatic groups stood at once as the end of the meeting was pronounced. I sensed an opening and turned toward my chair, deftly nabbing the pencils and slipping them into the inner pocket of my suit coat. Done! Now all I had to do was look casual and avoid getting stopped on my way out. I figured no one would understand why I risked getting thrown into a Chinese jail for two lousy pencils. I wasn't really focused on the possibility of causing an international embarrassment.
But the key now was to get quickly and safely back to the American Embassy so I could get the beautiful Chinese characters translated. In my mind, I had already decided on the most likely translation – "Personal Writing Implement of Premier Zhu Rongji of the People's Republic of China." Naturally, it took several days to make our way out of the Forbidden City and back to the Embassy. Or maybe an hour.
At the Embassy, I ran up to the second floor to the office of the Economic Attache. His Chinese was fantastic and I knew I'd get the best translation from him. I slid the pencils out of my jacket and handed him one; presented it to him really, as befit its special status.
"So, Jack (not his real name for obvious reasons), tell me, what does it say," I said. He looked at the pencil for an impossibly short second.
"Jack?"
He looked up at me.
"You took this from the Premier's Palace?" He looked incredulous. It made me a little nervous. I knew I'd been a bit foolhardy, stealing something from the Chinese government, but really, a pencil?
"Yes," I replied. "I just wanted a really unique souvenir. Now what does it say, Jack?"
Jack waited, watching me get more and more uncomfortable. Then a huge grin just exploded onto his face.
"It says, 'Number Five Chinese Pencil Factory."
Did you ever have a story turn out WAY different than you'd hoped?
