The Secretary (25 page)

Washington’s relationship with countries in its backyard, like Brazil, had always
been fraught, but Turkey was a NATO member, a stalwart ally of the United States in
the region, and home to American military bases. Turkey undermining the United States
on an issue of such strategic import as Iran was not part of the agreement. Something
was broken. With so many countries clamoring for a share of the global power pie,
power was becoming more and more diffuse, and it clearly wasn’t just because China
was becoming stronger. The Obama administration was trying to harness the energy of
these new powers and encourage them to take on world responsibilities. But the United
States also wanted and needed to remain at the center of all the action; the superpower
wasn’t about to let go of the reins. It was a learning process, and this first real-life
exercise on a key issue had gone terribly wrong. Even dealing with the Chinese seemed
easier—at least their rivalry was predictable. The United States still had the world’s
biggest military, bigger than those of the next three countries combined, and this
was unlikely to change for some time. But military might alone was no longer enough
to project power, especially when budgets were being cut. America had to reinvent
its diplomacy.

Although the United States had regularly acted outside the multilateral institutions
it had helped set up after World War II, especially in cases of national security
imperatives, America mostly behaved like a convening power. But there were more and
more countries to convene and more coordination was needed outside the big traditional
institutions. From day one, Hillary’s State Department began formalizing connections
with countries big and small, starting with Asia, ASEAN, and the TAC. Over the course
of Hillary’s tenure, the department would set up twenty-five formal initiatives that
would place the United States at the heart of a web of diplomacy and encourage others
to feel involved in managing the planet. There were bilateral strategic dialogues
with India and South Africa, in addition to the already existing one with China; smaller
countries like Indonesia and Nigeria got bilateral commissions. There were global
programs of all sorts: entrepreneurship, civil society, maternal health, climate change,
counterterrorism efforts. Many initiatives relied on a key partner, from Turkey to
Norway, from nongovernmental organizations to businesses—stakeholders in a new system.
Every day, the State Department worked to connect with countries, players, and people
everywhere. Even in the midst of the Iran debacle with Turkey and Brazil, the State
Department was announcing a “conference for the U.S.-Brazil joint action plan to eliminate
racial and ethnic discrimination and promote equality” in Atlanta a few days later.
Diplomacy was no longer just about formal talks with leaders. Smart power was exhausting
but, in Clinton’s view, essential.

She was working hard to project an image of continued American dominance by engaging
the world relentlessly, feeding the perception that America still mattered on every
level and hoping to turn it into a reality. But though technology had shrunk the world
to the size of a village, Hillary quickly learned that her counterparts still wanted
to look her in the eyes to make sure they still mattered to Washington or to seal
a deal. It was still essential to show up—everywhere.

9

MEET ME AT THE FAIR

Shanghai was drenched by a steady spring drizzle that beat down on the metropolis
of futuristic skyscrapers, sending ripples into the gray waters of the Huangpu River.
When Hillary last visited China’s financial capital, in November 2009, it had rained
too, and she had had to hold on to her dark-blue umbrella with two hands, in the wind,
before a shell of a building. She had sounded like a coach, rallying her team around
a flagging project: America’s pavilion at the world expo to be attended by 189 countries.
Now, in May 2010, she had come to see the result of her work and make sure with her
own eyes that it had really been built. She stepped out of her car and under a red,
white, and blue umbrella printed with the words “Shanghai Expo.” Two mammoth gray
ovaloid steel structures stood in front of her, connected in the middle by a low-slung
glass structure. The architect had intended the design to suggest an eagle stretching
its wings in welcome. Instead it looked like a bunker, drab, foreboding, and cold,
more like the fortresses that housed American embassies in hostile parts of the world.
At least it was there.

World fairs began in the nineteenth century to showcase industrial and technological
innovations and to introduce faraway countries to one another. Over the years, fairs
had become more and more about nation branding, a way to improve a country’s image.
For China, the Shanghai World Expo was another opportunity, almost as important as
the Beijing Olympics of 2008, to prove that the Middle Kingdom was opening up and
rising onto the world stage as a peaceful power. The Chinese Communist party also
wanted to show off its economic prowess when the rest of the world was mired in recession.
Beijing was spending $45 billion just sprucing up Shanghai ahead of the fair, and
more than $200 million on the Chinese pavilion alone. Each exhibitor hoped that the
millions of Chinese expected at the fair would be inspired to visit their country
on holiday, buy some of their goods, strike a business deal in the pavilions’ VIP
rooms—anything to get those Chinese yuans flowing into flagging economies. It was
a costly sales pitch, but countries hoped for good returns on their investment. America
had almost missed the party.

In the early 1990s, American lawmakers decided that taxpayer money could no longer
be spent on international fairs. They just didn’t see the point; they were willing
to make some exceptions but not many. It became mostly up to private investors to
fund America’s participation in world expos. When Clinton had arrived at the State
Department in early 2009, the plans to take part in the 2010 Shanghai Expo were in
disarray. America felt like it was in economic meltdown during the financial crisis
of 2008. There was no point asking Congress for an exception to use government funds,
and no company could be convinced to spend money on what looked like a nonessential
junket in a distant country.

But America’s absence would only reinforce all the talk about decline, like a once
well-off family refusing to spring for a daughter’s wedding. The family’s limited
funds might be better spent elsewhere, but nothing signals a drop in status as dramatically
as slashing back the pomp. People would gossip. Every day the empty plot allocated
for the USA pavilion would scream at millions of expo visitors: the United States
is missing in action. Even Beijing didn’t really want such a message proclaimed so
loudly: though the Chinese viewed the United States as weakened by the financial crisis,
they still wanted their party to be complete, and the United States’ absence would
reflect poorly on Beijing.

When Clinton traveled to China on her maiden voyage as secretary of state in February
2009, Dai Bingguo, the state councilor, and the foreign minister Yang Jiechi had asked
her to ensure that the United States would attend the fair. Something had to be done.
In 149 years of world expos, the United States had absented itself only once before,
in Hannover in 2000, for very different reasons. The 1990s had been a golden decade
for the United States: America was rich and felt like it ruled the world. The Clinton
administration didn’t need to advertise the United States around the world; Bill,
the president, had even turned down an invitation to visit the fair while he was in
Germany that year.

Times had clearly changed. Though Hillary herself didn’t believe in the so-called
American decline, she was intent on fighting that perception. She gave her Rolodex
to two longtime Clinton fund-raisers, and they started working the phones to collect
the $60 million needed to build the pavilion. Finally, there it stood, with big red
letters on its side spelling out “USA” and thousands of Chinese queuing up to get
inside. We filed past everybody and into the sixty-thousand-square-foot bunker.

We felt as though we had been transported into a typical American convention center.
In a hangar-sized room, bright advertising displays from the corporate sponsors of
the pavilion covered a white wall—FedEx, American Airlines, General Electric, Pepsi.
A crowd of several hundred people stood on a maroon carpet, giggling and snapping
pictures. The State Department had requested that the pavilion stay open to the public;
Hillary wanted to remain accessible to visitors and to project a physical sense of
informality and openness, reflecting the values that were key to her country. It was
a powerful message in China, where repression and corruption meant that aloof politicians
were always ringed by security. The crowd was almost all Chinese, their eyes trained
on the two young Americans in jeans speaking to them from bullhorns.

These were the “student ambassadors,” two from a group of 160 college-age Americans,
perfectly bilingual, not just linguistically but also culturally. The visitors were
delighted to be greeted in their own language by smiling young Americans after they
had waited in line in the heat, sometimes for three hours. It was public diplomacy
par excellence, Hillary’s favorite kind.

“Ni hen lihai,” the students said and then translated, “You are awesome!”

The audience was transfixed. Some of the Chinese visitors, who were coming from all
corners of the vast country, had never met a foreigner before, let alone heard one
speak their language. As best as they could, they screamed back, “You are awesome!”

“Nong lau jie guen eh,” said the young girl, offering another translation of “You
are awesome.” Giggles erupted. A foreigner speaking Shanghai dialect! Then, led by
the American students, in English, everybody screamed, “China. Is. Awesome!” The student
ambassadors were constantly surrounded by a swarm of people. Everybody wanted a picture
with them as though they were celebrities.

Suddenly, basketball legend Kobe Bryant from the Los Angeles Lakers appeared on the
screens on the red wall on our left. “Ni hao,” he greeted the viewers in Chinese.
Stunned silence. The video continued as ordinary Americans filmed on the streets of
the United States were taught how to say “Welcome” in Mandarin. The Chinese giggled
with laughter as the men and women tried, failed, and ultimately succeeded at uttering
a few words in Mandarin. Famous skateboarder Tony Hawk did a stunt and then spoke
into the camera in apparently fluent Chinese, possibly picked up during his trip to
the country a few days earlier to inaugurate a Woodward skateboard camp in Beijing.
Olympic medalist Michelle Kwan slid up to the camera on her skates, speaking Cantonese.
A group of white, Latino, and Asian firefighters standing in front of their red truck;
two dozen schoolchildren of mixed backgrounds in a park; a black shopkeeper; stockbrokers
on the trading floor—all of these Americans offered their greetings to China. Wild
applause.

In the next room, courtesy of Citicorp, a giant Hillary was projected on the wall.

“Ni hao
,
” she said, “I’m Hillary Clinton.” Warm applause from the crowd and excited “woo-hoos.”

“As you explore the pavilion, you will discover American values in action: diversity,
innovation, and optimism,” Hillary said in the video. A film meant to be about the
creative power of children followed, though the speakers were representatives from
Chevron, GE, PepsiCo, and Johnson & Johnson. At the end of the video, Barack Obama
appeared with his own message welcoming visitors to the pavilion. Some of the Chinese
in the audience stood up from the benches, turned their backs to the screen, and handed
their camera to someone to snap a picture of them with the American president in the
background.

The pièce de résistance was a film screened in the “Pfizer Room.” A silent movie told
the story of a young girl who wants to transform a junkyard into a garden. With a
lot of cajoling, she convinces everybody in her neighborhood to help. The project
is a communal success. To the delight of the audience, at some point during the film,
the seats started shaking and a light mist was sprayed all over the room.

The traveling press kept rolling their eyes. The feel-good films with soaring tunes,
sappy story lines, and big American flags fluttering on poles were just too much for
seasoned reporters with a critical eye. The corporate stamp gave everything an unrefined,
inelegant feel. There was no subtlety, no history, no talk of democracy, of the constitution,
or of American traditions, nothing about American technology and innovation, nothing
about tourist destinations. There was no mention of George Washington, no pictures
of Mount Rushmore. There was nothing to see beyond the ubiquitous corporate logos
and superficial entertainment.

Coverage in the United States was scathing. Writing in the
Washington Post
, Ezra Klein complained that “the inattention to aesthetics might work as a signal
of power and wealth, like Bill Gates being rich enough to wear denim when he goes
to meet the Queen. But then you get to the three videos that make up America’s message
to the word. Message? We’re bad at languages, in hock to corporations, and only able
to set up gardens when children shame us into doing so.” American officials on the
delegation were also taken aback by the corporate-branding onslaught. This was a whole
new way of contracting out U.S. diplomacy.

Yet the queue outside the American pavilion was the longest at the expo except for
China’s own pavilion. Was it just the pull of the three big red letters on the facade?
Were the Chinese leaving disappointed? Or did they experience something inside that
Americans just weren’t getting? I was appalled too by what I saw as a crass sales
pitch, but I wondered whether I’d been in America too long and had lost my outsider’s
perspective.