Michael Heyn - In search of decency the unexpected power of rich and poor

Copyright 2013 Michael Heyn

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Dedication of My Book

To My Father and Mother Who Set For Me an Early Compass
Leo Luitpold Heyn
Mary Kay Roan

To My Loving Partner Equally Dedicated to Our Journey Together
Suvira Chaturvedi

To My Daughters Who Hold Within Them What I Value Most
Tanya, Natasha and Kavita

To the Peace Corps and the United Nations
For the Opportunities and Inspirations They Instilled In Me to Serve Their
Ideals

To the Poor and the Rich across the Globe
Who Have Shown Me What is Possible

Front Cover: the author and members of the Manzanares, Peru, Chicken Farm
Cooperative (1964)

I acknowledge with deep appreciation all those who have in one way or another contributed to the review of this book

The views expressed in this memoir are entirely my own

Lying flat on the ambassadors floor in Liberia, bullets shattered my understanding of life, compelling me to rethink the meaning of what I had seen over and over again, so many people suppressed across all cultures in which I had lived. People dominated by a few driven by greed and power, power enforced by those bullets now overhead that required answers from me, answers I did not have, bullets that demanded courage to search in the chaos for decency.

Learning from the poor by living among them, joining the front lines of the United Nations, witnessing through fifty years the worst and the best people can do to each other, I struggled to understand the roots and contradictions of so much inhumanity in the face of the promise of change I saw and questioned everywhere: why Peruvian villagers distrusted each other, yet Don Jose guided me to bring them together; why I despaired as a Nepali child died before we reached a remote clinic, yet people overthrew their kingdom; why a poor man of Malawi saw through the hypocrisy of my efforts to end his poverty, yet witnessed the end of tyranny I had done my best to facilitate however imperfectly; why the America in which I grew up and worked remained an unbending light of hope despite injustice toward its underclass and support of dictatorships; why indeed war in Liberia jolted my soul yet led to Africas first woman president under whom I had worked. Experiences that steeled my resolve to find the answers.

This is the story of my journey through life. It is the story of my experiences and what I have learned living and working across many lands and among many people. It is a journey through fifteen countries including my American origins and my concern for its future. It is the story about understanding the seeming complexities and yet the ultimate simplicity of our common human relations within and across these cultures. A story of what we have in common in how we treat each other. It is a story about what divides us between rich and poor, powerful and powerless. It is a search for decency, where and how it exists, to know how it can bridge our divides. It is a call to recognize the unfailing spirit and capability of all human beings to overcome these divisions based on the good will of people to come together, to achieve the common good.

It is also a call for a bold way forward relevant as much to Yemen as to America. It is a way some may believe impossible, to address our human failings based as I have seen on a determination of people reaching across assumed insurmountable barriers to support each other. It is a message of confidence in results that can be achieved by purposefully crossing over our divides and empowering each other. It is a call for a partnership of rich and poor to do this, no matter how antithetical this may seem. It is a call for reform of democracy to share the power. It is a belief, that in the practice of these new relationships and the decency on which they are based we can transform our way of life.

A Look over the Edge
1990

Return to Liberia with military escort

Skeletal remains on the UN compound

Overcoming obstacles to reach Liberian refugees in Guinea

In Prince Johnsons Camp, President Does arch enemy

Under Fire

Bullets overhead pierced the air from all directions. The incessant clap of distant shots compelled our attention and gravely unsettled us. Our primal sense of danger rose deep from within.

We ran across the US Embassy grounds on Mamba Point in the capital Monrovia. We climbed the stairs to the ambassadors quarters. Some dozen embassy staff milled around in a controlled state of anxiety. Someone shouted us to the floor. We lay and eventually sat there for what seemed hours. It was not clear what else we should expect and the sounds of conflict grew louder. There was more going on than gun shot. As far as we could tell nothing had hit the embassy, but the explosion of mortars soon began to intensify. With each passing hour, the eerie tapping of machine guns closed in. It was 9 September 1990 and the fighting went on through the night. We returned to our sleeping quarters during an unexpected lull in combat. At dawn all was quiet.

I had not slept. But the sudden peace was a great relief. Later in the morning, as we gathered again in the ambassadors quarters, more distant sounds of fighting re-emerged. These continued throughout the day and into the second night. During the day, I managed to send cabled messages to the UN in New York. They were terse, vivid accounts of our predicament, to the effect that: unexpected developments on the ground have resulted in renewed and chaotic fighting between the army and forces of both Charles Taylor and Prince Johnson. We are holed up in the US Embassy and uncertain of further developments. Not surprisingly, I later learned these messages caused particular concern at UN headquarters for our safety. Liberia was unpredictable and very dangerous.

On the third morning we approached noon without a sound of hostility. Terry Lewis, our UN team field emergency operations officer, had accompanied me to Monrovia. I shared with him a hope that we had seen the worst. His response that theres always worse than the worst broke my tentative ease. By late afternoon we heard the hum of a US naval helicopter. We understood they were coming to take out those on a priority list. It was not certain whether we were on that list. Hurrying to our rooms to collect our belongings, we made straight for the landing pad. Some fifty to sixty souls had already gathered there including a few embassy staff but mostly former government officials and other sundry Liberian influentials who had taken refuge in the embassy. Each desperately sought safety in neighboring Sierra Leone. They knew the helicopter could have them there in less than an hour and a half. Embassy staff in charge informed us that only twenty-five could embark on this first flight out. They began reading off the names. Elated and relieved that we were on the list, we felt a certain guilt in boarding and glancing at the grim faces of those left behind.