Dear Ms. Yovanovitch

Institute for the Study of Diplomacy
Georgetown University
1316 36th St. NW
Washington, DC. 20007

Attention:  Marie Yovanovitch

Dear Ms. Yovanovitch,

I grew up in a rural area in southeast Massachusetts, always aware - and proud - that both my parents served in the U.S. Army with active assignments in Europe and the Pacific during WW2.  Their commissioned officer status - my mom was a first lieutenant and my dad was a major - kept me in awe, a feeling that to this day can still sweep over me. . . and remind me of the honor owed to those who both represent our national and security interests, and who put themselves out there. . . literally.

It wasn't until I was a teenager that my curiosity about the details of my parents' service "tenure" took real hold.  I asked questions, principally of my mother because she was more approachable and willing to reflect on that episode of her life.  Often using her war album as a reference point, I would study a single picture or series of related ones, and probe until I could imagine an entire scene.   My mother ultimately gifted me her album, and it remains one of my most treasured possessions, a fact made even more humbling when taking into account that I am one of seven children.  Some years ago, my sister and I collaborated on a project to contextualize the album.  Our objective was to synthesize our mom’s war experiences, impart the story (in pictorial fashion), so that all of us had a permanent record and understanding of Margaret Gildea’s ww2 service.  We scanned every photograph and provided details and back-stories to flesh out her experiences in places like Mindanao, Philippines (where she developed an abiding distaste for mangos!), and the reception hospital in Namur, Belgium, and as part of the occupation/reconstruction efforts in Japan post-war. 

Sitting one day on my mother’s living room sofa in the home she shared with her sister on Cape Cod, I once again was perusing her war album, when a loose photo slid into my lap.  I may have seen it before, but never paid close attention to it; after all, it didn’t fit with the time sequence.  It featured two brothers, one who appeared to be about eight years old, the other maybe about five or six.  They were, in fact, twins.  Her first comment was, “Look at those shorts – so French!”  Then the story’s origins spilled out.  My mother was a dietitian, so one of her assigned roles in the final days leading up to VE Day was to plan and organize meals for thousands upon thousands of severely under- and mal-nourished POW’s, who had been recently released from the Nazi camps.  One morning a Belgian woman arrived at the gates, holding her two small babies in her arms, and pleading – in French – for help.  Her distress readily made an impression on the guards, but they didn’t understand French; they sent her away.  She returned very shortly and again appealed to the guards.  My mother was immediately summoned, as she was fluent in French.  She succeeded (much against strict military protocol) in getting a doctor to examine the baby, who was extremely ill with some type of infectious disease.  As the baby was close to death, the doctor administered penicillin, which I’m sure you know was in short supply by this point in the war in Europe.  The baby survived, and photos of my mom holding a then happy baby serve as evidence.  So, what was this outlier photo, taken at a later date (perhaps in the early 1950’s) , doing in her album?  My mom explained that the Belgian mother communicated with her after the war; in one of her letters, she had included a photo of the twins, one boy much smaller and less robust than the other; in fact, he looked like a much younger brother.  Flawinne, nicknamed “Coco,” had survived his medical ordeal.  As you can imagine, the Belgian mother was deeply suffused with gratitude that one Allied soldier had opened her heart to another woman’s desperation and despair, and was willing to set aside protocol and rules.  It was a curious departure, for my mom always and strenuously maintained that she was a compliant follower of rules!  I can’t help but imagine that there is a Belgique man out there, in his mid-70’s, a slight man (perhaps accustomed to wearing tight, high-waisted shorts), who answers to the name Flawinne. . . or Coco!

As much as my parents viewed their wartime service as one of life’s distractions, nothing they could say – or not say – could undo the evident value that they placed on patriotism and service to one’s country, and the lifelong sense of caution that arises when authoritarianism threatens our very security.

I don’t wish to suggest that their experiences mirror your own.  One could say, different time, different place, different mitigating circumstances, different context.  Yet, when I consider your testimony of last week, it is not lost on me that you appreciate – more keenly than the average citizen, and evidently much more keenly than several of your questioners – the fragility of democracy.  You strike me as an extraordinarily honest foreign service careerist; that anyone would feel so emboldened as to characterize you as “bad news”, and remove you without cause must shake your faith.  I’m not expecting that you would feel it necessary to defend against such an odious and baseless accusation; you’re way better than that.  It troubles me greatly, however, that there appear to be no sensible measures that can effectively put a stop to this alarming trend.  I have scant confidence that this will resolve satisfactorily because I hear the confounding rationalizations and defenses of politicians who are most concerned with holding onto their seats.  We have a dangerous president in Donald Trump; his every action makes me want to kick and throw things.  How do you stay positive?  How do you, after being knocked down, pick yourself up and march forward with renewed conviction?  You must surely have a personal mantra that serves you in moments like these!

I am compelled to say how sorry I am that you’ve had to endure this nonsense, but I also sense how trite that must seem.  Please don’t give up the fight; we who have been following events closely believe in you and the righteous path you’re following.

I would be more than thrilled to hear back from you!  For that reason, I include a S.A.S.E. for your convenience.  (I am an inveterate writer of letters.  In fact, my first “serious” letter, at the age of seven, was to J.F.K.’s widow in December of 1963.)

With highest regard,

Joyce McKenna

November 18, 2019

P.S.  I retired from teaching in 2016, after teaching Spanish in public high schools for 27 years.  I now volunteer at a cat shelter, and serve as the secretary for our town’s Historical Commission.  I stop short of offering to volunteer to work with you, much as I hold you in high esteem, because I do love living near the ocean in my quiet corner of the country.