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Authors: Charles Brett
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where I was asked by a very senior official in the prime minister's office whether, if I was offered it, I would accept the post of an ambassadorship."
"Congratulations! I can just imagine your revelling in being addressed as Your Excellency or Mr Ambassador. It would stroke your ego no end and your wife would surely love it."
"Thank you, Marta. Your asperity stinks. However, I'm not sure I'm inclined to accept."
"Why ever not? Surely it's an honour? Wouldn't it be insulting to decline?"
"You didn't quite hear what I said. I was asked 'whether, if I was offered, I would accept?'. No actual post was named.
"You still look puzzled. Let me explain. My fear is I am being bought off for something I've done or am about to do. That's what political ambassadorships are about. The party in power uses the state buy off its internal problems with the tax payer picking up the bill. It's a form of corruption I dislike, though you never heard me say this. In addition I don't want to go somewhere inappropriate where I'd feel a fool. That can happen. One political-appointee was sent to a major English-speaking ally without being able to speak English. Can you imagine?
Marta shook her head incredulously.
"In contrast, professional diplomats speak at least three languages. It was a sad appointment for all concerned, especially Spain. We just looked foolish – and all to keep someone sweet.
"But I wander off my main topic. Not only don't I know where I might be sent but I have to weigh up why I'm being bought off or whether it's to get me out of the way. Plus there's the beauty of their words, borrowed, I suspect, from the British."
"Sorry, Alfredo, you've totally lost me."
"In Britain, before you're offered any of their weird honours, like a Member of the Order of the long defunct British Empire or a knighthood, you're asked 'whether, if it was offered, you would accept a such-and-such an honour'. If you say no, for whatever reason, the system will always say the honour was never actually offered. Think about the words."
Alfredo halted to give her time to consider.
"On the other hand, if you say 'yes' you wait several months before any appointment is made, by which time you are probably so grateful the suspense is finally over you greet the announcement with amazed relief as well as delight. My point is that Moncloa hasn't offered me anything concrete. It's only enquired if I would accept, if it was offered. It may never happen.
"There are two other dimensions to consider. First is that all my dealings in the past with the Palacio de Idiotas –"
"Where?" asked Marta.
"I'm sorry. It's an in-joke that the headquarters of our esteemed Foreign Ministry, the Palacio de Santa Cruz, which lies behind the Plaza Mayor, is known as the Palacio de Idiotas . It has an outpost, beyond the M30 ring road, with two office towers where many of its inmates have to work. Its equivalent name is Torres Idiotas ."
"Are you serious?"
"Yes, mostly. In fact I have some sympathy with these descriptions. A cousin worked as a civil servant, a funcionario , in both the Palacio and in embassies abroad. His tales of the egos and greed of some of our representatives are hard to believe. For example, he told me of one who claimed expenses for highway tolls at weekends when taking his personal friends around. How petty can you get?
"Even more significant for me is the way this Ministry treats its non-diplomatic staff, like my cousin. It's depressing and so short-sighted. No annual reviews. No interviews for posts. No awareness training before people go abroad. If there is a system for deciding who goes where, nobody knows what it is. Possibly random; possibly enchufe -like connections. Or maybe something quite different. As my cousin describes it, nobody has a clue. What stuns me is that, if I had run my firm in such a way, my staff would've walked out and the business would've collapsed years ago.
"We're in the twenty-first century yet the Palacio has no
"Congratulations! I can just imagine your revelling in being addressed as Your Excellency or Mr Ambassador. It would stroke your ego no end and your wife would surely love it."
"Thank you, Marta. Your asperity stinks. However, I'm not sure I'm inclined to accept."
"Why ever not? Surely it's an honour? Wouldn't it be insulting to decline?"
"You didn't quite hear what I said. I was asked 'whether, if I was offered, I would accept?'. No actual post was named.
"You still look puzzled. Let me explain. My fear is I am being bought off for something I've done or am about to do. That's what political ambassadorships are about. The party in power uses the state buy off its internal problems with the tax payer picking up the bill. It's a form of corruption I dislike, though you never heard me say this. In addition I don't want to go somewhere inappropriate where I'd feel a fool. That can happen. One political-appointee was sent to a major English-speaking ally without being able to speak English. Can you imagine?
Marta shook her head incredulously.
"In contrast, professional diplomats speak at least three languages. It was a sad appointment for all concerned, especially Spain. We just looked foolish – and all to keep someone sweet.
"But I wander off my main topic. Not only don't I know where I might be sent but I have to weigh up why I'm being bought off or whether it's to get me out of the way. Plus there's the beauty of their words, borrowed, I suspect, from the British."
"Sorry, Alfredo, you've totally lost me."
"In Britain, before you're offered any of their weird honours, like a Member of the Order of the long defunct British Empire or a knighthood, you're asked 'whether, if it was offered, you would accept a such-and-such an honour'. If you say no, for whatever reason, the system will always say the honour was never actually offered. Think about the words."
Alfredo halted to give her time to consider.
"On the other hand, if you say 'yes' you wait several months before any appointment is made, by which time you are probably so grateful the suspense is finally over you greet the announcement with amazed relief as well as delight. My point is that Moncloa hasn't offered me anything concrete. It's only enquired if I would accept, if it was offered. It may never happen.
"There are two other dimensions to consider. First is that all my dealings in the past with the Palacio de Idiotas –"
"Where?" asked Marta.
"I'm sorry. It's an in-joke that the headquarters of our esteemed Foreign Ministry, the Palacio de Santa Cruz, which lies behind the Plaza Mayor, is known as the Palacio de Idiotas . It has an outpost, beyond the M30 ring road, with two office towers where many of its inmates have to work. Its equivalent name is Torres Idiotas ."
"Are you serious?"
"Yes, mostly. In fact I have some sympathy with these descriptions. A cousin worked as a civil servant, a funcionario , in both the Palacio and in embassies abroad. His tales of the egos and greed of some of our representatives are hard to believe. For example, he told me of one who claimed expenses for highway tolls at weekends when taking his personal friends around. How petty can you get?
"Even more significant for me is the way this Ministry treats its non-diplomatic staff, like my cousin. It's depressing and so short-sighted. No annual reviews. No interviews for posts. No awareness training before people go abroad. If there is a system for deciding who goes where, nobody knows what it is. Possibly random; possibly enchufe -like connections. Or maybe something quite different. As my cousin describes it, nobody has a clue. What stuns me is that, if I had run my firm in such a way, my staff would've walked out and the business would've collapsed years ago.
"We're in the twenty-first century yet the Palacio has no
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