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OPENING CHANNELS TO
CHINA

by Henry A. Kissinger

The long career of Walter Stoessel Jr., '41, coincided almost precisely with an extraordinary period in American foreign policy: our successful passage through and eventual triumph in the Cold War. His government assignments in Washington and across the fault lines of Europe-in France, and years later as ambassador to Poland, the Soviet Union, and Germany-guaranteed his exposure to some of that era's most vexing geopolitical issues. Clearly, his responsibilities were as important as they were numerous. Among them was his contribution to a complicated diplomatic minuet with the People's Republic of China early in the first Nixon Administration, when I was national security advisor.

For some years prior, Walter and I had been
friends and professional colleagues. I had known
him since 1959 when, as a foreign service officer,

he was assigned as a post-
graduate fellow to the Center
for International Affairs at
Harvard, with which I had
long been associated. I
considered him one of the
very best in the State Depart-
ment; he was expert,
thoughtful, and disciplined—
attributes which were present
throughout our later dealings
in government.

When President Nixon
assumed office, we agreed on
the geopolitical importance
of ending China's isolation
and the decades of ideologi-
cal hostility between China
and the United States. Spo-

radic contacts between the two giants had taken
place at the ambassadorial level in Warsaw be-
tween 1955 and 1968 (when talks were officially in
suspension.) But some 134 meetings had pro-
duced nothing of consequence; indeed, these talks
became a sort of continual record in which not a
single important step forward occurred.

Nonetheless, the President was determined to
signal a new conciliatory attitude toward Beijing
through whatever channel might prove produc-
tive. Therefore, we initiated a few subtle feelers

through those individuals we knew to be friendly
with the Chinese-especially the Romanians and
Pakistanis. We also sought to revive the Warsaw
talks in which the Chinese, in the waning days of the
Johnson Administration, had expressed interest.

Walter Stoessel, then our ambassador to Poland, was assigned to strike up contact with the Chinese, though they were loath to be seen in public with American officials unless formally instructed. In the fall of 1969, I suggested that he try to engage the Chinese ambassador at any social function the two might be attending to let him know of the American desire for serious talks. As it happened, the Cultural Revolution claimed the ambassador and there remained in Warsaw only the Chinese chargé d'affaires, Lei Yang.

As so often happens, some of the most interesting foreign policy events occur under seemingly trivial circumstances. In the unlikely venue of a Yugoslav fashion show held at the Warsaw Palace of Culture on December 3, 1969, Ambassador Stoessel spotted Lei Yang, who, predictably, proved elusive and fled down a flight of stairs. In pursuit, Walter was able to convey our message through Lei Yang's Polish-speaking interpreter. Chou En-lai told me many years later that his astonished diplomat, totally without instructions for such a contingency, had fled because he did not know how to respond.

In the event, Ambassador Stoessel was shortly
invited to the Chinese embassy and ostentatiously
greeted at the front door (lest the Soviets miss the
significance of the sudden embrace.) That meeting,
along with some other interim contacts, ultimately
led to a formal revival of the Warsaw talks on
January 20, 1970.

Their resumption was an important public
symbol of our willingness to pursue a more concil-
iatory approach toward China. Under Ambassa-
dor Stoessel's stewardship, they provided a forum
for us to convey nuances about initiatives we
were taking in the secret channel through the
Pakistanis. The latter was soon to gain momen-
tum. The linchpin in Washington was Pakistani
Ambassador Agha Hilaly, whose brother was at
that same time their country's ambassador to
China and whose sister had been a student of
mine at Harvard. Back-channel contacts through
Islamabad to Beijing soon paved the way for my
secret trip to China in July 1971, and President
Nixon's later visit in February 1972.

The era of fashioning triangular diplomacy was an extraordinarily complex one. Walter Stoessel was a player in the broader mosaic designed, we hoped, to reverse decades of hostility with the world's most populous nation, and transform the geopolitical balance. His contribution, matched later by distinguished service as ambassador to Moscow, shall not be forgotten.

Henry A. Kissinger is the founder and chairman of Kissinger Associates, Inc. He was the assistant to the president for national security affairs from 1969 to 1975, and secretary of state from 1973 to 1977.

Stoessel's part in a
complex diplomatic
minuet paved the way
for President Nixon's
historic 1972 visit
to China; here, Nixon
meets with Premier
Chou En-lai.

PHOTOGRAPHY COURTESY OF THE NATIONAL ARCHIVES

36 / STANFORD MAGAZINE

In the early fall of 1964, the political situation in the region was deteriorating. Carlson became sufficiently concerned that he moved his wife, Lois, and their two children across the Ubangi River to the Central African Republic. He, however, returned to his post, hoping to stay as long as possible to minister to his patients.

Carlson was betting that the rebels would not bother doctors, but he had contingency plans to join his family if the situation became more violent. "He worried that if he left, the rebels would come in and kill all the patients," remembers Wayne.

Sadly, he bet wrong. In September, Dr. Paul was arrested, then tortured physically and mentally. He was sent 300 miles

south to Stanleyville where he became a pawn of the Simba rebels. They repeatedly sentenced him to death as an American spy, sparing him whenever they thought they were about to win concessions from the Belgian and American governments, which opposed their activities. Carlson's worried family spent their days listening to shortwave radio, praying for word of his safety.

As morning dawned in Stanleyville on November 24, 1964, however, the American and Belgian governments decreed there would be no more concessions. The savage rhetoric from the rebel leadership prompted the Americans and Belgians to launch a rescue mission. U.S. airplanes droned overhead as Belgian paratroopers dropped down on the outskirts of town. The rebels were anxious and full of adrenaline. And then Carlson's final ordeal began.

The brutal Simbas routinely killed and tortured

their enemies, sometimes consuming the dead prisoners' organs in front of others. With the paratroopers approaching that morning, the rebels assembled the Stanleyville prisoners in the street. They put women and children in the front rows. Crazed with fear and anger, the Simbas began chanting "kill" in Swahili.

What followed was a nightmare. A Simba guard opened fire on a woman, emptying his rifle into her bleeding body. Other soldiers fired blindly into the crowd, targeting parents who had flung their bodies over children. Some prisoners feigned death. Carlson and others at the rear of the group ran toward a wall, hoping to leap to safety. But before trying to scale the wall, Carlson urged another prisoner, a missionary as well, to go first. As Carlson climbed, he was sprayed with machine gun fire and fell to the ground. Belgian paratroopers arrived at the scene shortly after Carlson was killed, and the rebels fled.

A photo of the young, clean-cut missionary with unseeing eyes, an ID tag looped around his neck, soon was seen around the world. It was taken only minutes after his death, as he lay in a field of casualties. In the following weeks, Carlson's photograph was featured on the cover of *Time* magazine, and his story would become a riveting tale of martyrdom from the turbulent Congo.

*Life* managing editor George P. Hunt called Carlson "a heroic man of God who lived for the African-only to be killed by his hand." It's unlikely, though, that Carlson would have penned such an epitaph. "The secular perspective was that this was a horrible tragedy," says Carlson's brother, Dwight, a

Torrance, Calif., psychiatrist. "There was not an understanding of why someone would give his life. Paul had a strong religious faith. He had a calling, he went, he was faithful to his calling. I think he would have said that human beings took his life and that was unfortunate, but there was a higher benefit."

In the last tape Carlson dictated and sent home before his arrest, Dr. Paul clearly had no simplistic view of his mission. "The people are trying to take over more and more, yet realize their own inability to handle so many of these things," he told his father, who is still alive at age 92. "There are times when they know of repression, when they know of opposition, when they know of problems faced by other Christians in the country. You see, it's a tremendous burden."

Today, a medical foundation formed in Carlson's name supports

the Central African hospital where he worked. It sponsors such activities as agricultural projects and a fish farm in the Wasolo region. His son, Wayne Carlson, hopes to retire early from his private practice and return to the Congo to continue his father's work. "Like a lot of us who go through medical school and residencies and internships, my father had lost perspective on what medicine is about," says Wayne. "But he found it again. It's about helping people."

Paul Carlson's friends and family still speak lovingly of an apolitical man who sought no fame or fortune. Carlson was heroic, not because of his martyr's death, but because he was committed, against all odds, to healing others. In the New Testament he carried with him, Carlson had written the date and a single word the day before he died. The word? Peace.

Joan O'Connell Hamilton, '83, is the San Francisco bureau chief for Business Week.

The media lionized Carlson after his death, yet it was his life, so generously given to the needy, which makes for compelling reading.

CENTENNIAL ISSUE / 35

P
E
A
C
E
M
A
K
E
R
S

OPENING CHANNELS TO
CHINA

by Henry A. Kissinger

The era of fashioning triangular diplomacy was an extraordinarily complex one. Walter Stoessel was a player in the broader mosaic designed, we hoped, to reverse decades of hostility with the world's most populous nation, and transform the geopolitical balance. His contribution, matched later by distinguished service as ambassador to Moscow, shall not be forgotten. ■

36 / STANFORD MAGAZINE

As morning dawned in Stanleyville on November 24, 1964, however, the American and Belgian governments decreed there would be no more concessions. The savage rhetoric from the rebel leadership prompted the Americans and Belgians to launch a rescue mission. U.S. airplanes flown overhead as Belgian paratroopers dropped down on the outskirts of town. The rebels were anxious and full of adrenaline. And then Carlson's final ordeal began.

Paul Carlson's friends and family still speak lovingly of an apolitical man who sought no fame or fortune. Carlson was heroic, not because of his martyr's death, but because he was committed, against all odds, to healing others. In the New Testament he carried with him, Carlson had written the date and a single word the day before he died. The word? Peace. ☐

PHOTOGRAPH COURTESY OF LIFE PICTURES BARRY

CENTENNIAL ISSUE / 35