Table of contents

Part I
1.1 The Grand Opening
1.2 A Call to Action

Part I
1.1 The Grand Opening

Audio diary entry - 8/9/2014

It was 5:30am when my alarm went off that wet September morning in Geneva. I slipped into my bathrobe and finally tackled what I’d been putting off for months: shaving off my beard, which recently had become so out of control that some haters started tweeting “Jihadi Gerald” memes. As the whiskers fell into the sink, memories rushed back. At the start of the year, I had retired after thirty years at the UN with deployments in the most challenging conflict zones. I had negotiated with dictators, oligarchs and warlords. None of it had actually improved matters in the slightest; but the talking had felt amazing.

Having retired, on the advice of my wife I flew to a silent retreat in Goa to unwind and plan my future. Repeated violations of the no-talking rule, however, meant that I was expelled after just three days. Slightly embarrassed but in good spirits, I spent the next four months hitchhiking down India’s east cost to Tamil Nadu. When I saw the countless fishing boats along the coast, I couldn’t help but recall the Sri Lankan civil war, in which the Tamil Tigers’ arms supply routes had relied on the self-same vessels. I’d been there as a junior UN officer. How quaint I must have looked in my Man from Del Monte outfit – like a time traveller who hadn't yet attended the seminar on post-colonial guilt.  

Reflecting on those early days, I mused that had I been given a free hand by New York I might almost have ended that conflict before it had even started. My mediation could have made a big difference; and even now I still had what it takes, Oh yes indeed! The thought matured over the next fortnight, during which I worked for room and board in the kitchen of a delightful German expat couple who offered yoga sessions with wandering cows on the beach. And then it hit me: before I could write my memoirs, I needed a grand finale: one last hurrah; something truly impactful to cap my journey. I knew what I had to do! I would start a peace NGO – one with a  humble and catchy name. Without hesitation, I settled on “The Peacemakers.”

Now clean-shaven, I donned my suit, sipped my morning matcha, and slid into my Tesla. It was the big day of The Peacemakers' office grand opening. Thanks to generous donations from old friends from Oxford and connections in politics and business, I’d been able to secure 4000m² of prime Geneva real estate, within sight of the Palais des Nations. I looked in the rear-view mirror and smiled contentedly. In the world’s crisis countries I’d encountered corruption and nepotism at every turn; it was wonderful to receive funds from people with no ulterior motives. I would not disappoint them.

However, The Peacemakers’ success would be difficult to gauge and hard even to see - a bit like that of the world’s spooks. As I pondered such matters, three questions came to mind: Did ex-UN officials get the appreciation they deserved? How was I going to meet the women’s quota on The Peacemakers’ advisory board while still accommodating my most important friends? And where the hell was I?! Lost in thought, I’d missed the exit and ended up in an industrial park.

I U-turned and headed back towards the city center. While waiting at a traffic light, I checked my intelligence asset (Twitter). “Fighting in Aleppo flares up, dozens of civilians killed”, the CNN headlines said. Then a WhatsApp message popped up from my old friend Jason Doll, US Presidential Advisor on Middle East Affairs. “Hi Gerald. POTUS wants something done on the Aleppo siege.. Let’s talk tomorrow.” This was fantastic news! For The Peacemakers’ debut, the only initiative I had lined up was a 24-month long consultative workshop project on “The Future of Multilateral Mediation in the Age of Climate Change.” I had the Finnish foreign ministry’s underspend to thank for that (and the favour the FM owed me after his Bangkok debacle), but the makings of a Nobel Peace Prize it was not. Saving Aleppo was much more up my alley. 

A few minutes later, I spotted the Palais des Nations, glinting in the rain - a beacon of bureaucratic hope. Our spanking new offices were just down the street. I parked and straightened my tie. The world hadn't yet seen the last of Gerald Baynes.

1.2 A Call to Action

When Gerald Baynes walked into the freshly painted, airy Peacemakers office the next day, he was greeted by the familiar smell of new carpet and optimism – along with a faint whiff of booze from the Grand Opening the previous night. Gerald had missed most of the party as he had to hide in the bathroom to avoid the Women in Peace (WiP) reps who wanted to confront him on his gender quotas. The party nevertheless seemed to have been a success. On his way to the conference room, he saw his PA Lisa busy with glass cleaner, removing buttprints from the copier.

Gerald took his place at the head of the conference table where his team was already awaiting him: a mixture of enthusiastic newcomers fresh off the think tank boat and the jaded old hands of the peace NGO game.

“Good morning, Mr. Baynes,” chirped Sophie, a French ex-journalist who had once won an award for exposing corruption in Guinea before switching to corporate comms. Gerald had lured her away from the Crisis Task Force (CTF) with a lavish Geneva salary and an invented title (“Chief Communicator for Global Peacebuilding.”) Adil Shah, the head of CTF with a Twitter following of 160,000, had nearly choked on his desi chai when he heard about Gerald’s stunt.

“Good morning, Sophie, good morning everyone,” replied Gerald, noting a few eager nods from the fresh faces and some barely suppressed yawns from the old hands.

“This room, which I like to call the Room of Trust, will be the epicentre of a transformative era in conflict resolution. Play the slides, Lisa.” On the giant screen, images appeared of cavemen, ancient Greeks, Magna Carta, House of Commons, Churchill, the UN.

“Over the past 50,000 years, humanity has slowly but surely developed methods for settling violent conflict through dialogue and negotiation. This long journey of cultural evolution reached its peak in the rules-based order after WWII – a system that has, for all its flaws, brought unprecedented peace and stability to large parts of the globe. We are the guardians of this vital progress, and it is our job to disseminate these principles to regions where the old ways of settling conflict still hold sway. It’s not just a mission; it’s a responsibility to ensure that the hard-won lessons of history aren’t lost, but instead are shared with those who need them the most.”

“Great. Colonialism is back!” said Pieter enthusiastically, with a broad grin that made it clear he wasn’t joking. Pieter was the 25-year old son of a Dutch landmine clearance magnate whose donation to The Peacemakers had covered the office's custom-made Italian espresso machine and the weekly delivery of exotic orchids.

The room briefly fell silent. A few of the newcomers looked uncomfortable, while the seasoned team members exchanged wary glances, familiar with the provocative tendencies of project officers who saw themselves as globe-trotting secret agents.

Gerald’s expression remained neutral, though a slight tension crept into his voice. “Pieter, that’s not the approach we’re taking. This isn’t about domination or imposing our will. It’s about offering support and guidance where it’s needed, respecting the sovereignty and cultures of the regions we’re working in.”

Pieter leaned forward, his tone unapologetic. “We’re fooling ourselves if we think these places can sort themselves out. They need a strong hand, someone to show them how it’s done. The rules-based order worked because it was enforced, not because we asked nicely.”

Gerald’s voice hardened a bit. “The world is now a changed place. Gunboat diplomacy doesn't work anymore. We must be pragmatic, adaptable, and willing to engage with all parties, even those we might label as terrorists or rogue states. Remember our motto: anything is better than war.”

“Bravo!” said Sherin, a middle-aged Lebanese-American who had previously been at the Middle East Foundation (MEF) in D.C., now Supreme Adviser to Gerald. She clapped lightly, giving Pieter a pointed look that made him suddenly find great interest in his notepad.

Order restored, Gerald continued. “Now team, I have a surprise for you. The Peacemakers has been entrusted with an urgent mission: to break the siege on Aleppo and open a humanitarian corridor for 1.5 million trapped civilians.”

Cueing the map on the giant screen, he launched into his briefing like Eisenhower planning D-Day.

“Three months ago, rebels in the north of the country launched an offensive that left Assad government forces encircled in Aleppo. The last route into the city was cut off last week. Food and fuel are running dangerously low. The UN Special Envoy for Syria, Ahmad Barakat, has been trying desperately to achieve a ceasefire and deliver aid to the trapped civilians, but he’s got nowhere. He’s tried his best but let’s face it, the old codger’s toast.”

Ahmad Barakat, who had been Egypt’s foreign minister in the late 1990s, was a child of the good old days of bland diplomatic dinners and overly polite handshakes. None of that had prepared him for the shitshow that was the Syria crisis. Since the rebels had tightened the noose around Aleppo, Barakat had decided that the only solution was decisive US support for a new diplomatic peace initiative. To that end he had resorted to harassing Jason Doll with the persistence of a telemarketer.

Every hour, on the hour, he called, begging Doll to pressure all sides into attending UN-sponsored negotiations in Geneva. But Doll, too busy with the Iran nuclear talks and binge-watching House of Cards, had blocked the Special Envoy’s number. Barakat, however, was nothing if not resourceful and seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of SIM cards. When Barakat once again called him at three o’clock in the morning, Doll snapped, texted Gerald, and booked the next flight to Geneva.

“Ladies and gentlemen, for the first official Peacemakers team meeting, we have a special guest. It is my honour to welcome US Presidential Advisor on Middle East Affairs, Jason Doll,” Gerald announced, giving Lisa a signal. The door buzzed, and Jason Doll entered the room, looking as if he’d just woken from a power nap that wasn’t quite long enough.

“OK folks, let’s get to business,” said Doll, while Sophie discreetly typed on her phone. “And no photos or Twitter tags,” he added. Sophie put her phone away.

“I come with the full authority of the President. Your mission is to initiate a discreet dialogue with Syrian rebels with the goal of opening a humanitarian corridor for the civilians trapped in Aleppo. The aim is to get this Aleppo siege off the front pages, and fast. A quick negotiation followed by a few aid trucks rolling in – that should do the trick. Now, Barakat over at the UN is all about his peace talks in Geneva, but let’s be real, that’s just smoke and mirrors. We’re focused on the ground realities: locally negotiated deals that de-escalate violence and save lives. Nothing more, nothing less. And one more thing: you must be discreet. No leaks, no loose talk – nothing. This is top secret.”

“Noted Jason”, responded Gerald, “and thanks for letting me eye through the classified NSC file on Syria. Fascinating stuff! Now Jason assures me that the man we need to talk to is this.” Gerald gave Lisa another signal, and the giant screen displayed a mustachioed man in his early forties, dressed in camouflage and a shemagh and brandishing an AK-47.

“This is Khalid Rashdan, aka Abu Faisal. Leader of the Syrian Liberation Army, a very moderate rebel group that controls the southern route into Aleppo. He’s our man, as it were – a bit rough around the edges, but essentially a good egg. We need to talk to him and get him to cooperate with us,” Gerald declared.

Noticing the raised eyebrows around the room, Gerald continued with a benign smile: “I know, I know, he might look like he just stepped out of a Mexican crime drama, but think of it like it’s trying to convince someone to switch internet providers: lots of bluffing, a few creative spins, and the looming threat of having something essential cut off.”

Gerald turned to Sophie: “Please tweet that you are excited about the new Peacemakers project, hope you can share more about it soon, and don’t forget to tag Adil Shah – he loves feeling left out. Pieter: I want an actor mapping by 1500. And drop the hard man act – you're not Bond. Sherin: draft me a strategy document with all the trendy buzzwords – ‘synergies’, ‘resilience’, ‘locally-owned’, you know the drill. Lisa: book the best hotel you can find in Istanbul and make sure it has a private pool and regular spinning classes. Pack your bags, everyone, we’re off to Syria!”

Read the next instalment in the October issue.