Working beside James P. Grant
This essay was originally published as part of a series dedicated to celebrating UNICEF’s 75th anniversary in The Quarterly, a publication by Volunteer Editors at XUNICEF News & Views. (XUNICEF is an informal global network of former UNICEF staff members.)
By Robert Cohen
Our kind editors asked me to share a few memories from the period when I worked as James P. Grant’s speechwriter, 1990 until his death in 1995. Other colleagues have brilliantly chronicled JPG’s world-changing contributions as UNICEF's Executive Director, so I will just share a few snapshots of what it was like to be his humble scribe.
When I started in late 1990, the excitement created by the World Summit for Children was incredible. JPG was on fire, energized by the success of the first-ever truly global summit. I remember him repeating: “Now the real work begins.” There were dozens, hundreds of speeches to be crafted, delivered and, in some cases, published. His messages became more elevated in tone, more urgent than ever. The fall of the Berlin Wall and end of the Cold War had created an unprecedented opportunity for global cooperation, he believed, with kids at the center. It couldn’t be squandered.
The Child Survival and Development Revolution he started in the 1980s had gained unprecedented traction. As more and more governments ratified the Convention on the Rights of the Child, JPG used his speeches to push the envelope of the possible. “Let’s use the George Bernard Shaw quote,” he’d say as we worked on speech after speech: “Some people see things and ask ‘why’. But UNICEF dreams of things that never were, and says ‘why not?’ ”
“Some people see things and ask ‘why’. But UNICEF dreams of things that never were, and says ‘why not?’ ”
Children’s needs had become children’s rights, an historic shift he hadn’t expected to see in his lifetime, he once told me. He privately doubted the world’s readiness for the CRC. But he became a believer and, from his hospital bed during his final battle with cancer, JPG wrote to the White House asking the US to sign the CRC. Late one evening I hand-carried the draft letter to the hospital for his signature, one of the most moving moments of my career. At his request, the US did sign the CRC, under the Clinton administration, but it went no further. Today, shamefully, my own country remains the only nation that hasn’t ratified the treaty.
“Let’s hold their feet to the fire”, he’d often say, referring to the commitments made by the world’s governments at the Summit. Every speech had to stress that now there were real promises to keep – measurable, time-bound goals for which leaders were accountable. Every statement had to end with a set of specific challenges tailored to the country or constituency he was addressing. “What’s the challenge here, Robert?”, he’d say after reading my drafts. That’s where he’d always place emphasis: nudging and cajoling presidents, parliamentarians and royals, professional societies and corporations, to do more. To do better.
JPG usually knew what he wanted to say on any given occasion, but he insisted, wisely, that I ask Reps, program directors, sector experts and others inside and outside UNICEF what key points needed to be conveyed. Each speech had to reflect the best knowledge out there. That made me more curator than writer – so I spent much of my time reaching out to colleagues on the front lines to assemble the latest facts and data, the strategic messages, for every speech. Tapping the organization’s deep wellsprings of knowledge and experience put me in touch with so many extraordinary, dedicated folks and cemented friendships that have lasted down to the present. At the same time, I realized that being the Executive Director’s speechwriter put me in the delicate position of having to weigh the input I received from colleagues jockeying for visibility or self-interest. I tried not to misuse my position; besides, JPG had a keen eye for that sort of thing and set the agenda himself.
It was always a challenge to fit me into JPG’s busy schedule. Super-efficient Mary Cahill would tell me to be prepared to come into his office at 11 am but, more often than not, the appointment would be moved to 3 pm, then 5 pm, and I’d wind up walking with him to his lovely Roof House on 38th Street at 10 pm, taking notes as he dictated. He would muse out loud, articulating broad themes. Other times, a speech practically leapt off his tongue, coming fast and furious, complete with details. He had a quirky way of thinking about things. He’d lean far back in his chair, eyes closed, for so long that I wondered if he’d fallen asleep and could fall over. But suddenly he would lean forward and practically bark out a polished text that required little work on my part when writing up the speech.
A child at a community center in Cote d'Ivoire, shares a book with UNICEF Executive Director Jim Grant. Photo by UNICEF/Giacomo Pirozzi
It was always Big Picture with JPG; there were no dots he didn’t want to connect. He envisioned children as the Trojan Horse that would allow the UN to attack the great issues of our times. Putting children first would require governments to enact reforms across sectors, from health to education, from human rights to environment, even issues of war and peace. Everyone loves kids, he’d say. Never sentimental, wonderfully pragmatic, he was willing to harness this most essential human value to unite the world to accelerate progress across the board. His insistence on including both the macro and the micro made for overly long speeches that would have tested the patience of most audiences had he not been such an effective, impassioned orator.
JPG’s particular genius as a public speaker was to somehow convey the dire situation of children through facts and figures without fueling despair. For him, the glass was half-full. Scientific and technological progress had created the possibility – and with it, the imperative – of meeting the needs of all children. Using a shorthand we developed over the years, he’d say: “Toynbee!”, which meant I had to insert the great historian’s quote about ours being the first generation in history able to meet the needs of all humankind. Morality marches with capacity, he’d say, a missionary like his father and grandfather. But his moralizing somehow never offended; the truths he spoke to power magically motivated even bad guys. His charisma was in the delivery as well as the substance. It was a challenge for me to capture the nuance of tone, the balance of hectoring and flattery that only Jim could manage.
I never felt I fully captured the depth and breadth of JPG’s vision, especially when it came to his thinking as a development economist. I often went to his excellent, trusted deputies Richard Jolly and Kul Gautam for guidance. When my contract was up for renewal, I remember telling JPG I was a wordsmith, a poet, and what he needed was a veteran speechwriter with greater technical expertise than mine. He dismissed my concern with a generous smile: ''you're my speechwriter!”, he said and signed my contract. His trust boosted my self-confidence, although to be honest, I sweated out every speech, terrified of the blank page, the responsibility of putting words in the mouth of a giant.
Being scribe to a man with such high standards took a toll on me. I shouldn’t complain, but the day JPG had me install a fax machine at home obliterated the line between my professional and personal life. We occasionally swapped drafts via fax through the night. He was the first to admit that UNICEFers often shortchanged their own kids while putting the children of the world first.
I’ll leave you with what may be the most unusual experience a speechwriter ever had with their boss. I was helping him prepare his farewell statement to the Executive Board, in which he summed up his legacy. He asked me to come to his house at 6:30 am with the latest draft on the day of the meeting. It was a rainy, chilly day in October 1994. When I arrived, he came to the door in his raincoat, with his dog on a leash, and asked me to accompany him to…. McDonald’s on First Avenue! He went over my draft, writing comments in the margins, while sitting on the bench in front of the restaurant right alongside the statue of Ronald McDonald, balancing an umbrella and patting his dog. I got us cups of coffee. I sat in silence as he worked, and I don’t know if they were tears or raindrops that fell in my coffee.