On keeping a low profile in Brussels

Working for 18 months in international organisations taught me one lesson: to survive in a huge politically driven machine it's advisable to wear the most boring, identity-masking suit possible, switch off your common sense and freeze your facial expression in a diplomatic smile. I hadn't been very good at sticking to these lessons so far but when I changed organisation, I vowed to suppress my remaining personality and happily become completely nondescript.

What better place to do this, I thought to myself, than the European Commission; an organisation that evokes images of grey-haired bureaucrats in grey suits doing grey things (despite churning out green and white papers).

To my great surprise I was welcomed to the Commission at a lavish conference in the warmly lit and flower-filled Flagey cultural centre in Brussels. I got to spend two working days listening to how the EU is governed by the Commission, European Parliament and European Council.

What surprised me the most though, was that EU officials weren't grey at all. Instead, all of the speakers were young and smartly dressed – one liberal MEP even sported jeans as he prowled the stage like a TV presenter.

More importantly, these officials were extremely eloquent speakers. I heard a truly impressive speech by a Hungarian diplomat about the Hungarian presidency of the Council. The speaker cleverly compared the six-month presidency with our five-month traineeship; just as an intern was trying to signal his or her abilities, the presidency was a chance for Hungary to signal its intergovernmental skills. He kept the audience's attention by sprinkling in important information; true EU officials don't say President of the Rotating Committee but affectionately abbreviate this to 'Pork', while the President of Parliament is simply the 'Pope'.

After half an hour of convincing sweet-talk, he had totally won over the audience. He could then safely encourage people to speak up without worrying about awkward questions. And the large audience more than willingly obliged – after sparking so much enthusiasm for Hungary he had no trouble answering questions on its specific contribution to the EU: it is lobbying for the rights of displaced Sinti and Roma, making Hungary noble as well as humble.

I was pleasantly surprised by how easy it could be to smile diplomatically at whatever I heard… Unfortunately, something essential had been left out of the presentation, something that apparently did not fit in with this sugarcoated portrayal of Hungary.

I really did not want to spoil the mood, but finally I couldn't take it anymore. So I asked the question that I was dying to ask even before the speaker began talking, the question that just had to be asked regardless of my intention to keep a low profile.

After frantically waving from my balcony seat, I sputtered into the microphone: "As far as I know, Hungary recently passed legislation censoring its media – how did that influence your Hungarian presidency?!?" A murmur of disbelief rushed through the audience, all eyes on me.

"Well, some call it a law involving censorship, although I would say that this terminology is poorly chosen..." the diplomat effortlessly began his answer, and smoothly shifted the conversation to how happy he was for the Hungarian presidency to be receiving so much attention. His office was constantly talking with journalists and the great stir about the law showed him that the EU was important to people after all. He thus deftly switched the subject from nasty censorship to inspirational European idealism.

I, however, had botched my first week. Only minutes later the first person inquired: “Hey aren't you the guy who asked about the media censorship?” This continued for weeks – no matter how inconspicuous my suit and tie uniform, there would always be somebody greeting me with the same question.

With all of this unwanted attention, how would I ever manage to turn into a personality-free, well-oiled cog in the Commission machinery?

To distract myself from this difficult question, I started thinking about censorship and I realised: who was I to complain about Hungarian government censorship, when I had been so willing to censor myself by trying to avoid asking unpleasant questions? And isn't the real problem with censorship that it prevents essential problems from being addressed by hiding them under a mountain of candyfloss? Was that really what I wanted to do as well?

From then on I saw myself as a little Hungarian president, who had experienced a small glitch experimenting with self-censorship during an otherwise worthy endeavour. Because by giving up being critical for the sake of a career, you close the door on your opportunity to strive for change. That doesn't mean you shouldn't adapt to the pre-existing environment; on the contrary, the more you know about what's out there, the better your chance to implement new ideas. But if you give up your ambition to make a difference with your work – your career becomes meaningless.

Eric Burger,

DG TRADE

 

"When he started sweet-talkin' to me

He'd come and tell me everything's alright

The only one who could ever reach me

he was a sweet-talking son of a preacher man"

- Dusty Springfield