Chocolates for Mary Julia

Judith Mudd-Krijgelmans

Description

Following of on bee coming-of-age story in Flowers for Brother Mudd,

JUDITH RETURNS TO NEW DELHI

as a US diplomat, her lively five-year old daughter at her side. Embarking on the life she's dreamed of, this former English major and Fulbright scholar who's just earned a Master's in international service from American University throws herself into living the globe-trotting life. What lies in store for this risk-taker who grew up during Jim Crow is what Chocolates for Mary Julia is about. After riding the stormy waves of the Civil Rights Movement and witnessing monumental legal changes for blacks, she entered the foreign service expecting to serve on behalf of an America that had finally assured the right to the pursuit of happiness for all, only to realize that there was much more to do. Nonetheless, she would not be robbed of a fulfilling career. As the velvety sweetness of her mother, Mary Julia's, dreams hoisted her on her way, she embarks on tours abroad, and in Washington, DC. Determined to succeed, she thrives on living in faraway places while overcoming high hurdles, making it a point to savor as much of the good life as she can. Doing work that makes a difference, on a level of excellence inspired by the Ursuline Sisters and historically black Morgan State University, often in the face of racial bias, she persists in having a full life: Never giving up on love, building family and effective work teams, seeing world sights—all while, paradoxically, proudly waving the flag for an ideal America yet to be realized.

Sujets

• Legal Education
• Droit et juridique
• Law

Informations

• Publié par: Xlibris US
• Date de parution: 30 avril 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781669813217
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 3 Mo

Extrait

Chocolates for Mary Julia
Black Woman Blazes Trails as a Career Diplomat
 
 
 
 
 
 
By
Judith Mudd-Krijgelmans
 
Copyright © 2022 by Judith Mudd-Krijgelmans.
 
Library of Congress Control Number:
2022903551
ISBN:
Hardcover
978-1-6698-1323-1

Softcover
978-1-6698-1322-4

eBook
978-1-6698-1321-7
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
 
The opinions and characterizations in this book are those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of the US government.
 
 
 
 
 
Rev. date: 07/05/2022
 
 
 
 
Xlibris
844-714-8691
www.Xlibris.com
799839
 
Also, by Judith Mudd-Krijgelmans
Flowers for Brother Mudd: One Woman ’ s Path from Jim Crow to Career Diplomat (Xlibris), 2018
Preface
Stunned was how I felt when I saw protesters storming the US Capital on the afternoon of January 6, 2021. By evening, though I was making progress on this book, I felt I couldn’t go on. Its whole point was to showcase how a person raised during Jim Crow could burst through barriers, earn opportunity and acceptance, and gain a wider world. Had my tale lost its credibility? Global views of the turmoil in America—unrelenting racial animosity, real time killings of blacks by police and citizen watchmen, abuse of migrants, even separating children, and roll backs in voting rights—had clouded the lens through which I was viewing memories that had shaped my career. I’d been in places where coups were a fact of life. Now the phrases “attempted coup” and “violent insurrection” could be applied to my “land of the free.”
All those years of telling America’s story to the world would be seen in vain against the unfolding backdrop that was redefining the country. But, in time, as I kept faith with those fighting to uphold democracy in Washington and across the nation and followed the news of the fight for it in Hong Kong, which I knew well, I regained my footing and realized even more the value of what people like me had done. I felt even more obligated to pass on my story, if not as a shining example of one minority American’s achievements, then as a primer for those working across cultures. As tired as freedom lovers may be, hope has to continue to be high. Afterall, my parents and forebears mostly lived on it; like my mother, Mary Julia, they never got much compared to what I was able to achieve. Passing on my tale is the least I can do to honor the truths they laid down for me.
Judith Mudd-Krijgelmans
April 2022
To Rekha, my daughter, grandson Jon-Mingus, and great-granddaughter Marlee, and for the descendants and relatives of Mary Julia Harris and William F. Mudd

Mother, Mary Julia, age 49
Table of Contents
Preface
Part 1: 1975–1982
Chapter 1 :    India Again!
Chapter 2 :    Bombay Bests
Chapter 3 :    Bangladesh Big Picture
Part 2: 1982–1989
Chapter 4 :    Back in the USA
Chapter 5 :    Taiwan Times
Chapter 6 :    Hong Kong Highs and Lows
Part 3: 1989–1993
Chapter 7 :    Welcome Home!
Chapter 8 :    Beguiling Belgium
Chapter 9 :    America from Afar
Chapter 10 :  Hands across the Sea
 
Acknowledgments
Part 1: 1975–1982

Map of India
1
India Again!
A creamy blast spewed from Rekha’s mouth as she bent over as the plane landed in New Delhi. I held the air bag under her chin while the other passengers scurried to the overheads cramming the aisles. I gathered our belongings and I tried to neaten us up after the twelve-hour flight from Rome. We’d just spent two breathtaking weeks in the Eternal City seeing the magnificent sights and savoring sumptuous delicacies. No wonder Rekha’s stomach was giving out, and mine, with the ten pounds I’d gained in that city, made it hard to button the executive jacket I was squeezing into. Cold, dry December air swept into the cabin as the doors opened. My head began to throb and my stomach turned somersaults as we descended the steps of the rolling stairs. When I saw a tall, craggy-faced man with a drooping mustache in a coffee-brown blazer swoop Rekha into his arms, I knew I had arrived in more ways than one: a new job and lifestyle, and it was like coming home.
The man was Bruce Kreutzer, my training office; he took us to his house near the American embassy where his family welcomed us with so much warmth that I almost felt like a member. I would learn that the wholeheartedness was in the tradition of the Foreign Service: that of the sponsor in an enduring esprit de corps. For newcomers, even second-timers to India like me, it was a custom, which made all the difference in how I perceived the post from day one. By the time we were settled into our cottage in the gated embassy compound in Chanakyapuri, we were able to fall into a good night’s sleep. Later the next day, we met our neighbors: Elena, an embassy secretary, and her Vietnam-born daughter, Stacy, who was five like Rekha. The family liaison officer had thoughtfully made sure that we were lodged next to another single-parent household. The four of us hit it off right away. Soon I’d get to know others on the compound who became friends and helped me learn the ways of post living.

Elena, Stacy, and Aimee Adesso
Diplomat in Delhi
The next morning, I was picked up in the car that took USIS 1 officers to the American Center on Kasturba Gandhi Marg, twenty minutes away near the center of town. As the driver

US Embassy, New Delhi
negotiated through the hodgepodge of moving vehicles, animals, and humans, from pedestrians to holy men and hawkers, I remembered the goats and cows on the streets of Nagpur seven years ago. Seeing the sign that said American Center as the car stopped in front of the two-story building, my heart skipped. I recalled bringing my students from Springdales to the moon-landing exhibit at the center in July 1969. How times had changed. Then I wouldn’t have been caught dead in the American embassy. But now, although no breeze waved in the wind when I arrived, the stars and stripes saluted me. Now I was the woman in the picture in the magazine that had inspired me to become a Foreign Service officer (FSO) years ago.
After I met those I’d be working with—Ed Shulick, chief, and Roz Bazala, deputy, of the North India Program Office, where I’d work after training at the main embassy building, and the many other Americans and Indians I’d collaborate with—a sense of having to rise to the challenge welled up in me. As I moved through the center, I came to see that being an FSO was not going to be enough. I had to perform the duties worthy of the title. I was energized by what I was seeing and hearing. I hadn’t known what to imagine, but certainly, a staid, staunch official had come to mind. These diplomats, foreign affairs specialists, and their staff were full of ideas and racing to get things done. The foreign nationals (FSNs), the Indians, struck me as being the real ones in the know, and I was right. Then and throughout my nearly three-decade career, I’d see that FSNs did a lot to make Americans look good, supporting our tasks excellently and, usually, loyally. Having worked in three Indian educational institutions, I suspected this would be the case. They were taking my measure, and I had to show them I was up to the task.
After settling in, I had an easier rapport with the Indians than the Americans. Given my background of growing up during Jim Crow, I could only relate to white Americans selectively, assuredly with most girls and women but carefully with men. I had a hard time calling my new colleagues by their first names, a real handicap when I wanted to show I was a member of the team. That’s why I’ll always be grateful to Bruce, whose unassuming attitude from the start made it easy for me to call him by his given name. Once I got used to that, I could say “Ed” and the first names of the other men except for the chief librarian and the public affairs officer’s secretary, Dolly, who were women. Still, I would have been hard put to call the ambassador or the deputy chief by their first names as I’d later have to do. On the other hand, I could make friends with Sharmaji, Tony, Jeri, and Prabhi. There was also the connection, the unspoken truth that, like them, I came from a recently liberated group. This would stand me in good stead then and throughout my days as a diplomat.

Beginning my career at a full-service post like New Delhi was a lucky-stars gift for me. Historically, an FSO wanted to start in Europe; however, that was a carryover from before the last world war. As one of the first baby boomers, I saw the world differently, and so did US foreign policy-makers with the war in Vietnam finally moving toward a peace agreement and the recent recognition of China. London and Paris were still there as was the Cold War, and US presence in Asia had expanded. New posts were being built in Asia. They benefited from starting from scratch with all the space and equipment needed to reach out to large publics. I was privileged to serve in New Delhi at the beginning of my career and in Taiwan at the end; both were well-funded from the start