In February, 2003, on Alumni Day, Peter received the Madison Medal, an honor which Princeton confers each year on an alumnus or alumna of the Graduate School who has had a distinguished career, advanced the cause of graduate education or achieved a record of outstanding public service.
Terribly saddened by the loss of Peter I somehow feel I should say something about our journey and his inspiration. He and I met at some momentous moments in CARE and he struck me by his sense of calm, generosity and vision.
Firstly Peter always took the time to write to all his staff depicting his latest journey as the CEO of CARE USA and the important issues to consider as well as warming anecdotes.
Two anecdotes come to mind, firstly Peter was once in a Taxi in New York when he was asked by the Taxi Driver what he did for a living. When Peter informed the taxi driver of his elevated position , the driver was so delighted to have met someone who had helped him in his youth that he insisted that Peter did not pay for the fare. I can imagine Peter remonstrating at the taxi driver’s generosity but it followed that the taxi driver had been a citizen of Bangladesh and as a boy his family had been helped by CARE International, for which he wanted to show his gratitude and repay the favour!
It is a reflection of the organisation that one of my work colleagues at my first post in Ruhengeri Rwanda could tell the same story as the taxi driver. Biswas Nasrudin had been helped as a child by CARE after a devastating cyclone in Bangladesh. As an adult Biswas was employed by CARE in the aftermath of the war and genocide in Rwanda of 1993 helping others with utter professionalism as he had been helped.
The other story I remember is Peter recalling his adventures as a young man in Ghana and Cote D’Ivoir. He bartered hard with a local shop to buy a wooden stool and Kente cloth to take back to the US only to recall decades later his guilt at negotiating such a hard bargain after life had been good to him. He recalled the long journey between two points in the center of each country. As the crow flies his start and destination where close but because the road network was designed in colonial times to export the riches from the interior to the coast, with little consideration for the local communities, the road network only allowed him to travel the bottom three sides of a square to get to his destination.
In Rwanda in 1995 the refugees in North Eastern Zaire where pushed back into the country by the Rwandan Patriotic Army’s pincer movement behind the camps. I can only assume the regime was fed up with 1 million plus refugees on their border and decided to deal with it in their forthright manner. Imagine the start of the Boston Marathon with 500,000 people. This is what the road between Gisenyi and Ruhengeri looked like except everybody was Rwandan and all wore the same worn out dishevelled brown clothes carrying a bag of belongings or the tell tale yellow jerrycan of a refugee. Peter came to see our response, advise and report back. I dare say that Peter might have been looking for a brief moment of respite when he finally made it to the men’s toilets, unfortunately and much to my embarrassment to this day I followed him in and continued my monologue on the importance of good logistics. A lessor person might have asked me to wait a minute but he listened to my advice with good grace…and I for a brief moment felt very important.
CARE International chose as an advocacy initiative “Peace in Sudan” Peter came to talk to senior Sudanese dignitaries about the possibility, sow a modicum of hope for the millions of displaced and victims of war. I was responsible for arranging a fact finding visit to the camps of 350,000 displaced south Sudanese living around Khartoum prior to his talks with the Wali of the city and the Prime Minister.
The Nile had flooded, it had rained and the camps where in a terrible mess. Our investment and impact in the camps must have looked derisory, he never passed comment, he didn’t have to, just observed. On the road between two camps we drove past a cemetery on our left, the officials had known of our itinerary through a hand written note I had sent to the NGO coordinator. During Peter’s subsequent talks with senior dignitaries, a local official who I had considered a close colleague chose this opportunity to try elevate his career. Mr Abbas made the absurd accusation that the delegation was inspecting the grave of dead Christians, at which point Peter’s opportunity to talk peace fell apart. The meeting ended, we all met back at the office in considerable disarray. Peter took charge and becalmed the situation in a moment. He announced to the 10-15 of us who had gathered to figure out what had happened to this precious opportunity, that it simply didn’t matter. If we were going to talk peace in Sudan we had better get used to a few knocks and bruises pick ourselves up and get on with it. He was taking the long view. …I was relieved and learned many important lessons.
Peter came to Jerusalem to see our operation in the West Bank and Gaza. We took him to Gaza across the dreadful Calandia crossing, a 300 meter concrete corridor surrounded by pill boxes and devoid any vegetation through which you have to walk to get into Gaza. He took it all in his stride. Back in Jerusalem he talked to the team. It is difficult for the WBG office not to be emotionally charged, there were too many bull dozers, check points and violence for it to be any other way. Peter had a great sense of proportion, he talked peace and his conviction that both sides wanted it. I don’t believe he thought CARE could do much more than what it was already doing and he emphasized the need for a cool, rational and patient operation.
Peter was in Togo in 2004, he had just had another gruelling schedule of visiting too many projects and was now sharing lunch and a cold orange Fanta with the team under a hot tin roof. His particular piece of chicken was very tough and he had managed to get his knife through the plate while trying to cut it. We were all slightly embarrassed at the strength of Peter’s chicken leg at which point he reassured us that he was delighted to eat a chicken that had not been factory farmed.
One of the more tragic moments of CARE’s history has been the kidnap and murder of its second Country Director in Iraq. It was dark and I was driving Peter back from Togo to Accra when he received confirmation of the news and the following call from Bob Macpherson who had tried so hard to find Margaret Hassan. It was a quiet moment, the feeling of which I can still remember. There was nothing to say, after thanking Bob, Peter gathered his thoughts and I was made aware of his responsibilities. I dropped Peter at his hotel, late again, for which he expressed his thanks. He had another busy day ahead of him. I went home thankful to be working for such a great organisation, helping where it is needed and aware of the risks.
I bumped into Peter one last time in Atlanta, he had retired and was now at the Carter Centre and still had time for a brief chat. I commented that he had visited every one of the countries where I had worked and I looked forward to bumping into him again in our future careers.
Seven years after leaving CARE for Cambridge University I was wondering whether I would meet Peter again. The opportunity had arisen perhaps to work in relief and development once more and, fingers crossed, I was hoping to reconnect with all my friends at CARE who had continued the good cause. These had been my formative years for which I am forever grateful.
Peter ran a wonderful organisation for which he was always quick to thank its employees. It must be a challenge to manage such a big ship. With his humility, warmth and goodwill he made it look easy. He is a great inspiration and one of the many people I have met at CARE from whom I draw strength.
Thank you Peter.
When I was assigned to Rio de Janiero as a junior foreign service officer in 1964, Peter was serving there in the Ford Foundation. We met as a couple of the few Americans in a Rio group of Brazilians who had had AFS (American Field Service) scholarships in the U.S. I loved getting together with Peter to talk about Brazilian politics and economic development issues and to share stories of New England, he from Gloucester and I from a Boston suburb. After my three year tour in Brazil I followed him to the Woodrow Wilson School at Princeton.
But in Brazil I got the biggest kick out of my fellow New Englander's approach to fun. Here is an excerpt from a letter home to my parents after Carnival 1965. "What a show it is! The whole center of the city for several kilometers is filled with people wandering around in costumes following the strolling bands of drummers. As we came within earshot of the music, suddenly the Brazilians we were with would start to twitch, shoulders, knees, hips and off we would go, sambaing down the main streets of Rio.....
My friend Peter Bell, whose extreme New England flavor never fails to make me giggle, threw himself into Carnival with all the thoroughness of someone brought up entirely within the work ethic. It was up to six every night, inventing and performing countless different sambas and flirting with all the unescorted girls he could find, claiming to be hopelessly tantalized by the lovely girls sambaing up on tables."
I kept in touch with Peter as he continued at the Ford Foundation, and the Inter-American Foundation and eventually ended up on the Board of the Edna McConnell Clark Foundation while he was President. At the Foundation, he was always inspiring with his clear thinking and effective leadership in developing and testing better policies to alleviate poverty and misery. But when I picture him, I picture his twinkle as he dealt with all sorts of people on the Board, on the staff, and foundation beneficiaries. A twinkle that took me back to that conscientious New Englander enjoying a Rio carnival to the hilt.
