The diplomatic passport

Nehemiah wrote: “I said unto the king, if it please the king, let letters be given me to the governors beyond the river, that they may convey me over till I come into Judah. And the king granted me, according to the good hand of my God upon me. Then I came to the governors beyond the river and gave them the king's letters.”

The name of the modern document came into being during the reign of King Louis XIV of France. Louis XIV, the Sun King who ruled France for 72 years (1643-1715), is reported to have granted personally signed letters, called “passe port” to his favoured citizens, to enable them safe and unhindered passage through seaports.

My current passports continue the tradition of their Royal Majesties Artaxerxes and Louis XIV, with important letters from my rulers printed on the front pages of the documents. My East African Community passport of the Republic of Uganda is an unsigned letter from my President to the rulers of other realms.

We read on the first page: “These are to request and require in the name of the President of the Republic of Uganda all those whom it may concern to allow the bearer to pass freely without let or hindrance and to afford the bearer such assistance and protection as may be necessary.”

The letter is repeated in French and Kiswahili. My Canadian passport carries a similar letter, in English and French, inside the front cover.

It reads in English: “The Minister of Foreign Affairs of Canada requests, in the name of His Majesty the King, all those whom it may concern to allow the bearer such assistance and protection as may be necessary.” His Majesty is King Charles III, who is Canada’s constitutional monarch.Interestingly, the Canadian ruler does not “require” that I be allowed free passage. On the other hand, my Ugandan Passport, which not only requests but requires my free passage, has not always been honoured by immigration officers in certain lands. Stories of maltreatment of Ugandans at airports abound. I will save mine for my book. There are passports, and then there are passports. Uganda issues three types. The sky-blue passport, officially called “ordinary”, is for you and me, the untitled, travelling hordes that are rarely allowed to “pass freely without let or hindrance” through foreign airports.

Not even African ports of entry treat us like people who breathe the same air as the titled mortals. The only port where I am always happily welcomed with my Ugandan passport without interrogation, is Entebbe airport, the place where I do not need that passport. There is a green-coloured one, officially called the “service passport,” issued to people who presumably serve the country more than most of you folks who labour in the trenches to advance our land and civilization. The list of green passport holders is a window into the attitude of the rulers towards Ugandans professionals. It is worth checking out.

Then there is the coveted one, blood-red in colour, a badge of prestige that some consider to be more precious than their university degrees and wedding rings. The Ugandan diplomatic passport is issued to twelve categories of persons. It is a fascinating list. Check it out and note which spouses get them on account of sharing marital beds. Most intriguing is that while kings and other cultural leaders get diplomatic passports, their queens do not get them. Here in Canada, the diplomatic passport is limited to very few categories of people. These people’s spouses do not get them. Not even the spouses of the top leaders of the land. Furthermore, the use of diplomatic passports for non-official travel is highly restricted. With very few exceptions, nearly everybody must use their ordinary passport for private travel. A breach of this regulation can lead to severe punishment. Incidentally, the Governor of the Bank of Canada, and the chancellors and vice chancellors of universities do not get diplomatic passports. They seem to do their jobs happily despite making do with ordinary passports. 

 Is a diplomatic passport always a privilege in real life? Perhaps it is, but I once witnessed a situation where that passport did not afford the bearer free passage without let or hindrance. In 1995, Dr Tibamanya mwene Mushanga, then Uganda’s High Commissioner to Canada, asked me to accompany him to see an old Kenyan friend who was a professor at the State University of New York at Buffalo, New York, USA. Mr Geru Tesfamichael, an Eritrean Canadian gentleman, who was the official driver of the Uganda High Commissioner, was behind the wheel. The US Immigration officer at the Rainbow Bridge, Niagara Falls, politely received our three passports. He promptly returned my humble, ordinary, dark blue Canadian passport. Geru’s ordinary Canadian Passport followed seconds after. But Dr Mushanga’s diplomatic passport piqued the American’s interest. Dr Mushanga was quizzed by the officer. Then the American instructed us to park the car.

When he invited Dr Mushanga to follow him into the building, I obtained the American’s permission to stay with my friend. We joined a very long queue of ordinary aliens seeking entry into the United States. We waited more than an hour before we were invited to the counter for further interrogation. Dr Mushanga was allowed into the USA because I guaranteed the Americans that I would ensure His Excellency completely removes himself from the United States that very day. On our return journey that evening, the Canadian immigration officer subjected Dr Mushanga to a long interrogation, which he received with his trademark defiance.

Sensing danger, I asked Dr Mushanga, in Runyankore, to keep quiet and let this ordinary Canadian try his luck. I convinced the Canadian officer that the ambassador came in peace, and that any missing document would be attended to as soon as he reached Ottawa. The lady waved us through and Geru accelerated into the lovely Ontario night. Dr Mushanga expressed his feelings to my sympathetic ears, with words that must remain classified. I thought I spied a cheeky smile on Geru’s face.  

Mulera is a medical doctor.
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