While we let the US Secret Service and the White House Protocol office sort out the matter of Mr. and Mrs. Salahi, I'd like to reminisce about gate crashers and related species of uninvited guests I have known. You get your share of them in a quarter century of diplomatic dinners and receptions.
There was the businessman, not unknown to me, who wasn't exactly a gate-crasher, but who insisted on determining the menu for a lunch for a visiting Washington worthy. We (the cook and me) were very accommodating, but then the picky capitalist was a no show. We ate his damn portion.
A minister of economy, who had been almost strip-searched (a possible exaggeration) in a provincial Midwest US airport which didn't know what a minister was ("oh, we get them all the time - Minister of the Reformed Church of Jesus Resurrected, Minister of the Temple of God the Redeemer - we strip them all"), anyway this minister was particularly sensitive at the hands of American-employed security guards. After an incident in his own country where he was refused entry to a US Embassy Fourth of July reception, I made sure that I met him at the gate personally.
Picassiette, Paltrow, or the Great Pretenders?
You can never be too careful when it comes to filtering guests for the POTUS and FLOTUS, however, as last week's incident shows. Were the guards at the front gate so bedazzled by the lady's red-and-gold sari that they just waved her and her husband through? Hardly. I suspect that somewhere along the line they got themselves an invitation card, perhaps under false pretenses - I guess the investigation will show. I just hope that some White House functionary didn't confuse Mrs. Salahi for Gwyneth Paltrow and override the security guard. But wait: the actress wasn't on the list, either.
There is a cottage industry in places like Paris, where French TV recently featured a pique-assiette, a guy who acts convincingly and dresses presentably, and who makes it his business to learn of cocktail parties (preferably those that serve lots of yummy dishes), and crashes them for a "living." While I was always used to seeing "the usual suspects" who died for invitations to parties in the diplomatic world, Monsieur Pique-Assiette really took the cake, so to speak.
I do remember an inveterate party-goer in Alexandria, Egypt. Perhaps party-goer is inaccurate; I'll just say that if you were driving to the Greek Consulate for the first time and had approximate directions, as soon as you saw this guy - a sort of homeless parking attendant, who would make sure your car wasn't vandalized while you went in for your ouzo - well, you knew you had reached your destination. We were convinced that he was a mukhabarat (an Egyptian security service spook who kept his eyes on the dips).
Speaking of mukhabarat, my favorite story was not my own, but that of a senior British diplomat with long Middle East experience, who told me of his days in pre- or early-Saddam Iraq, when the government was already composed of military men with little appreciation for diplomatic niceties. The British Embassy would send out invitations to individual Iraqis - ministers, generals, notables, the usual suspects - and then wait for the evening of the dinner party. Where no one except the expats showed up.
This went on for some time, until some rising star of HM foreign service got this brain wave: what if we sent the Iraqi Ministry of Foreign Affairs blank invitations? He had hit on something: 10 seats at the table = 10 Iraqi functionaries in them. Just fill in the guest list after they show up and everyone is happy.
The key to protocolary success in 1960s Baghdad, however, is not something we want to emulate in the Washington of President Obama. No uninvited guests, please. There are already enough of the category of angry non-invited luminaries to make every slot count.