Monday, Mar. 02, 1959

Hotel Diplomacy

In a fast fortnight, diplomats had pulled the fuse out of the Cyprus time bomb. They were rightfully hailed for their good will and their statesmanship. But it finally took old-fashioned steamroller tactics to turn the trick. The steamroller ran right across both the British and bearded Archbishop Makarios, the temperamental star of the Cyprus drama.

Once the Greeks and the Turks reached their offstage agreement in a Swiss hotel (TIME, Feb. 23), the other parties to the dispute found little room for maneuver. The British demanded--and got--sovereignty and access rights to their military bases on the island as the jump-off point for British operations in the Middle East. But by the terms of the settlement the British were forced to give up another shred of empire without much say about how it was done.

Makarios, 45, spiritual and political leader of the Greek Cypriot majority on Cyprus, arrived in London with an "open mind" and no less than 35 "advisers," most of whom he had not seen since being exiled three years ago. Under pressure from this traveling panorama of opinion--from Reds to the far right--he began to haggle over details. Makarios protested that the Greek Cypriot President of the new Republic of Cyprus (likely to be Makarios himself) would have the trappings of power but not the authority, since the Turkish Cypriot Vice President would have effective veto powers. Makarios also feared that the introduction of 950 Greek troops and 650 Turkish troops as "protecting forces" on the island might lead to clashes.

Take It or Leave It. To Makarios' suite at the Dorchester Hotel went Sir Hugh Foot, the British Governor of Cyprus, who has gained Makarios' confidence. For 90 minutes Foot made an urgent and eloquent plea to Makarios to summon up the courage to argue back with his advisers.

Greek Premier Constantine Karamanlis put it to Makarios bluntly. The Greek government was already bound by the Zurich agreement and had no intention of going back on it. Karamanlis laid down an ultimatum: take this agreement or bear the blame for wrecking the conference. With twelve hours to decide, Makarios spent the night "in prayer and reflection." Next morning at 8 he summoned his advisers, told them that he had decided to accept the agreement. The steamroller had worked.

That afternoon, the delegates approved the "agreed foundation for the final settlement of the problem of Cyprus" (Makarios had wanted to call it only "a basis"). After the three Prime Ministers signed the agreement in Menderes' hospital room, Harold Macmillan went before the House of Commons to pronounce it a "victory for reason and cooperation ... a victory for all."

Eating Crow. From the Laborites came shouts of "Ho! Ho!" and Opposition Leader Hugh Gaitskell commented sarcastically, "The government deserve particular credit for eating so many words and even inviting Archbishop Makarios to the conference." Macmillan huffed back at Gaitskell: "He never has been and never will be able to rise to the level of great events."

But there were words to eat, even if the chewing noises could not be heard in the general congratulations. Five years ago, when Britain abandoned its Suez base and retreated to Cyprus, a Tory minister assured everyone that Cyprus would "never" be released to independence. The Conservatives had also argued in the past that Greece and Turkey should have no say in the solution of a problem that, after all, concerned a British crown colony. Yet here were the British accepting the terms of a settlement handed down by the Greeks and Turks, ending British rule in a British colony. The Makarios whom the British had regarded as an ecclesiastical bushwhacker was now being welcomed in London. But then, this was no new experience: British jailbirds such as Nehru and Nkrumah have later been feted as pillars of the Commonwealth.

Nor were the British alone eating crow. The Greeks had to swallow their cries of enosis (union with Cyprus), and the Turks their talk of "partition or death."

Waiting for Joy. It had all happened so fast that many--including most Cyp-riots--felt a sense of relief but not yet of exhilaration. Their first responses were tentative and uncertain. Seven hundred young Turkish Cypriot students paraded through Nicosia, shouting the old cries--"Death to Makarios!"--but were easily dispersed. In one town Greek church bells pealed for 20 minutes after the London agreement was announced, then stopped. No one was quite sure how to react. What would happen to Colonel George Grivas, mysterious leader of the EOKA terrorist underground, who once pledged himself to keep on fighting, no matter if everyone else gave up? Would he be pardoned by the British, sit down with them as Makarios' Defense Minister, and regale NATO councils with advice on how to wage guerrilla war? What would happen to the island's strained economy if most of the British and their families pulled out?

When Governor Foot opened the gates this week for all 900 Greek Cypriot political prisoners held without trial in the British detention camps, thousands thronged Nicosia's streets to welcome them. But Cyprus still awaited the return of Makarios and of the Turkish Cypriot leaders to be convinced that independence was real and something to celebrate. On an island ringed with barbed wire and stalked by terror for four years, it was not easy to forget overnight.

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