Strange Sounds of Silence

By James Kelly

Cease-fire No. 179: A respite or a move toward reconciliation?

The early signs hardly seemed propitious. As representatives of Lebanon's fractious factions prepared to discuss the freshly announced cease-fire last week, the meeting was suddenly scrubbed because the delegates could not agree on where to gather. After a day of delicate negotiating, a neutral site for the newly formed "security committee" was chosen: a deserted bank building in the hamlet of Al Mahattah, halfway between the Druze town of Shuweifat and the Christian village of Kfar Shima, about three miles south of Beirut. Around 11 a.m. they began pulling up in their Land Rovers. Gathering in the same place were emissaries of the Lebanese Army, the Christian political alliance known as the Lebanese Front, the Druze-led National Salvation Front and the Amal Shi'ite militia.

Then, just the sort of scene that makes Lebanon so maddeningly difficult to fathom occurred. The four men, mortal enemies for the most part, behaved like chums at a class reunion. "One might have thought they had all known each other," marveled an observer. "A very friendly group, with no tension in the air."

During the past decade, Lebanon has endured 178 cease-fires (assuming any such count can be accurate), so the prospects for No. 179 were not exactly sunny. Will the country's bitter porridge of sects and fiefs all honor the cease-fire and negotiate a fairer division of national power, or will the pause simply be used to rest up and rearm before the bloodletting commences again? For many Lebanese, the answer is too depressing to contemplate. Says a Beirut professor: "It is only a respite, and we must take advantage of it to see our friends and enjoy life a little while it lasts."

The truce survived its first week with no major wounds, despite bouts of shelling in the southern Chouf and stray sniper fire in Beirut. Much of the credit belonged to the Lebanese Army, which refused to respond to provocations in the capital's southern suburbs. The most encouraging sign came on Thursday, when Beirut International Airport reopened after being shut down for four weeks. As the first incoming plane, a red-and-white Middle East Airlines Boeing 707 from Saudi Arabia, circled over Beirut several times, people in the streets pointed skyward and cheered.

With the guns of Lebanon finally silent, the Marines for the first time in more than a month could move around without flak jackets and helmets. Uniforms were being cleaned, and officers at the 1,200-man Marine compound at Beirut International Airport were again conducting inspections of weapons and barracks. In Washington, Congress found it easier to approve a compromise that allows the Reagan Administration to keep the Marines there for an additional 18 months. A reluctant House of Representatives passed the measure, 270 to 161, while an even less enthusiastic Senate endorsed it, 54 to 46. The debate in both chambers reflected widespread fears about a deepening U.S. involvement in the region.

Republican Congressman Barber Conable of New York best summed up his colleagues' sentiments: "It's a choice between sure disaster if we pull out and possible disaster if we stay. It's a very unhappy choice."

In the arduous negotiations that led to the truce, Saudi Arabian Prince Bandar ibn Sultan and U.S. Special Envoy Robert McFarlane purposely left certain provisions vague. The three main elements all require further tinkering: 1) the cease-fire will be monitored by "neutral observers"; 2) a Lebanese "security committee" will decide on a permanent force to patrol the Chouf Mountains; and 3) most important, Lebanon's major groups will be called together for a conference of national reconciliation. In addition to President Amin Gemayel, the dozen invitees include Camille Chamoun, head of the Christian Lebanese Front; Pierre Gemayel, the President's father and founder of the right-wing Christian Phalange; the leaders of the Syrian-backed National Salvation Front (including Druze Chieftain Walid Jumblatt); Nabih Berri of the Amal Shi'ite militia; and former Prime Minister Saeb Salam, a Sunni Muslim. Both Syria and Saudi Arabia will be allowed to send observers.

After meeting three times last week in the bank building at Al Mahattah, the four-man security committee agreed to open the highway south of Beirut and to set up a joint liaison center at which cease-fire violations could be reported. The delegates, however, failed to concur on who would be stationed at the outpost or where it would be located. Meanwhile, there is disagreement over the "neutral observers" in the field who will watch over the ceasefire. The U.S., along with the members of the Multi-National Force (France, Italy and Britain), are pressing for a force of 600 that would in some way be affiliated with the U.N. In a blistering speech to the U.N. General Assembly in New York City last week, however, Syrian Foreign Minister Abdel Halim Khaddam rejected any U.N. connection. His dubious reasoning: it would symbolize the permanent partition of Lebanon.

President Gemayel has begun to poll the leaders of various Lebanese groups to set an agenda for the political summit. Since many of the scheduled participants have feuded for years, he is deliberately not pushing for an early date. The first session is likely to be held in Saudi Arabia, perhaps as early as this week.

The challenge will be to persuade the country's Christian groups, which have long held the upper hand politically, to concede more power and rights to the Muslims, who represent a majority of the country's 3.5 million inhabitants. "It's going to take some time for the Christians to accept the realities and compromises," predicts a senior U.S. diplomat. "It's going to take a lot of shouting matches, trading and perhaps violence." President Gemayel knows that his government's survival depends on ceding some authority to the country's other sects, but a number of his fellow Christians are sure to resist the change. There are already signs that the Lebanese Front, the Christian political alliance led by Chamoun and Pierre Gemayel, is deeply divided. Both men support the talks; as Chamoun told TIME last week, "We can agree with 90% of what the Muslim leaders say they want." Yet the group's military wing, which is still recovering from the pounding it received from the Druze over the past month, is unhappy with the accord. Says a senior Christian militia officer: "A cease-fire is in our interest at the moment because it allows us to take a deep breath. After we have had a chance to regroup, we will see."

As intractable as the internal squabbling may be, the fate of Lebanon may ultimately rest with Syria. As Syrian President Hafez Assad has amply shown, he can make or break any settlement in the country. By finally recognizing this reality and assuring Assad that the U.S. realizes that Syria has legitimate interests in Lebanon, McFarlane helped to win Assad's approval for the ceasefire. Exactly what else the U.S. might have promised Assad is unknown, though American officials insist that no secret commitments were made. Some U.S. diplomats, however, hint that Washington is prepared to grant Assad a formal role in the broader realm of Palestinian peace talks.

Many U.S. officials privately doubt that the new line of accommodation will work. They suspect that Syria is simply using the truce to regroup, with the aim of toppling the Gemayel government. Perhaps. But Washington and Beirut have always been puzzled about Syrian aims. Ultimately, Syria wants to be recognized as a pivotal powerbroker in the Middle East, but its tactics are sometimes elusive. Although Assad has proved himself to be the master of the game, what his game is remains a mystery. --By James Kelly. Reported by Johanna McGeary/Washington and William Stewart/Beirut

With reporting by Johanna McGeary, William Stewart This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.