All Hell Breaking Loose
By James Kelly
As the Gemayel government crumbles, the U.S. both fires and falls back
Even for a city that has learned to live with fear and blood as easily as other places cope with traffic jams and smog, the battle was terrifying. There was no warning as the gangs of Muslim militiamen, many dressed in civvies and cloth masks, swept into West Beirut to fight the Lebanese Army soldiers. The dreaded chatter of automatic rifles cleared the streets, trapping thousands in homes and offices. Those who dared peek from behind curtains or doorways saw flashes of chaos: a gunman scrambling madly, a car ablaze, someone shouting something to somebody out of sight.
As darkness fell, the combat grew into the most savage street fighting West Beirut has seen since Lebanon slipped into civil war nine years ago. Afraid of what the night would bring, many sought refuge in basements, stairwells, wherever they stood the best chance of surviving a direct hit by grenade or mortar. Every minute seemed to bring the sounds of rockets screeching overhead and slamming into buildings. Even the usual wails of crisis could not be heard: the streets had grown so dangerous that ambulances and fire trucks did not risk making runs.
When the shooting stopped, West Beirut was under the full control of Muslim militiamen for the first time in more than a year. As people scurried to stock up on bread and bottled water in case the fighting flared up again, they could see how much damage had been done. Gaping holes riddled the upper floors of apartment buildings, snapped trees littered the streets, and burned-out cars still smoldered on nearly every block. Shattered glass and chunks of masonry lay everywhere. At the American University Hospital, doctors raced to make room for the rush of wounded, while the morgues quickly filled up. An estimated 300 people died, and 1,000 were injured in the latest round of terror.
At stake in the fighting was the survival of the government of Amin Gemayel, 42, the boyish Maronite Christian who has been President since September 1982. As Gemayel's hold on power crumbled last week, the Reagan Administration hastily changed the rules of its support for him. In a dramatic reversal, a White House spokesman announced that Ronald Reagan was ordering the phased "redeployment" of the 1,600 Marines stationed at Beirut airport to ships offshore. At the same time, the President authorized increased naval and air strikes against Syrian-controlled factions that were firing into Beirut, thereby breaking with the practice of retaliating only when U.S. forces were directly imperiled. Despite Washington's avowals that it was not "cutting and running," as many critics charged, the initial reaction at home and abroad was that Reagan was responding to his domestic critics who had been demanding that he get the U.S. out of Lebanon.
But then the horrible sounds of war rang again, this time not from around the corner but from the sea. For nine consecutive hours one day last week, the 16-in. guns of the U.S. battleship New Jersey boomed out, sending nearly 300 one-ton shells crashing into the hills behind Beirut. With each blast, the ground shook and windows rattled throughout the city. The bombardment, which ranged from near Shuweifat, just south of Beirut, to Chtaura, some 30 miles east of the capital, was directed at artillery and missile batteries in Syrian-controlled areas, which U.S. officials contended had been attacking Christian-dominated East Beirut for the past week. The U.S., it suddenly seemed, was not pulling out but deepening its military involvement. Not only did the new policy appear contradictory, but American officials further muddied matters by disagreeing publicly over what the presidential directives meant. At issue was not only the fate of Lebanon but the credibility of the U.S. in the region.
Confusing signals emanated from both Washington and California, where the President was on a five-day vacation. Though Reagan set no timetable for the Marine withdrawal, White House aides said initially that the first 500 would be removed by the end of February. Testifying before the House Foreign Affairs Committee, Defense Secretary Caspar Weinberger said the plan was only tentative, then added that the Administration "would see what situation developed with regard to the balance." To the consternation of his listeners, Weinberger insisted, "We are not leaving Lebanon."
In Santa Barbara, White House Spokesman Larry Speakes contended that the attacks against Syrian-held positions were designed not to shore up the Gemayel government, as Reagan had first implied, but to protect the Marines. Yet the barrage from the New Jersey last week came after the shelling of East Beirut; the Marines, whose base is three miles south of the city, had not come under attack. The flip-flop was meant to silence complaints on Capitol Hill that the bombardment violated the terms of the October congressional resolution, which authorized the deployment of the Marines in Lebanon until April 1985. House Speaker Tip O'Neill, who has become an outspoken critic of the Administration's policy in Lebanon, remained unmollified. Said the Massachusetts Democrat, who initially endorsed the Marine deployment: "[Reagan] is going much further than I ever expected him to go."
At week's end the Administration was doing a better job of explaining its policies. Stressing that the timing of the Marine withdrawal remained flexible, a senior White House official said he was "optimistic" that it would be completed within a month. An estimated 200 Marines would stay behind, primarily to guard the U.S. embassy. In addition, a contingent of American military trainers and technical advisers, per haps as many as 100 or more, would be stationed ashore to help instruct the Lebanese Army. The White House official explained that the New Jersey barrage against Syrian-controlled positions was a direct response to heavy shelling of the U.S. ambassador's residence in the hills above Beirut. At one point, about 20 rounds rained down on the compound; though the main building suffered a direct hit, no one was hurt. Said the official: "The Syrians could have avoided all this, but they willfully inspired the artillery fire."
Before dawn on the morning after the President's announcement, Britain moved its 115-man contingent to the port of Jounieh, north of Beirut; the troops were ferried by helicopter to a British ship off the Lebanese coast. The Italians announced that they would gradually withdraw their 1,200 soldiers in the Multi-National Force, but France said it would leave its 1,250 men in Beirut for the time being. Paris concentrated its efforts on getting a United Nations peace-keeping force to replace the four-nation MultiNational Force. Said President Francois Mitterrand: "The French contingent is not in Lebanon to remain indefinitely."
The big winner last week was Syria, which has vigorously supported anti-Gemayel forces and demanded the removal of U.S. troops. Besides continuing to maintain 62,000 troops in northern and eastern Lebanon, Syria will probably get the Gemayel government--if it survives--to renounce Lebanon's May 17, 1982, accord with Israel. The agreement granted Jerusalem certain political and trade privileges, as well as security arrangements for southern Lebanon in exchange for a promise that Israeli troops would withdraw when the Syrians did. To the extent that Moscow backs Syrian President Hafez Assad and welcomes any setback to the U.S. and its allies, the Soviet Union also benefited. As a sign that it is eager to increase its role in the Middle East, the Kremlin announced, shortly before President Yuri Andropov's death last week, that Geidar Aliyev, a Politburo member from Azerbaijan, a predominantly Muslim republic in the Soviet Union, would go to Damascus this week for a "brief working visit." The trip was quietly postponed when it became apparent that Andropov's condition was critical.
To the Israelis, last week's developments foreshadowed the loss of the few remaining gains won in the costly 1982 invasion. The stillborn May 17 accord once held the promise of being Israel's second peace treaty with a neighbor, after the 1979 pact with Egypt. Moreover, if Gemayel resigns, Jerusalem will face the prospect of a far less friendly government on its northern border. Israel has been hoping to withdraw its 22,000 troops from southern Lebanon, where they are the frequent targets of sniper and terrorist attacks. The chaos in Beirut makes a pullback riskier now.
Gemayel spent the week bunkered down in the presidential palace in Baabda, overlooking his anguished city. Once derisively dubbed "the mayor of Beirut," the beleaguered President could not even claim that distinction after the takeover of West Beirut and the disintegration of the Lebanese Army. With shells crashing into the nearby "hillside and occasionally hitting his palace, Gemayel desperately tried to cobble together a new government following the resignation of Prime Minister Chafik al Wazzan and his nine-member Cabinet.
Gemayel's latest troubles began two weeks ago, when fierce fighting broke out between the Lebanese Army and militiamen in the predominantly Shi'ite suburbs south of the capital. Rumors had circulated that the army was preparing to move into the area to crush the forces of the Shi'ite organization Amal. According to U.S. officials, Army Commander Ibrahim Tannous also wanted to cut off an eleven-mile-long corridor that was being used to ferry weapons from Druze outposts in the Chouf Mountains to the Shi'ite militiamen. Tannous' offensive quickly stalled, however, and Amal forces seized three army outposts. Government troops retaliated by shelling the densely populated southern suburbs.
The assault infuriated Amal Leader Nabih Berri, who is known as one of Lebanon's more pragmatic opposition figures. For the first time, he joined Druze Chieftain Walid Jumblatt in calling for Gemayel's resignation. More important, he urged three Muslim members of the Cabinet to quit, prompting Wazzan, a Sunni Muslim, to quit as well. Gemayel tried frantically but failed to find a respected Muslim politician to replace Wazzan (according to Lebanese political tradition, the Prime Minister is always a Sunni while the President is a Maronite Christian). Gemayel then appeared on TV, offering an eight-point plan to appease his critics. His proposals included resuming national reconciliation talks in Geneva on Feb. 27 and giving Muslims more seats in parliament, but he also made it clear that any issue could be discussed. "Everything is negotiable," he solemnly declared.
The offer proved to be too little, too late. Around noon the next day, Lebanese Army troops and Amal militiamen clashed along the city's "green line," which divides Christian East Beirut from the mainly Muslim western sector. According to Amal leaders, the battle began when they discovered that the army was beefing up its forces in West Beirut with a brigade dominated by the members of the Christian Phalange, a right-wing militia that the Shi'ites regard as their bitter enemy. Yet Amal's rapid response suggested that the attack had been well planned.
The fighting escalated into a vicious struggle for all of West Beirut. Amal forces were joined by Druze fighters and members of the Murabitun, a left-wing militia that was thought to have disbanded after the Israeli withdrawal from West Beirut. At 1:30 p.m. on Monday, the army declared a curfew and warned that anyone found on the streets would be "shot without warning."
Shops closed quickly, but the surge of motorists heading home snarled traffic. Pedestrians, some clutching children, ran or walked briskly along the streets, hurried on by the distant sounds of gunfire. "They are going to start again," complained a grocer as he pulled down the steel shutters in front of his store. "This was coming for some time."
It soon became apparent, however, that the battle was as much for the hearts and minds of the army as for territory. Heeding a call from Berri, Shi'ite members of the Lebanese Army deserted in droves. Many of them joined the Amal militia, surrendering equipment like armored personnel carriers. A few army outposts fell without a shot being fired, while others were taken only after ferocious battles. In many places, local ceasefires were arranged; army soldiers were allowed to keep their weapons if they promised not to use them.
The army's performance under pressure was a major disappointment for Gemayel and the U.S. Torn apart by the 1975-76 civil war, the Lebanese Army was virtually nonexistent until 1982. After the Israeli invasion, the U.S. helped Gemayel rebuild a well-integrated force of 32,000, of whom about 60% were Muslim and 40% Christian. Though many Muslim soldiers resented the fact that most of their officers were Christian, the army performed surprisingly well when faced with its first tests. The soldiers cleared the Muslim militias out of West Beirut in late 1982 and succeeded, with the help of U.S. naval fire, in quelling the battle between Druze and Christians in the Chouf Mountains last September.
With that victory, however, the army began to crack along sectarian lines. At the urging of Druze Leader Jumblatt, some 800 Druze soldiers deserted. With the defection of thousands of Shi'ites last week, the army was on the verge of collapse. If Gemayel orders his commanders to retake West Beirut, fighting could easily break out among army regulars.
Yet Berri and Jumblatt, ironically, could still save the army as an institution. Although they called upon Muslim soldiers not to fight last week, both leaders want to preserve the units that support them. If and when a political settlement is reached that gives them a greater share of power, Berri and Jumblatt do not want to face the task of rebuilding an army from scratch.
Nor do the Muslim leaders wish to inherit a city more divided than it already is. On Wednesday, after an uneven peace settled over West Beirut, a joint security committee representing Amal, the Druze and the Murabitun issued a set of guidelines. Besides turning West Beirut over to internal police forces, the group outlawed kidnaping, the seizing of homes and the carrying of arms in the area. Muslim militiamen were ordered to return vehicles commandeered during battle and to report to the green line, where sporadic duels with the Phalange and army units still loyal to Gemayel persisted through the week. By Saturday, the police were gradually taking control of West Beirut, though many militia checkpoints remained in place.
During some of the worst moments of fighting, U.S. Special Envoy Donald Rumsfeld huddled with Gemayel to review the shaky Lebanese government's options. Rumsfeld was on the phone talking to the White House from the U.S. ambassador's residence in Baabda when the compound was shelled, so he was in an ideal position to give Washington a vivid description of how bad things were. On Friday, the U.S. embassy offered to evacuate any of the estimated 1,500 American civilians in Beirut who wished to leave. Broadcast over the Voice of America, the news sent hundreds of Americans, suitcases in hand, to the seafront British embassy and waiting helicopters. Over the course of two days, some 1,100 people were airlifted to ships of the Sixth Fleet, bound for Cyprus. About half were American citizens, the others were Europeans and Asians. The British evacuated 400 civilians, and the Italians prepared to remove others. Margaret Cummings, originally from Queens, N.Y., has spent the past 22 years in Lebanon. "I stayed through the civil war, and it was nothing like what happened last week," she said as she sat on her suitcase outside the embassy, waiting for her passport to be checked. "I thought I was going to die."
At week's end the chances for Gemayel's survival improved slightly. After meeting in Damascus for two days, the leaders of the National Salvation Front, including Jumblatt, former President Suleiman Franjieh and former Prime Minister Rashid Karami, listed their demands. The trio asked for a hand in rebuilding the Lebanese Army and rescinding legislative decrees that they contended favor the Christians; as expected, the group also insisted on scrapping the May 17 Israeli-Lebanese accord. Significantly, the front did not call for Gemayel's resignation. His aides greeted the declaration with guarded optimism. According to a Gemayel adviser, the Lebanese President's reaction was, "O.K., all the points are negotiable. Let's see if we can't start talking about them."
Despite that promising overture, Gemayel's position had been measurably weakened by the U.S. decision. For months Reagan had insisted that the Marines must remain in Lebanon as symbols of U.S. support for the embattled Lebanese President. "As long as there is a chance for peace, the mission remains the same," Reagan had said only two weeks ago. "If we get out, that means the end of Lebanon." Despite efforts by Administration officials to paint the policy shift as purely a tactical maneuver, the withdrawal was widely interpreted not just as an admission of failure by the U.S. but as a loss of faith in Gemayel's capacity to hold his government together.
The reassessment of the Marines' role began immediately after the Oct. 23 suicide bombing, which killed 241 servicemen. Weinberger, along with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, urged that the Marines be transferred offshore, Secretary of State George Shultz was adamant that they be kept at the airport. National Security Adviser Robert McFarlane sided with Shultz but he also asked the Pentagon to come up with redeployment options within Lebanon. The Defense Department, however, kept pressuring for a withdrawal to the sea.
Further events conspired against the Shultz position. Congress clamored more loudly for a pullout, while opinion polls showed that a majority of Americans opposed the Administration's Lebanon policies. By mid-January it also became clear that a security plan designed to separate the warring factions and extend the Lebanese Army's control around Beirut would not be carried out. When Rumsfeld returned from his latest tour of the region with an especially gloomy report, Shultz decided that something had to be done.
The question, of course, was what. McFarlane already had ordered his staff to devise a plan that would get the Marines out of the line of fire but still give Gemayel support. On the weekend of Jan. 21-22, Shultz invited McFarlane and Rumsfeld to his suburban Maryland home to ponder U.S. options. Shultz decided to accept Weinberger's withdrawal plan, but only if the Pentagon agreed to expand the rules of engagement and allow naval and air strikes against Syrian positions. An increase in military muscle, in effect, was Shultz's price for redeployment to the ships. "What we are saying with the New Jersey is that we are taking our guys out of the bull's-eye, but don't mistake that for an abandonment of U.S. objectives," explained a senior diplomat. "We are letting Syria know that they do not have carte blanche."
Afraid that the U.S. might become even more deeply mired in Lebanon, Weinberger opposed the new rules, but he reluctantly went along. On Jan. 26, Reagan approved the basic outline. Shultz, now flush with the fervor of a convert, decided that Weinberger was dragging his heels on working up the details. The Secretary of State asked McFarlane to have the Joint Chiefs of Staff complete the plans on their own. The new draft, which became a National Security Decision Directive, was approved by Reagan "in principle" on Feb. 1. Besides describing the Marine pullback and the new combat policy, the proposal detailed measures for beefing up the Lebanese Army, including more training, intelligence gathering and equipment. The precise schedule for carrying out the plan was left open, pending consultation with Gemayel and the other MNF nations.
Three days later, however, the Lebanese Cabinet resigned, precipitating Gemayel's worst week in office. For Reagan the timing could not have been worse. At an emergency National Security Council meeting on Sunday afternoon, the President decided to go ahead with the pullback. The Administration had planned to consult with Gemayel and its MNF allies about its plan, then have the Lebanese President publicly request the withdrawal of the peace-keeping forces. Instead, Gemayel was told of the decision on Monday, while Washington dispatched notes to London, Paris and Rome officially informing them of the unilateral move. When word leaked out, the public statement, originally scheduled for Thursday, was moved up to Tuesday, which only contributed to the impression of haste. Arriving in California after giving a speech in Las Vegas, Reagan sat aboard Air Force One for 20 minutes editing the announcement, which his aides had barely finished writing.
The policy shift produced more questions than answers. If the Marines were in danger, why not a faster withdrawal? Washington continued to argue that time was needed to prepare the Lebanese Army to take responsibility for security at Beirut's airport. Last week's performance by government troops, however, did not inspire confidence in their ability to do the job. Some Pentagon officials pointed out that millions of dollars' worth of equipment must be airlifted, while others contended that the delay was primarily a political decision. Said a Defense Department staffer: "The White House doesn't want to appear to be retreating."
Once on the ships, the Marines would still be vulnerable to kamikaze air attacks. Indeed, some critics contend that after last October's truck bombing, the Marines became so security conscious that they might actually be safer at the airport than at sea. Admiral James D. Watkins, Chief of Naval Operations, stressed last week that the 20-ship flotilla now off the Lebanese coast, which includes two aircraft carriers, had instructions to fire warning shots at suspicious aircraft or vessels. Some of the ships have been supplied with Stinger shoulder-fired antiaircraft missiles, while the U.S.S. Ticonderoga boasts an Aegis antimissile system capable of tracking 18 separate incoming targets at one time.
The naval and air strikes carry even greater risks. The attacks invite retaliation against the Marines remaining at the airport during the staged withdrawal. The bombardments might make it more difficult for Gemayel to strike a deal with his Syrian-backed opponents, while stray shells that destroy towns and kill civilians will only further alienate the Lebanese. Finally, the infuriated Syrians might respond with their own barrage, thereby sparking a wider conflict.
Administration officials argued that the shelling has protected Marine lives by signaling to the Syrians that they would not be safe from U.S. reprisals. As punishment for the attacks against the U.S. ambassador's residence, the bombardment focused on the batteries near the towns of Fulugha and Mamana, above Baabda. According to a White House official, the naval cannonades would diminish dramatically once Gemayel's fate was known. Said he: "The only real purpose was to give Gemayel some time to save his posterior."
At week's end Gemayel was still scrambling to do just that. His best hope was to glue together an interim government, with the promise that progress will finally be made in the reconciliation talks. Though Berri and Jumblatt demanded Gemayel's removal, the Sunni Muslims have refrained from doing so lest the Shi'ites gain too much power. Though the Shi'ites outnumber the Sunnis in Lebanon (1.5 million vs. 800,000), the Sunnis traditionally have wielded more influence. The country's sectarian divisions may actually work to Gemayel's advantage: if they are unable to agree on a replacement, the factions might decide to stick with him after all--. Said a top White House aide last Friday: "I give Gemayel a 60-to-40 chance as of today."
The only bargaining chip he had left was the May 17 Lebanese-Israeli accord. Shultz remains wedded to the pact, partly because he considers it his major diplomatic achievement; but most U.S. officials, notably Defense Secretary Caspar Weinberger, have concluded that the agreement must be sacrificed. In their view, the choice is a Gemayel regime without the accord, or a less friendly successor without the accord. Gemayel remains unsure of how to jettison the agreement; according to U.S. diplomats, the Lebanese President is still telling Muslims he never ratified the pact, while reminding the Israelis and Christians that he never abandoned it. "Gemayel is still trying to walk the fence," says an American official. "He'll stay on it as long as possible."
The question now is whether the Phalangists will allow Gemayel to make concessions or whether they will try to fight it out in West Beirut. If Gemayel cannot form a new Cabinet acceptable both to his Christian supporters and to the Muslim militias that defeated his army last week, he will have virtually no chance of staying in power. One probable scenario would be for Gemayel to appoint a Cabinet of military officers, as President Bishara Khoury did in 1952, then announce that he was resigning for the good of the country. An interim government might be headed by Army Commander Tannous, a Maronite Christian; a new Cabinet would serve as a caretaker government until the parliament elected a new President.
The leading civilian contenders for the job would include Raymond Edde, age 70, a Maronite political exile living in Paris, and Suleiman Franjieh, 73, a Maronite who served as President of Lebanon from 1970 to 1976 and is now an ally of Jumblatt's in the Syrian-backed National Salvation Front. Edde, who went into exile because of fears of assassination, is the country's most popular politician, mainly because of his gilt-edged reputation for honesty. He is also stubborn, which would probably earn him a veto from Syria. Franjieh, on the other hand, is obviously on good terms with Damascus, and would enjoy its support.
If Gemayel does survive, it will only be with Syrian support. Besides abandoning the May 17 accord, he could be forced to appoint as Prime Minister a Syrian sympathizer like former Prime Minister Rashid Karami. Gemayel would have to loosen his ties with Israel and reduce Lebanon's dependence on Washington. Whatever happens, Syria is virtually certain to have additional leverage over Lebanon.
Most experts, however, believe that Syria neither seeks nor could obtain complete domination. "Syria's role is not now and, unless the U.S. forces the issue, never will be absolute," says William Quandt, a senior fellow at the Brookings Institution. "Lebanon cannot have a foreign policy that is fundamentally hostile to Syria, or to Israel for that matter. But it can remain independent and have an internal political life far freer than what is found in Syria."
Many Middle East specialists suggest that the U.S., instead of ordering the New Jersey to fire at the Syrians, should try harder to engage in a dialogue with them. The Reagan Administration is hampered by the fact that it still views Syria as little more than a Soviet puppet, although Assad is at best a prickly partner for Moscow. On the other hand, many experts believe that if Washington persists in spoiling for a battle with Syria, Assad will only gain prestige in the Middle East for standing up to a superpower. If the U.S. respects Syria's interests, its wily leaders may respond positively. Says Judith Kipper, resident fellow at the American Enterprise Institute: "The Syrians are very eager to be treated as grownups and taken seriously."
Despite the further splintering of Lebanon, U.S. policymakers still subscribe, at least publicly, to the goals that they have always stated for the country: a broad-based government, a fairer division of national power and the withdrawal of all foreign forces. Honorable objectives, to be sure, but Washington may be realizing that their achievement is beyond its reach. Even Shultz did not sound optimistic. "Well, it's simply got to be possible," he told the House Foreign Affairs Committee last week, "but I can't point to things that suggest any high probability in the future."
Pithier assessments could be ob| tained at Beirut airport, where preparations for the Marine withdrawal --were already under way. "There doesn't seem to have been any point in all those Marines dying," said Corporal Stacy Spina, 22, of Williams, Minn. "Sometimes you get mad at the politicians and the world." Lance Corporal Charles Johnson, 22, of Louisville, Ky., told how he was looking forward to getting out. "There is no sense being here as sitting ducks," he said. "We are not serving any useful purpose." As he spoke, Army trucks loaded with diesel generators rumbled by. The convoy drove across the runway to the beach, where helicopters hoisted their cargo and ferried it out to ships on the horizon.
If stationing the Marines in Lebanon was a mistake, the inept handling of last week's policy reversal only compounded the error. The new tack, moreover, seemed no more sensible than the old, and it may stand no better chance of succeeding. "Who is running the show in there now?" Major Dennis Brooks, the Marine spokesman, asked last week, cocking his head toward Beirut. He did not know, nor, alas, did the policymakers in Washington. --By James Kelly.
With reporting by John Borrell, William Stewart, Laurence I. Barrett