No Time for Diplomacy

By JOHN KOHAN TBILISI

MANY TBILISI RESIDENTS ESCAPE to dachas in the hills above the Georgian capital during summer weekends, but not Eduard Shevardnadze. For the former Soviet Foreign Minister and current chairman of the republic's provisional State Council, affairs of state continue nonstop. Seven days a week, from 8:30 a.m. until well after midnight, Shevardnadze is on the job, working the battery of telephones on his desk beneath a silver icon of the madonna and child. On Monday fighting broke out again in the secessionist region of Abkhazia. On Tuesday Russian forces killed several Georgian guardsmen in the Abkhazian capital. Wednesday, hard-line nationalists attempted to open a new front in eastern Georgia. On Thursday Shevardnadze flew to Moscow to negotiate another Abkhazian cease-fire. The endless string of crises has set back his goal of building a democratic Georgia and taught Shevardnadze that his civilized style of negotiating, so admired in the West, does not work as well in a country where the other side is liable to pull out guns.

So it is not surprising that Shevardnadze has seldom had a day off since he returned last March to the small Caucasian republic where he ruled as Communist Party boss before Mikhail Gorbachev summoned him to Moscow in 1985. At a time in life when other senior statesmen would be content to write their memoirs, the 64-year-old diplomat has embarked on the riskiest mission of his career: bringing peace and stability to his homeland. There he daily faces more violence than he did as a major player in the cold war, as Georgia is beset by ethnic rebellions in the independence-minded regions of South Ossetia and Abkhazia and by a campaign of terrorist attacks by loyalists of deposed President Zviad Gamsakhurdia.

The fire-blackened walls of Tbilisi's Government House are a grim reminder of the street battle last December that toppled Gamsakhurdia, Georgia's first popularly elected President. The fervently patriotic Georgians had been quick to follow the lead of the Baltic republics in breaking away from Moscow early in 1990, but the majority admit they were duped by the charismatic nationalist, whose dictatorial policies turned democratic forces against him. * Gamsakhurdia instituted no economic reforms and left the state bureaucracy in a shambles. His worst legacy, though, was to set his compatriots on a collision course with ethnic minorities who felt threatened by his mystical notions of a Georgian state. Still, die-hard followers refuse to accept that his bungled experiment is over. With tacit support from the separatists, they are trying to destabilize what they view as the illegitimate regime in Tbilisi.

So why come back to so many troubles? Shevardnadze pauses a moment before answering. The melancholy look in his eyes hints at the strain of the past five months. There was never really any other choice for him. "I am a son of my people," he says. "I was motivated by fears of a widespread civil war." After traveling the globe to settle other nations' conflicts, the veteran peacemaker could hardly ignore the plight of his own people. And many of the same Georgians who accused Shevardnadze of being a Kremlin agent less than a year ago now believe he is the only man who can prevent their country from splitting apart. As a close adviser puts it, "He is a hostage of circumstances."

An unrepentant Gamsakhurdia has accused Shevardnadze of masterminding his downfall, conducting a ruthless crackdown on political opponents and "capitulating to Russia," but such charges are rooted in Gamsakhurdia's own obsessions. More moderate critics fault Shevardnadze for throwing his support too quickly to those who deposed the elected President. They fear that a restoration of a communist-style system is under way, with too few people wielding too much power.

Shevardnadze is fully aware of his shaky claim to legitimacy. He agreed to return only if elections for a new parliament were held as soon as possible. The vote has been set for October, but new obstacles keep cropping up. On the very day last June that Shevardnadze was scheduled to hammer out an accord on peacekeeping forces in South Ossetia with Russian President Boris Yeltsin, gunmen loyal to Gamsakhurdia tried -- and failed -- to seize the Tbilisi television center. Last month, after Shevardnadze issued a manifesto of reconciliation and released jailed Gamsakhurdia supporters, an armed band of them broke up peace talks the government was holding with the rebels by taking the Interior Minister and 11 other officials hostage.

The failure of his peace gesture was a painful lesson for the seasoned diplomat, who had been acting as if the same give-and-take rules of East-West , negotiations applied to Georgia's political wars. He abruptly ordered 3,000 national guards, under the command of Defense Minister Tengiz Kitovani, to take control of key transportation arteries and safe havens in Abkhazia that pro-Gamsakhurdia groups used to stage their attacks. But what began as a preventive strike aimed at releasing the kidnapped government officials soon escalated into a bloody conflict with local nationalists.

Kitovani's forces went well beyond their original mandate, advancing into the regional capital of Sukhumi, storming the local parliament and driving nationalist leaders into hiding. Whatever his reservations, Shevardnadze has taken full responsibility for the operation; now he will have to use all his diplomatic skills to shift the action from the streets back to the negotiating table.

Shevardnadze's position would be more secure if he could ensure that soldiers loyal to Kitovani eventually return to their barracks. But to save the country from breaking apart, few Georgians are ready to consider reducing the military's role, and Kitovani earned a hero's credit for his tough treatment of the separatists. There were plenty of brotherly embraces when Kitovani gathered with officials in Shevardnadze's office to welcome the return of a kidnapped minister, freed when Georgian troops entered Abkhazia. But the family atmosphere is deceptive: Tbilisi remains rife with political intrigue. As long as the powerful Defense Minister and his troops are not subject to parliamentary controls, another coup will always threaten. One aide says Shevardnadze's major concern now is "to ensure that the bullet-riddled, sinking ship gets safely into port for elections."

With more than 40 parties in the running, electing a new parliament seems more likely to increase political paralysis than to solve Georgia's problems. As Shevardnadze well knows, his countrymen may be famed as a nation of toastmasters, but eloquent speechmaking cannot compensate for the lack of democratic traditions. Still, the Georgian leader firmly believes the ballot box is the only way to force change. "There were some who wanted to turn power over to Shevardnadze," he says, "but I told them they were not going to make a dictator out of me." He plans to run for the post of parliamentary speaker as an independent, in an effort to stand apart from the squabbling parties and blocs. With no political or military power base he can trust, Shevardnadze has only one strong prop: his personal connections with the West. ; Whatever else they may think of Shevardnadze, Georgians take pride in the fact that he has friends in high places.

The reluctant leader often reflects upon the role his country could play in regional and global diplomacy. "Great policies are not made just by great powers," he says. "Small countries can make great policies too." But before he can turn his formidable talents to the international scene again, he must prove that he can bring order to his own troubled land and start Georgia moving steadily toward democracy and a free-market economy. By comparison, ending the cold war seemed easy.