The Walls Came Tumbling Down

By Bruce W. Nelan

In blazing Mediterranean sunshine, Yasser Arafat crossed the border from Egypt into the Gaza Strip, dropped to his knees and kissed the sandy soil. As the welcoming crowd cheered and waved black-red-green-and-white flags, he was surrounded by officials and security men from the Palestine Liberation Organization. He and his aides piled into a convoy of cars and trucks carrying armed guards and sped along the main north-south route into Gaza City. Thousands of supporters roared a welcome outside the building where the Israeli army of occupation had its local headquarters until last May.

The initial return of Yasser Arafat, awaited so long by his Palestinian followers and dreaded by so many Israelis, went surprisingly smoothly. There was one brief scare: two Israelis working for the Israel Broadcasting Authority were seized by Palestinian security personnel for possessing handguns but were later released.

The long-delayed arrival brought to fruition the tentative peace agreement that Arafat and Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin approved on the White House lawn last September. When he stepped onto Palestinian land for the first time in 27 years last Friday, Arafat was wearing his usual green military- style uniform, holstered pistol and checkered kaffiyeh. But he acknowledged that he must now switch roles from guerrilla leader to head of government. "We need national unity," he told a crowd of 70,000, who repeatedly drowned out his words with cheers. "Big, big, big, big missions await us -- to build this homeland and rebuild what the occupation has destroyed."

Arafat basked in the ululations, flashed the V-sign and tossed white carnations into the throng. Yet even amid the euphoria, there were doubts about the future. Medical technician Ayman Nasrallah said he was glad Arafat had returned because "it symbolizes the cooling down of the Palestinians. Until recently, Arafat represented the gun; now he represents peace." But asked whether Arafat would be a good Governor, Nasrallah replied, "No. He has no qualifications to be head of state."

Arafat's visit was scheduled for just three or four days. Soon he will have to return to establish a permanent presence in the territories that Israel captured in the 1967 war. He and his colleagues will have to construct a functioning government on the first bits of occupied land handed back for Palestinian self-rule. In the teeming and poverty-ridden Gaza Strip and the tiny West Bank enclave of Jericho, the P.L.O. must prove that it can make a success of governance. If that goes well, Israel has promised to hand over the whole of the occupied West Bank, excluding East Jerusalem, to Palestinian administration. But if Arafat and his comrades prove unable to keep order and build a viable society, the Israelis could call a halt to the experiment. Many Palestinians fear that Arafat may fail them and that the effort to build something new will collapse.

Some Israelis -- and some Palestinians -- still hope for that failure and are willing to use violence to defeat the tentative peace process. Israeli troops and Palestinian soldiers sealed off the Gaza Strip so cars from Israel could not enter during Arafat's visit, but an estimated 100,000 hard-line Israelis rallied in Jerusalem on Saturday, crying "Death to Rabin!" and "Death to Arafat!" On Thursday, others had clashed with police, set fires on streets and threw rocks at Palestinian cars. One settlers' group offered a $33,000 reward for Arafat's capture. Islamic extremists, who also oppose the peace agreement, claimed responsibility for shooting and wounding two Israeli soldiers in the Gaza Strip and called the attack "a present for Arafat."

Still, the relative order surrounding Arafat's entry into Gaza was remarkable, all the more so because the trip was organized on just two days' notice. His decision to make the visit last week was vintage Arafat: solitary, sudden and unpredictable. He gave no one a preview of his intentions. Last month, after checking into a Tunis hospital to recover from exhaustion, he told an aide, "I have the right to take sick leave." Nodding sympathetically, his adviser suggested that he take two or three months off. "At least," responded Arafat. Two weeks later, he decided to go to Gaza.

Although the announcement was surprising, his arrival was long overdue. The Palestinians of the Gaza Strip and the West Bank had been expecting Arafat since May 4, when Israel and the P.L.O. signed the autonomy agreements that transferred administrative authority over the Jericho enclave and most of the Gaza Strip. The Israeli security forces then withdrew, and thousands of Palestinian security forces took over. Yet the Chairman remained at P.L.O. headquarters in Tunis. His close associates began to speculate on the reasons why. Some said he was waiting for their share of border controls to be turned over to Palestinians. Others said he was unwilling to arrive without ready cash in his pocket to pay off supporters. Some Palestinians, fed up at the delay, even suggested Arafat was afraid he would be assassinated.

The day before the visit was announced, a P.L.O. spokesman in Tunis confirmed to reporters that Arafat would be meeting Israeli Prime Minister Rabin and Foreign Minister Shimon Peres in Paris this week. He insisted, though, that no date had been set for the Chairman's visit to Gaza and Jericho. It was not a deception; Arafat simply did not confide his plans to anyone until Wednesday. Says Mohammed Sobeih, secretary-general of the Palestine National Council: "Arafat wants to keep everything in his hands. His trust in people is limited."

That operating style is becoming a liability. Arafat's ingrained, lifetime habits of secrecy and high-handedness have already caused serious splits among the P.L.O. leadership and deep concern among the rank and file. Even many of his closest, most loyal associates believe he is incapable of transforming himself from guerrilla chief to government executive, which he must do if he is to create the new state they regard as the inevitable outcome of the Palestinian struggle. They are worried that if he cannot make that transition, the Palestinians of the West Bank and Gaza will rebel against his authoritarian style. "If he tries to be a dictator, he will be thrown out," says a member of the P.L.O. executive committee. "Our people will not accept it."

Though Arafat's arrival in the Gaza Strip marked another step toward the beginning of Palestinian self-rule, much remains to be done. Public security was successfully handed over to Palestinian security forces in May. But civilian administration of Gaza and Jericho -- in such matters as education, health, taxation, postal service -- has remained in limbo. Arafat has named 18 of the 24 members of the Palestinian Authority that will administer the areas until elections are held, but they have established no real control yet. Hours before Arafat's appearance last week, Haidar Abdel-Shafi, a former Palestinian negotiator, said, "We want to change to a democratic system. We have had enough symbols and romance."

There is considerable doubt about how swiftly Arafat will delegate real responsibility to the Authority and when elections for a Palestinian legislative council will be held. One of his lieutenants has proposed that he appoint a vice-chairman of the Authority to be responsible for running the territorial governments day-to-day, pending elections that would possibly take place next year. But Arafat has shown no inclination to accept that plan or any other that would require him to share his power. "The Palestinian Authority," complains a senior P.L.O. official, "consists entirely of yes- men." Says a Western diplomat: "Arafat is in no hurry for elections. He will try to structure them to prevent a challenge to his pre-eminence."

Two of Arafat's closest associates -- Farouk Kaddoumi and Mahmoud Abbas -- decided to stay on at P.L.O. headquarters in Tunis rather than join the new Authority in the territories. They are not convinced that Arafat will ever delegate responsibility. Another adviser says, "He wants to be the leader of a Palestinian state just like all the other Arab leaders whose authority is absolute."

That is exactly what the Palestinians who live in the occupied territories are afraid of. They consider themselves high achievers, entrepreneurs, educated and democratic, and they swear they will establish the first true Arab democracy. They now have their chance to prove it, and they are worried that they may end up with another Arab autocracy like Libya, Syria or, at best, Egypt. Arafat's established style of leadership does not reassure them.

Palestinians inside the occupied territories believe that Arafat and some of his colleagues will try to resist democratization but will lose that battle. "When ((Arafat and his aides)) speak of democracy," says Lily Feidy, an assistant dean at Bir Zeit University in the West Bank, "it is something different from what we want." If Arafat tries to postpone free elections in order to maintain his own dominance, warns Bassam Abu Sharif, a P.L.O. official based in Amman, "the people will start another intifadeh to implant democratic institutions."

Residents of the territories fret not only that Arafat is too authoritarian but also that he may be unqualified for the new task of Palestinian nation * building. He and the other old guerrilla leaders are skilled politicians and able promoters of the Palestinian cause internationally. But, argues Hassan Abu Libdeh, deputy director of a Palestinian development council, "that does not make them capable of running a sophisticated sanitation plan." Adds Saeb Erakat, a member of the Palestinian Authority: "They need to leave the Tunis mentality behind. No more limousines; no more first-class tickets."

The Palestinians believe that open politics and efficient administration will lead to prosperity. If they make a secure beginning, they are convinced, investment will flow in -- not only the $2.5 billion in development funds pledged by other nations but money from wealthy Palestinians overseas. "The first thing we need is money and investment," says Hassan Asfour, an official of the Authority in Gaza. "Then you will see how Palestinians will build a strong country." Unfortunately, Gaza and West Bank residents point out, "capital is cowardly": stability and practical planning will be needed to reassure investors.

These voices are speaking to Arafat. They are telling the Chairman, now 64, that he must adjust to new requirements to build the nascent Palestinian state. He is still their father figure, the single most important and unifying force in the P.L.O. But they expect him to move from autocracy to democracy, from revolution to construction. After spending a lifetime in the cause of Palestine, he risks rejection if he cannot learn to share power with the people he has led for a quarter-century.

With reporting by Lisa Beyer, Dean Fischer and Jamil Hamad/Gaza City