With respect to negotiations, Golda’s attitude was simple. She considered Israel militarily impregnable; there was, strictly speaking, no need for any change. But given the congenital inability of Americans to leave well enough alone, she was willing to enter talks though not to commit herself to an outcome. She felt Jordanian matters were well in hand because there was already direct contact (which no fair-minded observer could claim had speeded up the process of settlement). As to Egypt, she was prepared to make an interim disengagement agreement along the Suez Canal as a first step toward a final settlement. But she would not agree to final bourdaries before negotiations had even started: Egypt, she argued, was looking for someone to help it get everything for nothing. First Cairo had tried the Soviets, now the United States: “The trouble with Egypt is that they want the end before they begin.” She agreed to our bizarre two-track procedure: Together with the public negotiations over an interim agreement, she would be prepared to have me continue to explore in private with Hafiz Ismail some general principles of an overall settlement as long as Israel was kept informed. This was fair enough, though it gave no real reason for optimism, for it kept all options open.
The situation was further complicated by the perennial problem of military deliveries for Israel. One of the weaknesses of our military supply relationship with Israel was that it came up for renewal every year or two. Inevitably, each new delivery provided a focal point for Arab resentment and led to an internal debate within our government about priorities. Regularly, as domestic pressure reinforced strategic necessities, the outcome was a favorable decision on a new arms package, fueling a new outburst of outrage in the Arab world.
So it was this time. On March 1, pressed by Mrs. Meir, Nixon agreed in principle to a new schedule of airplane deliveries, including some plans for co-production in Israel. We sought to ease the impact in the Arab world by not making a formal announcement. But the domestic position of too many leaders here and in Israel was involved; the decision leaked within two weeks.10 Coming so soon after Ismail’s visit, it caused an explosion in Cairo.
We had a delicate task. We had to nudge Egypt toward direct negotiations on a realistic program and Israel toward greater concessions than it had ever envisaged. But if we raised Arab hopes too much and then could not deliver, we would evoke an anti-American backlash. If we pressed Israel too far, it might launch a preemptive war while it still had the upper hand. And we had to fend off Soviet importuning for a direct Soviet-American agreement to impose terms even more impossible to achieve than Ismail’s (see Chapter VII). I never saw any sense in a deal with Moscow unless the Soviets were willing to press the Arabs as they urged us to press Israel. I expressed my doubts to Sir Thomas Brimelow of the British Foreign Office on March 5 when I briefed him on the Ismail visit:
A bilateral Soviet/American deal on the Middle East starting with pressures on Israel would do two things: it might create another Middle East war, and tempt the Soviets to intervene in this Middle East War because of a joint US/Soviet position. And thirdly, after a settlement it is obvious that the next round after the frontiers are settled is the dispute between the Palestinians and Israel over the future of Palestine. . . . It is obvious [from my talks with Ismail] that a peace settlement ultimately depends on the Palestinians — who have the least incentive to settle anything.
So the result will be the exact opposite from Vietnam. In Vietnam the settlement got us out; in the Middle East the settlement will draw us in, in order to protect what we have imposed.
I was convinced that we would have to reduce the Soviet role if progress was to be made:
They have no incentive to be softer than the Arabs, and they have much incentive to be harder, so that the onus for an unsatisfactory settlement falls on us or on Sadat. Because the next round will be between the radicals and moderates in the whole area.
If we propose a detailed paper we are in hock to all sides, and responsible for both a process and a solution.
For these reasons I was extremely wary of putting forward a detailed plan for which everyone was volunteering us. The worst diplomatic posture is to be committed without having the ability to bring about one’s designs. We had to explore the terrain carefully lest booby traps go off all around us.
Second Secret Meeting with Ismail
WALKING through that minefield was even trickier than I expected. For right after my February meetings with Hafiz Ismail, the Middle East went through another of its periodic eruptions of violence. American diplomats Ambassador Cleo A. Noel, Jr., and Deputy Chief of Mission George Curtis Moore were taken hostage and brutally murdered in Khartoum on March 2 by Black September Palestinian terrorists; Libyan jet fighters fired upon a US reconnaissance aircraft over the Mediterranean on March 21; and there was a renewed spiral of raid and reprisal across the Lebanese border.
Simultaneously, our relations with Egypt grew strained. At first, after returning home, Ismail sent word back that he had been very pleased with his reception here; his secret talks with me had exceeded his expectations in terms of both comprehensiveness and frankness. He hoped to be more specific at the next meeting. Ismail even agreed to examine my suggestion to “separate sovereignty and security,” and to seek to strike a balance between them. If Egyptian sovereignty over the Sinai could be restored, practical security arrangements meeting Israel’s requirements might be worked out. On March 9 I sent Ismail a reply that I would talk to the Israelis to “develop an understanding of their position as it might relate to the possible heads of agreement in the plan you outlined.”
But the mood soon changed. Egypt found itself in a quandary about what position to take on the Khartoum murders. It was torn between personal revulsion at the killings, the need to maintain radical support for the war planning even then going on (of which we were ignorant), and the desire to involve us in the peace process. The contemplation of its dilemmas increased Egyptian irritability. A senior Egyptian official in Cairo cautioned us that some in his government opposed the peace effort and that the press leaks of our sale of jets to Israel were “not making things easier for us.” On March 20 Ismail replied to my message of March 9, warning that the sophisticated military equipment we were providing to Israel risked aborting the secret talks. I replied on March 23, without commenting on Ismail’s charges, that I looked forward to hearing the detailed reactions promised by Ismail at the last meeting.
The Egyptians, meanwhile, made their own contribution to complicating the lives of those handling the American end of the dialogue. Given the nature of Arab diplomacy, they probably could not have done otherwise. In the exuberant atmosphere of the Arab world, “keeping a secret” has a special connotation. Since Arab leaders feel both a bond of solidarity with their brethren and the tug of a wild individualism, none of them would believe — indeed, would be profoundly disquieted by — any assurances from Sadat that nothing was going on. Judging their colleagues by their own proclivities, Arab leaders are convinced incessant maneuvers are always taking place whereby each “brother” seeks to advance his own position even while ostensibly defending the Arab cause. In this cacophony of voices secrecy, ironically, can best be maintained by drowning all one’s partners in a Babel of conversation that eventually overwhelms the distinction between epic poetry and reality.
Thus we learned on March 6 that the Saudis had been briefed by Egyptian officials about my secret meetings with Ismail. Since the world of diplomacy lives by trading information, word soon spread. British officials in Cairo then queried their American counterparts about what was going on. Though I had briefed the top level of the British government via Sir Thomas Brimelow, Whitehall had respected our injunction of secrecy and had not passed the information to its representatives in Cairo. Sadat then gave an interview to Arnaud de Borchgrave of Newsweek in which he referred to some exchanges that had taken place prior to Ismail’s visit to Washington. That revelation appeared only in the Arabic version of the interview released in Cairo — enough to alert Jerry Greene th
at something was going on behind his back.
There is no fury like that of a Foreign Service Officer bypassed, especially when he is head of a diplomatic mission, even a small, so-called Interests Section as in Cairo. The offended diplomat has two choices. If he is wise, he limits himself to inquiring discreetly of his superiors about what is going on and leaves the bureaucratic sorting out to Washington. But he also has the option of standing on prerogative; he can report his knowledge in regular channels, thus spreading it through the bureaucracy by means of the computerized distribution system. This will quickly churn out enough copies to explode any aspiration to secrecy. The upshot of such maneuvers almost invariably is not to increase the responsibilities assigned to the diplomat — who tends to become the victim — but to reduce the options of Washington.
Greene, at any rate, took the more aggressive route, or perhaps someone in Washington put him up to it. After the Sadat interview became public, Greene first discreetly queried his Secretary of State about any secret channels of which he (Greene) was unaware; he also queried the local CIA representative. That worthy man, contrary to the myth of CIA deceitfulness, was obliged for the sake of the peace of the diplomatic mission to acknowledge, in effect, that there had been secret exchanges, though he did not discuss their content. Greene, no mean bureaucratic infighter, responded by reporting in deadpan fashion in a regular State telegram — and therefore widely distributed — the Saudi version of my talks with Ismail, which a Saudi official had helpfully provided to him in the meantime. Greene, in fairness, was not in an enviable position. It was not he who was at fault, but our system. There was no way now to negotiate over the Middle East without involving the interested departments. On April 9, therefore, I briefed Joseph J. Sisco, Assistant Secretary of State for Near Eastern and South Asian Affairs, on my exchanges with Ismail; Nixon saw Sisco on April 13 and soothingly invited State’s participation; Sisco’s deputy, Alfred L. (Roy) Atherton, Jr., attended my next meeting with Ismail a month later. It was clear that the dual-track system could not be sustained in the Middle East.
And all the time Sadat was stoking the embers of conflagration, safe from consequences because no one took his threat of war seriously. On March 23 we heard that Sadat was thinking of “warming up” the Canal. On March 26 Sadat reshuffled his cabinet in a move proclaimed as clearing the decks for “total confrontation” with Israel. In the published Newsweek interview with de Borchgrave, Sadat declared that “the time has come for a shock”; resumption of the battle was now “inevitable.”11 No one believed that he had the means to carry out his threat. It seemed to refer to commando raids and renewed shelling.
On April 7, Hafiz Ismail sent me a message saying that Cairo was operating on two assumptions:
(1) That the White House has in fact decided to engage itself directly with the Middle East problem. . . .
(2) That the U.S. side as a result of explorations with Israel feels that there are sufficient encouraging indications so as to render useful the Egyptian-U.S. dialogue. In other words, Israel has shown to the U.S. side its readiness to achieve substantial progress towards an overall settlement during the next few months.
Egypt was asking for a guarantee of a comprehensive settlement on its total program as the entrance price to another round of talks. To accept this would guarantee massive disappointment. I replied noncommittally on April 11, welcoming a second meeting. As for Ismail’s “assumptions,” I suggested that a discussion of what Ismail called “heads of agreement,” or general principles, might serve as a link between a Suez Canal accord and an overall agreement. But I avoided specificity on final borders. I appealed again for secrecy, disputed some of the interpretations being spread in the Arab world, and added a reassurance: “The U.S. side recognizes the Egyptian concerns about past experiences. It would not, however, pursue these channels if it wished to repeat the patterns of the past.”
But Sadat was implacably heading for confrontation There were disturbing reports that Arab arms were being moved around the area: Libyan and Saudi planes to Egypt, Moroccan and other troops to Syria. We still considered this psychological warfare, however, rather than serious preparation for war. On April 20 the Central Intelligence Agency submitted its assessment that Sadat may have begun to take his own talk more seriously, but the Agency did not think he was at the point of decision. After listing the various military steps that had been taken among Arab states, the CIA concluded that there were no indications of planning for any specific military operation at a specific time.
In fact, Sadat had decided on war during the summer of 1972. What drove him to the throw of the dice was not the immediate deadlock in the negotiations but the objective stalemate in the real positions of the parties. Sadat was shrewd enough to understand that he would not get his territory back all at once. Somewhere along the line he would have to make some significant concessions. But timing was crucial. If he suggested a phased negotiation — what later came to be called a “step-by-step” approach — he would lose the support of Syria and of the Soviet Union, on which he depended for the threats without which the negotiation would never get off the ground. If he hinted at a separate peace, he would stand naked without the means to negotiate it.
Sadat decided to cut the Gordian knot by war. He went through the motions of diplomacy but at a pace that made it impossible to crystallize the issues, much less resolve them, setting deadlines so short that they permitted no real exploration. The utility to Sadat of both the diplomacy and the military preparations was to raise a cloud of dust behind which he was forging what everybody considered the most improbable contingency: a unified Egyptian-Syrian attack on Israel. But Sadat was the only figure aware of the diplomatic revolution he was planning. We had maneuvered to bring his reorientation about but did not yet recognize that Sadat considered a war was necessary before he could take the decisive steps to fuel the peace process with some genuine give-and-take. For in the mood of Arab humiliation following the defeat in the Six Day War, concessions would in all likelihood be ascribed to military weakness rather than statesmanship.
Against this background, my second meeting with Ismail was bound to be stillborn, though I did not understand this then. Sadat knew the tenuousness of the Arab unity he was forging too well to believe that he could delay his military plans for more than a few months. He was too familiar with the mutual suspicions of Arab leaders to have any illusion that he could keep alive his military option through a protracted negotiation. If I had been able in mid-1973 to guarantee him the 1967 borders without his having to make peace, he would have accepted it — though with reluctance, as he later told me, since it would have done little for Egyptian pride. But this could hardly be realized, if at all, in any time frame relevant to the coalition he had so tentatively forged, and he knew it.
So Hafiz Ismail and I met one more time. It was in France on May 20, 1973, in a centuries-old French provincial farmhouse located between Paris and Chartres, refurbished by its American owner in the expensive simplicity of the very rich. It retained its beam-ceilinged, rustic quaintness, and an extensive garden and waterfall emphasized the pastoral setting. We had a formal meeting on the upper floor and, after lunch, I walked with Ismail in the garden in the spring sunshine. In these beautiful surroundings we had what the diplomats would call “useful” — that is to say, ultimately unproductive — talks. The difficulty was that Ismail would not deviate from his original program, which he must have known could never be sold to Israel in one stage. He pretended to take umbrage at my suggestion that Egypt come up with something new to get the negotiating process started. But it took no great acumen to grasp that Egypt’s position — in effect what Egypt had been proposing since February 1971 and which had been consistently rejected — would not give us the means to start a new negotiating process with an Israel that saw no need for it to begin with. (Indeed, prior to my meeting with Ismail, Golda Meir had gone back on a previous understanding, now questioning in a personal communication the wisdom of p
ursuing the comprehensive and the interim routes simultaneously.) I objected to some of the more strident parts of the Egyptian briefing of the Saudis, which seemed to me to imply a confrontational tone that I had not noted at our meetings. Ismail did not deny this but implied that it reflected Arab psychological necessities.
I also suggested a formula for linking the interim to an overall agreement, but it was clear that Egypt would risk neither the isolation inherent in an interim agreement nor the protracted negotiation required for an overall settlement. Ismail remained cool to my scheme of separating sovereignty and security. He called this “diluted sovereignty,” but said he would check with Sadat and let me know. I never heard from him.
The American official who had found the meeting place reported to me that after I left, Ismail, visibly dispirited and glum, had sat alone in the garden for a long time contemplating the waterfall behind the house, head cupped in hands. His staff had left him alone, but finally his young daughter joined him and appeared to cheer him up. He told the American later that he hoped to maintain contact with me whatever the vicissitudes of the peace effort. Our relationship would be important even in case of an armed clash, he said.
For Ismail knew that Sadat was determined on war. Only an American guarantee that we would fulfill the entire Arab program in a brief time could have dissuaded him. That was patently impossible. And Ismail, though a military man, was enough imbued with the extraordinary humanity of the Egyptian to dread what reason told him was now inevitable. The Middle East was heading toward war. We did not know it. But he did.
* * *
I. When formal diplomatic relations are broken, sometimes a small diplomatic mission may be permitted to remain, technically as part of the embassy of some third country that is authorized to look after the interests of the country no longer formally represented. Thus in Cairo from 1967 to 1973 there was a small “US Interests Section” — in fact staffed by American diplomats — under the aegis of the Spanish Embassy. An Interests Section is usually, but not invariably, staffed by less senior personnel. But it can facilitate communications with the host government and even conduct negotiations in some instances.
Years of Upheaval Page 34