Years of Upheaval

by Henry Kissinger

  “And Israel?” asked Sadat. Israel, I insisted, need not be a source of conflict. No Egyptian interest was served by the destruction of Israel; no Arab problem would be solved by it. Egypt had lost thousands of lives for a cause that had never been reduced to terms America could possibly support. We would never hold still for Israel’s destruction, I continued, but we were willing to help allay reasonable Arab grievances. All we had ever heard from Arabs were sweeping programs put forward on a take-it-or-leave-it basis. Experience had shown that this course guaranteed deadlock. Israel was indeed stubborn, occasionally infuriating. But as someone who had spoken so movingly of national dignity, he had to understand the psychology of a country that had never enjoyed the minimum attribute of sovereignty, acceptance by its neighbors.

  I urged Sadat to think of peace with Israel as a psychological, not a diplomatic problem. If, as he rightly insisted, Israel could not base its security on physical predominance, it also could not be secure without confidence. And that was the contribution required of the most influential Arab nation, Egypt. If Egypt supplied that component, we would do our best to obtain territorial changes, though they might not be so vast as in his “Kissinger plan.”

  Sadat listened intently to these heresies of Arab thought, impassively puffing on his pipe. He showed no reaction except: “And what about my Third Army? What about the October 22 line?”

  I had gone too far to try stratagems. He had two choices, I replied. Relying on the declaration of the European Community and Soviet support, he could insist on the October 22 line. It would be difficult, even embarrassing, for us. Eventually, we might be induced to go along. But weeks would go by, and for what would he have mobilized all these pressures? To get Israel to go back a few kilometers on the west bank of the Suez Canal — a process that would then have to be repeated under even more difficult circumstances for a real separation of forces leading to an Israeli retreat across the Suez Canal. The better course was to live with the status quo, made bearable by a system of nonmilitary supplies for the Third Army. With immediate tensions defused, the United States would do its utmost to arrange a genuine disengagement of forces, moving the Israelis back across the Canal — although not as far as in his scheme, probably not even beyond the passes. Still, it would be the first Israeli withdrawal from Arab territory occupied for any length of time; it would create the confidence for further steps. The diplomacy to induce Israel to return to the October 22 line was about the same as the persuasion needed to produce a disengagement scheme and we would not be able to accomplish both in a brief period. Paradoxically, forgoing the October 22 line would speed up Israeli withdrawal from the Canal. Sadat should choose. I would do my best either way.

  Sadat sat brooding, saying nothing for many minutes. I had given him a difficult problem. I was saying in effect that the key to peace was his acquiescence in keeping an Egyptian army cut off in the desert for weeks on end, relying on the assessment of an American he had just met and who had no experience in Middle East diplomacy. And then he astonished me. He did not haggle or argue. He did not dispute my analysis. He did not offer an alternative. Violating the normal method of diplomacy — which is to see what one can extract for a concession — he said simply that he agreed with both my analysis and my proposed procedure. It had been folly for Egypt, he averred, to seek its goals through harassing the United States. Egypt had had enough of war; there was no intention to destroy Israel. Having restored his nation’s self-respect, he could now turn to the peace for which his people longed. He was prepared to accept the proposition that Israel needed confidence to engage itself in the peace process. But it was a great deal for him to be asked to win the confidence of a country occupying “his” territory.

  That point was made analytically, not to generate a bargain. He would gamble on disengagement across the Canal. He would accept my strategy, he said. The Third Army would have to wait. And it could if supplies were assured, which was my responsibility to achieve with Israel. To give the diplomacy I had outlined a chance, he would defer the issue of the October 22 line. Anything less was too trivial to justify the suffering and risks of the war.

  It was, in truth, an act of considerable courage. Against what we later learned was the near-unanimous sentiment of his advisers, Sadat decided to take his chances on the word of an American whom he did not know, that we would attempt to make significant progress over a period of three months. If anything went wrong — if I had overestimated what was possible, if I had deceived him, or if the Third Army’s morale cracked while it remained cut off in the desert — Sadat would be ruined and Egypt humiliated.

  The Third Army, Sadat added, was in any case not the heart of the matter between America and Egypt. He was determined to end Nasser’s legacy. He would reestablish relations with the United States as quickly as possible and, once that was accomplished, he would move to friendship. Formal diplomatic relations required some pretext, however, before the Egyptian public and his Arab brethren would understand the steps. He would wait for some tangible diplomatic success.I But the delay was purely tactical and connected largely with inter-Arab politics; it was not intended as blackmail. He was prepared to announce his intentions immediately — upon the conclusion of our meeting, in fact. In the meantime he would raise the head of his Interests Section to the status of Ambassador. He hoped that we would join such an announcement. We had sought for four years to restore relations; I had brought with me a proposal to do so. We agreed that the ambassadors would assume their functions immediately, operating from Interests Sections indistinguishable from Embassies.

  Sadat showed no nervousness about the dangers of the course to which he had committed himself. Like a surgeon coldly considering the best course of action, he invited me to suggest a specific proposal; he averred that I knew better than he what Israel would accept. It was another exhibition of daring, psychological insight, and guile. I indeed knew what Golda would accept and what the cabinet had refused. More important, since the course on which we had agreed depended on our exertions, he would commit us more surely by a show of confidence in us than by haggling over technicalities.

  I said that success later depended on restraint now; it would be best to reduce controversy to a minimum. Egypt’s basic requirement was uninterrupted nonmilitary supply to the Third Army through checkpoints that were colorably not Israeli. Building on what Golda had accepted at Blair House before the cabinet overruled her, I therefore suggested the concept for what was refined later into the following six-point plan, signed by both sides a few days afterward:

  A. Egypt and Israel agree to observe scrupulously the cease-fire called for by the UN Security Council.

  B. Both sides agree that discussions between them will begin immediately to settle the question of the return to the October 22 positions in the framework of agreement on the disengagement and separation of forces under the auspices of the UN.

  C. The town of Suez will receive daily supplies of food, water and medicine. All wounded civilians in the town of Suez will be evacuated.

  D. There shall be no impediment to the movement of non-military supplies to the East Bank.

  E. The Israeli checkpoints on the Cairo-Suez road will be replaced by UN checkpoints. At the Suez end of the road Israeli officers can participate with the UN to supervise the non-military nature of the cargo at the bank of the Canal.

  F. As soon as the UN checkpoints are established on the Cairo-Suez road, there will be an exchange of all prisoners of war, including wounded.

  The provision for observance of the cease-fire was boilerplate; it added no new element. The innovation was Point B, that discussions about Israel’s return to the October 22 line would take place in the framework of a disengagement of forces. Golda Meir herself had put forward this formulation during her trip to Washington. When I had asked her what it meant, she had replied, “nothing.” Its practical significance was to bury the controversy over the October 22 line. Either disengagement would work and move the line to eas
t of the Canal, far beyond the October 22 line, or else we would be in a crisis that would submerge the issue. Either way, the October 22 line was now irrelevant.

  The same attitude led to a solution for control over the disputed access route to the Third Army. In Washington, Golda had been obliged by her cabinet to refuse UN control over the Cairo-Suez road. On the other hand, to ask Sadat to send nonmilitary supplies through Israeli checkpoints was a humiliation to which I did not choose to submit him. The solution was to avoid the issue altogether by making the sort of compromise the acceptance of which marks a triumph of faith over substance. The checkpoints were placed under the United Nations; at the same time Israeli officers were permitted to participate “to supervise the non-military nature of the cargo.” The Israelis could claim that the UN posts were there on sufferance on “their” road; Egypt could insist that the UN presence effectively removed the road from Israeli control. The Israelis could point to the fact that their officers participated in the inspection; the Egyptians could argue that this was as part of a UN procedure. The fundamental fact was that there would now exist a mechanism for uninterrupted nonmilitary supply to the Third Army.

  What unlocked the door to all these concessions was that Sadat also agreed, in the sixth point, to an exchange of prisoners of war as soon as the UN checkpoints were established — an issue I had raised as of critical importance to Israel.

  Sadat made only the most trivial changes in what was essentially our draft. He saw it rightly as an investment in confidence as well as a spur to rapid implementation of the agreement.

  There was also a private understanding that Egypt would “ease” the blockade of the Strait of Bab el-Mandeb if the Israelis promised to make only “moderate” use of it. Since the blockade had never been formally declared, Sadat argued, it could not be formally lifted. And too many public concessions would hurt his position with his Arab brethren. Sadat — and later Fahmy — defined “ease” as meaning that Egypt would not interfere with the normal flow of traffic through the strait. The whole issue was a contribution to metaphysics, since we could find no evidence that any ships had ever actually been stopped in the first place.

  Like all good agreements, the six-point plan had something for everybody. Egypt obtained guaranteed supply for the Third Army and an international presence on the Cairo-Suez road. Israel secured the release of its prisoners and relief from pressure over the October 22 line. Sadat had followed the method I grew to know very well: to cut through trivia to the essential, to make major, even breathtaking, tactical concessions in return for an irreversible psychological momentum. His acceptance of our draft proposal committed us to try to bring about the disengagement he really wanted. By being forthcoming on the issues of the October 22 line and release of prisoners, he helped ease Israel’s chronic suspicions of his motives. And yet what he conceded was essentially marginal: the improvements he might have achieved by haggling would have been cosmetic or a bow to vanity. Wise statesmen know they will be measured by the historical process they set in motion, not by the debating points they score.

  Sadat, of course, must not be viewed as everybody’s genial uncle. He was as tough as he was patient. He was, after all, the man who had relentlessly, patiently, and against all probability prepared the October war. He was not ready to sheath all his weapons. He turned a deaf ear to my pleas to help undo the oil embargo; he replied firmly that he could be persuasive with his brethren only after substantial progress had been made in the negotiations.

  When we had finished going over the six points, Sadat clapped his hands and an aide appeared. Sadat asked him to call in Joe Sisco and Ismail Fahmy, who were sitting in full view in wicker chairs on the lawn. They would refine what we had discussed into the formal language of the six-point plan. While we were waiting, Sadat turned to me and reminded me of how much distance we had yet to travel: “Never forget, Dr. Kissinger. I am making this agreement with the United States, not with Israel.” That was indeed the heart of the problem — but also part of the solution. Confidence in America could be the bridge across the gulf of four wars.

  We agreed that once the six-point plan was put into formal language, Joe Sisco and Hal Saunders would go to Israel to present it. An Egyptian plane would take them to Cyprus; we would arrange for an Israeli plane to meet them there. I thought that Israeli acceptance was foreordained since the plan contained nearly all the points on which the Israeli cabinet had insisted and indeed went beyond what Golda had accepted. Sisco and Saunders would seek formal confirmation. I would stay in Cairo because Fahmy had invited a number of distinguished guests to his dinner for me and especially because I wanted to avoid the drama inherent in a sudden unplanned trip to Israel. It proved that I did not yet know the Middle East. What mattered to the parties was not only substance but psychological intangibles. Jerusalem, I learned later, should never be treated as if it could be taken for granted — its survival depends on its being perceived as a tough defender of its interests. Much as I enjoyed Fahmy’s dinner, things would have gone more smoothly had I changed my schedule.

  Usually, any one negotiation is a part of a long sequence; the conclusion more often yields exhaustion than relief. One participates in few events one recognizes as turning points. I had come to Cairo hoping for a step forward in a strategy that had been inching ahead for four years. Now in a single encounter with Egypt’s President, one month after the beginning of the war, we had achieved a breakthrough. Sadat had clearly staked his policy on the American connection; if we pursued that strategy wisely, it would become increasingly difficult for him to reverse course. The reduction of Soviet influence was now only a matter of time and skill; the prospects of a peace of moderation loomed bright — provided we could find the balance between Israeli fears and Arab impatience.

  My more mundane worry was to keep our accomplishments secret until the White House could announce the appointment of ambassadors and Golda could learn of the six-point plan from Sisco and Saunders. If the announcement was made in Cairo, there would be hell to pay at the White House and in Jerusalem. The normal tendency of any President to reserve to himself the privilege of announcing good news was magnified by Nixon’s Watergate agonies. Sadat and I settled that the announcement would be made jointly at the White House and in Cairo at noon Washington time that day, some seven hours away. And we would say nothing about the six-point plan until Sisco and Saunders had presented it in Jerusalem. The touchy Israeli cabinet might balk if the issue emerged as an Egyptian proposal.

  The desire to preserve the deadlines accounted for the difference in our respective moods as Sadat and I rejoined our aides in the garden at the end of our three hours of talks. Seated in the middle of the semicircle of wicker chairs, Sadat and I posed for what was in Haldemanese called a “photo opportunity” — an occasion for the press to take pictures but not to ask questions. The ground rules almost never restrain enterprising journalists, who hold the view that it is not questions that violate the rules, but answers, which are in the control of those who made the rules in the first place.

  The irrepressible Sadat responded to every question the reporters put to him. “Mr. President,” a reporter asked, “will the US now curtail its airlift of military supplies to Israel?”

  “You should ask this question of Dr. Kissinger,” Sadat answered, knowing full well that I had told him confidentially of the imminent end of the airlift. (We had, in fact, kept it going a few extra days precisely so that I might tell him.)

  “Luckily I didn’t hear the question,” I shot back. I was not so lucky next time.

  “Dr. Kissinger, will there be a reestablishment of diplomatic relations between Egypt and the United States?” asked a shrewd reporter. Mindful of Nixon’s wrath but reluctant to lie, I squirmed and said nothing. Sadat had no such inhibitions. “We will have news for you later in the day, be patient,” Sadat boomed, all but giving the game away.6

  The rest of the Egyptian trip was anticlimax. In the evening I attended the dinner hosted
by Fahmy in his apartment overlooking the Nile, to which he had invited the ambassadors of the other permanent members of the Security Council (Britain, France, the Soviet Union, and the People’s Republic of China), together with leaders of the Egyptian government and the influential journalist Mohammed Heikal. The Chinese made excuses, probably because of the presence of the Soviets; the other ambassadors appeared. (Heikal has since published a poetically imaginative account of our dinner conversation.)7 The evening was a theatrical performance by Fahmy and other senior Egyptians designed to demonstrate that Egypt was increasing its options beyond the Nasserite reliance on the Soviet Union.

  The next morning, Thursday, November 8, Fahmy and I met to discuss plans for the Geneva peace conference and to define the “appropriate auspices” that had been part of the cease-fire agreed to in Moscow. On October 21, Moscow had no doubt urged the cease-fire on Sadat with the argument that Soviet partnership in the “auspices” would guarantee pressure on the United States and Israel. But now Egypt was shifting its emphasis to the United States and switching from a comprehensive to a step-by-step approach. A major Soviet role seemed much less desirable, perhaps even dangerous, because Moscow could appear as the spokesman of radical concerns and thus obstruct what Sadat considered attainable. Both Egypt and the United States, therefore, sought to prevent the “auspices” from turning into a Soviet veto. If in the guise of pressing for an overall solution the Soviets and their radical allies insisted on an all-or-nothing approach, the war would have ended in the same deadlock that produced the explosion in the first place. It was not yet clear that Syria would even participate in negotiations; it would probably countenance no other agenda than the one that had led to six years of stalemate; it would surely not take a position less Arab than that of Moscow. We were opening the door a crack by getting Egypt and Israel to agree that disengagement be the first agenda item of a peace conference. But we still had a long way to go.