WORLD, Page 28DIPLOMACY"Here We Go, On the Offensive"Bush finally scores a foreign policy triumph as he seizes theinitiative from GorbachevBy George J. Church
What a difference two days make. George Bush rode into Brussels
last Monday the "Nowhere President," criticized as a dithering
leader without vision, too passive, too reactive, too unimaginative
to compete with Mikhail Gorbachev. In town to celebrate NATO's 40th
anniversary, Bush seemed destined to preside over a nasty family
quarrel, if not the alliance's demise.
But then Bush scored what he proudly called "a double hit."
Just as he had awakened his sleepy presidential campaign with a
socko speech at the 1988 Republican Convention, he rose from his
four-month presidential lethargy to launch an initiative that
wrested the arms-control initiative from the Soviet leader and
averted a bruising collision among the allies. The sigh of relief
echoed from West Germany to Washington, where Bush's lackadaisical
leadership was sowing seeds of Government paralysis. Two days
later, Bush rode out of Brussels the man of the moment.
The President's triumph came not a minute too soon. The crucial
NATO gathering demanded more from the U.S. than Bush's
hypercautious hedging, ready or not. Ever since Gorbachev promised
last December to slash Soviet forces in Europe, he had been
bombarding an awed Europe with proposal after proposal to refashion
the Continent's military balance, his way, while the U.S. stood
idly by. And for the past two months, the U.S. and Britain had
brawled with West Germany over whether and when to modernize NATO's
few remaining short-range nuclear missiles in West Germany or trade
them away. More broadly, the dynamic changes sweeping the European
Continent cried out for American leadership in reshaping NATO for
an era in which the Soviet threat that bred it was receding. Few
knew and fewer believed that Bush was about to hit one over the
fence.
But on Monday morning a resolute President strode to the podium
and unveiled a bold plan for a "revolutionary" conventional-arms-
reduction agreement. He put forward, with full alliance backing,
an imaginative, sweeping proposal to speed up the talks to achieve
deep cuts in troops, tanks, artillery and aircraft in Europe. The
plan not only met Gorbachev's initiatives but topped them by
calling for cutbacks that would erase the East bloc's numerical
advantage while slashing the U.S. presence on European soil, all
within three years.
That spurred the alliance's 16 foreign ministers through a
seven-hour marathon meeting that ended with a compromise on the
hotly divisive subject of negotiations to lower the number of
short-range nuclear forces (SNF) in Europe. West Germany won
agreement that bargaining would indeed begin, but not until
conventional-arms reductions were under way, which would be 1992
at the earliest. Britain and the U.S. held fast for agreement that
such talks would aim at only a partial reduction of U.S. and Soviet
warheads and not, as Bonn wanted, at their complete elimination.
A double hit indeed. The allies greeted the combination of
plans rapturously, though with some technical reservations. As
Dutch Prime Minister Rudd Lubbers said, "The experts may not be
happy with this, but as a politician, I think it's the right thing
to do." The President, said the prestigious British daily the
Guardian, "rode to the rescue like the proverbial U.S. cavalry, at
the last possible minute." There was even approval, though much
more muted, from the Soviets. From Paris, Foreign Minister Eduard
Shevardnadze called Bush's plans "serious" and a "step in the right
direction."
The applause was equally thunderous from liberals and
conservatives in the U.S. New York Times columnists Anthony Lewis,
a staunch liberal, and William Safire, a stalwart conservative,
hardly ever agree on anything, but both hailed Bush's plan in
facing columns last week.
Never mind, for the moment, that hard and complicated
negotiating remains before NATO and the Warsaw Pact can start
cutting their conventional forces in Europe to low, equal numbers.
Never mind that Bush's goal of reaching agreement in "six months
or maybe a year" and finishing the reductions by 1992 sounds like
a pipe dream. Never mind that the estimated $1 billion in potential
savings doesn't measurably reduce the U.S. defense budget or
redress the "burden-sharing" problem among the allies. Never mind
even that British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher and West German
Chancellor Helmut Kohl still disagree over the alliance's nuclear
future.
Those matters will certainly become important in the months
ahead. But what counts for now is that this time it is the U.S.
challenging the Soviet Union to speed up arms talks and go beyond
Moscow's initial proposals. Declared Bush: "Here we go now, on the
offensive, with a proposal that is bold and that tests whether the
Soviet Union will move toward balance." What counts also is that
NATO has managed to hold itself together.
The very effusiveness of the praise showered on Bush showed
how much the West has been hungering for the leadership that only
a U.S. President can provide. For the first time, Bush indicated
that he could satisfy that hunger. Nor was his triumph just a
public relations coup. It may really open the door to the most
significant arms reductions since the end of World War II. Then
Europe, East and West, may finally be able to give its full
attention to creating a stable, open and unified continent.
The beginnings of such a rosy future could lie in Bush's scheme
for lowering some of Europe's military barriers:
Quickly sign an interim agreement locking in the latest Soviet
proposals to cut NATO and Warsaw Pact tanks, armored personnel
carriers and artillery pieces to an equal level, bringing them
slightly below those now fielded by NATO. As in all the reductions
being considered in the Conventional Forces in Europe (CFE)
negotiations under way in Vienna, the reductions would be much
deeper for the Warsaw Pact than for NATO.
Offer to reduce the number of "combat aircraft" -- for the
moment a term left carefully undefined -- and helicopters to 15%
below current NATO levels. This is a major U.S. concession, since
NATO has steadfastly refused to discuss aircraft reductions. Under
the Bush proposal, all aircraft (and other equipment) taken out of
service would be destroyed.
Set a ceiling of 275,000 each for U.S. and Soviet troops in
Europe. That would require a cut of 30,000 soldiers for the U.S.
-- 10% of overall strength or, as Bush pledged, 20% of combat
troops. The Soviets would have to slash their troop strength nearly
in half. All soldiers sent home would be demobilized. As with
aircraft, the U.S. had previously refused even to consider troop
cuts, claiming they were unverifiable.
Drastically speed up the negotiating process. Bush would chop
five years off the proposed Soviet time-table. Moscow had been
talking of completing conventional-force reductions only by 1997.
Instead, Bush wants to reach an agreement in six months or a year
and start the withdrawals by 1992.
The obstacles to the President's hurry-up schedule are
formidable. There are sharp disputes between the two sides on how
to count many items of hardware to be destroyed. For example,
Moscow wants to include interceptor planes that are also capable
of bombing and strafing. Washington does not, nor will it negotiate
about naval forces, a major Soviet concern. The vexing matter of
verification, historically a stumbling block to Senate approval of
arms treaties, has not been addressed.
No wonder Thatcher hesitated at Bush's timetable. "I think it's
a little bit optimistic," she said. "It's quite optimistic. It's
very optimistic."
But if the plan slips a year or so behind Bush's schedule, so
what? The important thing is that the U.S. is fully committed to
quick agreement on deep reductions. Bush began talking about
conventional arms during the election campaign and now seeks to
portray this week's drama as the logical outcome of a "prudent"
process. In fact, he made up his mind little more than two weeks
before the summit. Even then, Bush moved largely in response to
Gorbachev, who had just set forth yet another compelling proposal
to Secretary of State James Baker on May 11.
Bush was frustrated. Deeply stung by domestic and allied
criticism that he was drifting into a policy of pallid reaction to
Kremlin moves, disappointed in the much touted "review" of Soviet
policy that advised only a timid "status quo plus," Bush finally
found the urge for action. More important, Baker returned from
Moscow convinced that the Soviets were "really serious" about
transforming the conventional balance. Gorbachev had laid out a
forthcoming Soviet offer that looked as if it would produce both
a propaganda coup and an opening for negotiations. Says a senior
White House official: "Baker had a feeling that if we didn't do
something, we were going to get blown out of the water at the NATO
summit."
Two days later Bush ordered the Pentagon to start working up
a conventional-arms proposal of its own. With uncharacteristic
speed, the Defense Department delivered the outlines of the summit
scheme five days later. On May 19 Bush retired to his vacation home
at Kennebunkport with his "small group" of top aides -- Baker,
National Security Adviser Brent Scowcroft, his deputy Robert Gates,
Joint Chiefs of Staff Chairman William Crowe and White House chief
of staff John Sununu. Admiral Crowe in particular made an eloquent
case for the dramatic alteration in the U.S. position, to remove
what he called a Soviet "surprise-strike" capability in Europe.
Says a participant: "Kennebunkport was the turning point. That's
where everyone was on board." When visiting French President
Francois Mitterrand reiterated the Europeans' yearning for movement
on arms control, Bush was able to tell him that an offer was in the
works.
By the time the Soviets finally tabled the details of
Gorbachev's new proposals at the CFE conference in Vienna, the U.S.
plan was ready. Gates and Lawrence Eagleburger, No. 2 at the State
Department, set off on a top-secret breakneck tour of NATO capitals
to brief the allies. Britain and France insisted that they would
never agree to scrap any of their planes that can drop nuclear
bombs. The Americans replied, in effect, We knew you'd say that;
that's why we're proposing an aircraft reduction of only 15%. Even
Gorbachev was carefully notified by letter the day before the NATO
announcement.
Bush's bold plan gave NATO an initiative to rival Moscow's and
proved he was ready to play in the big game with Gorbachev. But it
also, almost serendipitously, supplied a way out of the
increasingly angry impasse over SNF talks. "The main way the two
issues connected," said a U.S. official, "was on the timing." Both
Britain and West Germany came into Brussels making noises as if
they were prepared to break up the meeting (if not the alliance)
rather than yield. At one extreme was Thatcher, who was even more
adamantly opposed than Bush to any proposal to negotiate away any
of NATO's remaining nuclear weapons. At the other was Kohl,
fighting for his political life and determined to force the
alliance into immediate talks. His Foreign Minister, Hans-Dietrich
Genscher, stood guard against any backsliding. Said he: "It would
be better to let the summit end with an open disagreement than for
the Germans to crawl."
The U.S. case against SNF reductions has always been that
nuclear weapons are needed to counter the massive Soviet advantage
in men, artillery, tanks and aircraft. But if conventional forces
really were being reduced toward parity, the U.S. could begin
negotiations with a clear conscience. So Bush's quick-march
timetable held out the possibility that SNF talks could begin as
early as 1992, which should satisfy West Germany. Now if only
Thatcher would drop her resistance to any negotiations, and if the
Germans would agree that some short-range nukes would be left . .
.
They all could, but not without an exhausting marathon
negotiation of their own. Sub-Cabinet officials started it off
around 9 a.m. Monday, attempting to draft the summit communique.
By 5:30 p.m. they had not got far; the key paragraph was so riddled
with bracketed reservations advanced by various countries that it
stretched over 2 1/2 double-spaced pages. The foreign ministers
took over at 6 p.m. The air conditioning was overwhelmed, and the
atmosphere grew fetid. All the ministers except Italy's dapper
Giulio Andreotti peeled down to shirt sleeves. Cheese sandwiches
came in, then beer and wine. Only once did tempers flare. A
frustrated Genscher demanded of Canadian External Affairs Minister
Joe Clark, "How many nuclear missiles do you have on your soil?"
(Answer: none.) Dutch Foreign Minister Hans van den Broek presided
superbly, explaining positions and moderating in equally fluent
English and German. But the key brokers were Baker and Genscher,
who conferred privately at least four times, and British Foreign
Secretary Geoffrey Howe, who joined one of their huddles.
In the end, the summit's success hinged on one word. Howe held
out for language that would guarantee the preservation of at least
some short-range nukes in Europe; Genscher fought hard to keep the
door at least partly open for the so-called third zero (the first
two are the elimination of two classes of medium-range nuclear
weapons that the U.S. and Soviets are now dismantling). Baker
finally came up with an inspired solution: use the phrase "partial
reduction" and underline the word partial. No one could recall an
underline in a diplomatic document. Genscher bought it, and so
eventually did the British.
Like every good compromise, the SNF deal allowed all sides to
claim victory. Genscher seized on the agreement to put off until
at least 1992 a decision on "modernizing" the U.S. Lance
short-range nuclear weapons deployed in West Germany. Before, he
said, "we had modernization without negotiations. Now we have
negotiations without modernization." Kohl even claimed, against the
plain sense of the agreed wording, that the third zero was still
a possibility. He noted that the Brussels communique said NATO must
keep some nukes for the "foreseeable future." Given the fast pace
of events, said Kohl, the "foreseeable future" could turn out to
be only a "limited time." That was too much for Thatcher, whose
proud boast was that she had expunged every trace of the third
zero. The Germans, she snapped, should read what they had just
approved. "Partial means partial," she said. "Wriggle as some
people might, that is what they have signed up to."
As the man who masterminded the summit success, Bush was hailed
in both Bonn and London. In Brussels he was pardonably exultant:
"We've demonstrated the alliance's ability to manage change to our
advantage, to move beyond the era of containment," adding, with a
broad grin, that the "double hit" had confounded his critics.
"Whatever political arrows have been fired my way, it's been worth
it," he said.
In Mainz, West Germany, Bush delivered his strongest speech
since the Inauguration. He put the U.S. squarely in favor of the
unification of Europe, addressing widespread pressure to lower the
Continent's political as well as military tensions: "The time is
right. Let Europe be whole and free." Turning specifically to the
changing shape of some East bloc nations, Bush argued that their
"passion for freedom cannot be denied forever. There cannot be a
common European home until all within are free to move from room
to room." But, he said, "let the Soviets know that our goal is not
to undermine their legitimate security interests. Our goal is to
convince them, step by step, that their definition of security is
obsolete, that their deepest fears are unfounded."
In London, Bush set about proving that the "special
relationship" between America and Britain remained intact even
though the U.S. had clearly been more solicitous of West German
concerns in Brussels. Throughout his 40-hour stay, Bush sought to
reassure Thatcher that she had not been eclipsed by Continental
interests. Though it is unlikely that she will have as much
influence with the cautious, pragmatic Bush as she did over Ronald
Reagan, an ideological soul mate, the two found themselves in
agreement on just about everything they discussed.
Amid the genuine, and in this case unexpected, pleasure of an
American President's triumph, caution remains necessary. The U.S.
and the Soviet Union are a long way from disarming Europe, and the
SNF controversy may come back to haunt Bush. But the President at
least has removed one giant question that had hung over him since
the Inauguration. He can lead the Western world. Now he must
continue.
-- Michael Duffy with Bush, William Mader/London and Christopher
