TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/010890/0108008.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 14.6 KB | 304 lines

                                                                                WORLD, Page 38

PANAMA

No Place To Run


With Noriega cornered but not caught, was the pain of invasion
worth the gain?

BY GEORGE J. CHURCH -- Reported by Ricardo Chavira/Washington,
Robert Moynihan/Rome and John Moody/Panama City


    Care for a used dictator, courtesy of the Vatican? Not if
he is Manuel Antonio Noriega, replied leaders of Spain, the
Dominican Republic, Nicaragua and perhaps other nations last
week. None wanted any part of the busted Panamanian strongman,
accused drug dealer and alleged black-magic practitioner. Only
Cuba showed even a grudging interest in enabling Noriega to
leave the Vatican embassy in Panama City, where he had taken
refuge from invading U.S. troops on Christmas Eve. "We wouldn't
do it for Noriega the man," said a Cuban diplomat. "This would
be our way of standing up for nonintervention and, frankly,
sticking it to the gringos." Officials in Washington, however,
swore they would not consent to a transfer of Noriega unless
he went much farther away than Cuba, to a country where he
would have no chance to continue meddling in Panama.

    So Noriega remained in the Panama City nunciature (papal
embassy), presumably covering his ears against a pop-culture
version of psychological warfare. U.S. troops ringing the
embassy set up loudspeakers and blasted away with rock music,
which to the opera-loving Noriega must have been sheer
cacophony. Among the titles: No Place to Run, Voodoo Chile and
You're No Good. The G.I.s harassed the nunciature in other ways
too: they shot out a garden light and repeatedly stopped the
papal legate, Monsignor Jose Sebastian Laboa, as he came and
went.

    Meanwhile, Washington and the Vatican were trying to find
a way out of their diplomatic deadlock. A Vatican statement
asserted that Laboa was "doing his best to convince General
Noriega to abandon the nunciature on his own," though it added
that the legate "cannot force Noriega to leave." The White
House for its part declared its "appreciation" of Vatican
efforts and reassured the papacy that "there are no fixed
deadlines to be met."

    But the softer words did not change the official positions.
The U.S. was demanding that the Vatican hand over the dethroned
dictator so that he could be flown to Florida for trial on
charges of facilitating or arranging the smuggling of drugs
into the U.S. Noriega was not a political refugee, Washington
insisted, but a common criminal fleeing prosecution. In a
letter to Vatican Secretary of State Agostino Cardinal
Casaroli, U.S. Secretary of State James Baker argued that
Noriega's alleged involvement in drug dealing and murder
violated all moral standards of the Roman Catholic Church and
of civil society, and deprived Noriega of any right to asylum.

    The church, though, has a tradition of giving asylum to
Latin American politicians on the run. Among them: Guillermo
Endara, the U.S.-installed current President of Panama, who
took shelter in the nunciature from Noriega thugs after he had
won an election last May that the dictator annulled. One
high-ranking Vatican official summarized the thinking: "The
right to asylum must be defended, even for Lucifer." Moreover,
contended a church statement, Noriega's surrender to the papal
legate "helped in a very positive way to put an end to the
conflict ((with invading American troops)) and to hasten the
time of peace." The implication is that the asylum was in fact
serving a moral cause rather than shielding a criminal.

    Nor did Pope John Paul II appreciate Washington's
heavy-handed tactics. Said a source close to the Pontiff: "The
more pressure the U.S. puts on ((the Pope and his aides)), the
more they will dig in their heels." Referring to the siege by
rock music, and pointing to the third floor of the papal palace
where the Pope has his offices, an American priest in the
Vatican said, "They don't like it one bit. And if ((the
Americans)) think a stunt like this is going to get them
anywhere, they'd better think again." At week's end the loud
serenade was halted.

    Prospects for a quick compromise seem dim. One alternative
might be for the Vatican to hand over Noriega to the new
Panamanian government. But neither Endara nor his American
protectors like that idea. The dictator faces no criminal
charges in Panama. Even if some were to be filed against him
now, Endara and the U.S. alike fear Noriega could make trouble
from a Panamanian jail cell. "Frankly, I wish he were dead,"
says Luis Martinz, a top aide to Endara. Failing that, Panama's
leaders would turn Noriega over to the U.S. if they got their
hands on him. Endara at first declared that there was no legal
basis for extraditing Noriega to the U.S., but later found a
clause in an obscure 1904 treaty that might permit it. The
flip-flop will neither enhance Endara's reputation for
independence from his American patrons nor ease the Vatican's
opposition to surrendering the general.

    Letting Noriega go into exile somewhere outside Panama stirs
no enthusiasm in the Bush Administration. It would raise an
embarrassing question of why the U.S. and Panama had to suffer
the death and destruction of the invasion for a result that
could possibly have been accomplished peacefully. Several times
in the past few years Noriega and the U.S. came close to a deal
under which the dictator would have left Panama in return for
having the American indictments against him quashed, but the
arrangements always fell through.

    In the aftermath of invasion, said White House spokesman
Marlin Fitzwater, the stakes have been raised. To justify the
23 G.I.s killed and 300-odd wounded, the 600 Panamanians dead
and $2 billion in economic damages, the U.S. wants more from
Noriega than simple exile. Nonetheless, at length and after
much screaming, the U.S. may decide to live with a negotiated
deal. "All things considered, having him go to a third country
where he won't be able to stir up trouble is not such a bad way
for this thing to end," said a State Department official. But
Washington would insist on some stern and hard-to-enforce
conditions: that Noriega have no access to his fortune,
estimated at $200 million to $300 million, and that he be kept
isolated from press and TV. Those conditions would scarcely
help overcome the reluctance of third countries to harbor the
dictator.

    For all the frustration at not being able to bring Noriega
to justice, however, Bush hailed the dictator's surrender to
the papal nuncio as "a marvelous Christmas present." It
promptly put a stop to the fighting that had threatened to drag
out into a guerrilla campaign; Noriega loyalists saw no point
in battling on after their chief was gone. Last week American
troops turned their attention to restoring law-and-order and
suppressing looting in Panama City, sometimes in joint patrols
with members of the Panama Defense Forces (now renamed Public
Forces) with whom they had exchanged gunfire days earlier.

    Plans to resist the U.S. invasion had called for the P.D.F.
to break up into small groups and conduct a guerrilla war. But
Noriega from the first was too intent on saving his own skin
to give his followers any direction. Shortly before the
invasion, U.S. intelligence claims to have sighted Noriega at
an officers' club at the international airport. Noriega,
however, had an advance intimation of the attack. As an old
intelligence operative, he could hardly have missed the cargo
planes ferrying troops and equipment into American military
bases. He took off for five days of scuttling around Panama
City, trailing an entourage of bodyguards and their
girlfriends.

    He stayed briefly with supporters at homes ranging from
multibedroom houses to bug-ridden shacks, and supposedly spent
part of one night on the 17th floor of the Holiday Inn. On
Sunday, the fifth day of the invasion, U.S. troops reportedly
burst into the luxurious home of the mother of Noriega's
mistress, Vicky Amado, but missed the dictator possibly by only
half an hour. The Wall Street Journal stated that the Americans
had been told of Noriega's whereabouts by a telephone call from
Amado's teenage daughter. Amado's mother denied that U.S.
troops raided her house.

    By Christmas Eve, most of Noriega's entourage had melted
away. The dictator was exhausted by the chase and depressed by
the defection of one of his top lieutenants, Luis del Cid, who
surrendered to U.S. forces in the western province of Chiriqui
rather than organize a resistance. Noriega, accompanied by two
bodyguards, drove to a Dairy Queen ice-cream store in Paitilla,
a commercial neighborhood of Panama City. He dialed the
nunciature's number and spoke to Monsignor Laboa. As a
non-American diplomat who has been in touch with Laboa
paraphrased the conversation, Noriega requested sanctuary. On
what grounds? asked Laboa. Look, Noriega replied, at this
moment the Pope is beginning to celebrate Christmas in Rome.
He will be preaching about the inn where Joseph and Mary were
turned away. Can you refuse me? Laboa decided he could not.
Shortly after, a nunciature vehicle picked up Noriega at the
Dairy Queen. And why had American troops not surrounded the
papal embassy as they had the Cuban and Nicaraguan embassies,
where it was suspected Noriega might seek asylum? The State
Department answered, in effect, that they had simply never
thought of doing so.

    Unable to get at Noriega, the U.S. went after some of his
money. The Justice Department asked Britain, France, Luxembourg
and Switzerland to freeze accounts in which Noriega was thought
to have stashed $10 million or more; France and Switzerland
promptly complied. On the basis of documents seized during the
invasion, the U.S. felt sure it could prove that the accounts
were stuffed with drug money.

    Two other countries are also likely to be asked to freeze
Noriega funds, but part of his wealth may escape. The U.S.
insists it is after only drug profits, not the take from
prostitution, gambling and other rackets that Noriega
controlled. Should the dictator be forced into exile, he would
have to leave his $600,000 Panama City mansion -- "hung with
nearly 50 valuable oil paintings," according to the U.S. State
Department -- his chalet in Rio Hato and his 60-acre retreat
in Chiriqui province. But he might be able to enjoy some other
holdings: luxury apartments in Paris and the Dominican Republic,
a Boeing 727, three Learjets and yachts named Macho I, Macho
II and Macho III.

    Wherever he finally lands, Noriega seems finished
politically. Latin dictators, once deposed and forced to seek
asylum, rarely if ever come back. After his flight into the
nunciature, Panama began returning to normal. Government
offices and businesses that had not been looted reopened.

    Panamanians hailed the American invaders as liberators, even
in El Chorrillo, a burned-out section of Panama City where many
were left homeless. Residents of the down-at-the-heels area
were quick to assert that the fires were not caused by U.S.
military action but were deliberately set by Noriega's
paramilitary Dignity Battalions. Eulalia Sanchez paused while
burning garbage in a vacant lot in front of her damaged El
Chorrillo home to declare, "We are very happy with the gringos.
They freed us from the tyranny of Noriega."

    Similar scenes occurred in such towns as David, Chame, Anton
and Rio Hato, and should help the U.S. defend the invasion
before world public opinion as something better than
imperialistic bullying. One indication: Peru, which suspended
joint antidrug actions with the U.S. two weeks ago as a sign
of outrage at the invasion, quietly resumed them last week.
However, the U.N. General Assembly adopted a resolution that
called the Panamanian invasion a "flagrant violation of
international law."

    Another diplomatic contretemps flared up when U.S. troops
briefly invaded the residence of Nicaragua's Ambassador to
Panama Antenor Ferrey, apparently to search for a cache of
weapons. They turned up five rifles, which were later returned
with an apology. In retaliation, Nicaragua ordered 20 American
diplomats to leave Managua.

    Triumph in the short run by no means guarantees that the
U.S. will be able to bequeath Panama a stable, democratic
civilian government. Endara has not even finished naming a full
Cabinet, and in other ways he is all too obviously dependent
on his American protectors. In fact, Endara suffered from
telling, if unintentional, slights. His first television
address to the nation was preceded onscreen by a U.S. Defense
Department logo. When Americans accepted the surrender of Del
Cid, they flew him to the U.S. for trial on drug charges without
so much as a by-your-leave to the country's new President.

    Endara's chances of forming a government that does not need
to be propped up by U.S. troops and tanks depend heavily on his
getting control of the Panamanian military. But it is the U.S.
that is picking the leaders of the new Public Forces. And
though the Americans are screening former P.D.F. members
against "black, gray and white" lists (black representing the
deepest degree of involvement with Noriega), they have
nonetheless named a former Noriega henchman to command the new
militia. He is Roberto Armijo, who helped Noriega squelch a
coup last October and participated in the fight against the U.S.
invasion.

    Some of Endara's lieutenants would prefer to have no army
at all. Ricardo Arias Calderon, one of Endara's two Vice
Presidents, is known to believe Panama should follow the
example of Costa Rica, which does not have a substantial
military force; yet Calderon has been prevailed on to say the
opposite in recent interviews. The U.S. insists that a
professional military is needed to protect the Panama Canal and
it must, regrettably, be headed in part by Noriega's followers
because hardly any uncorrupted and democratic Panamanian
officers with military experience are available. "The danger,"
says Ambler Moss, a former U.S. Ambassador to Panama, "is that
the price of stability is to reestablish the P.D.F. under a
different name."

    In fact, such a development might produce stability of a
distinctly unwelcome variety. Many times previously, the
interaction of a weak civilian leadership and a strong military
has plunged Panama -- and other U.S. client states in Central
America -- into dictatorship. A week after the military triumph
against Noriega, the U.S. was discovering again that it is much
easier to depose a dictator than to establish a democracy.