TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/041789/04178900.037

Text File | 1992-09-23 | 12.2 KB | 233 lines

                cD                                                            WORLD, Page  32

DIPLOMACY

Moscow Scales Back


Gorbachev spurs shifts here, there -- but not everywhere

By Christopher Ogden

    There they were, shoulder to shoulder, about as disparate as
a pair could be. The business-suited pragmatist and the
fatigue-clad revolutionary. Mikhail Gorbachev and Fidel Castro.
New thinking and old orthodoxy. Castro talked the most, but
Gorbachev had the last word. He coolly rejected Castro's policy
of exporting revolution, a central tenet of the Cuban leader's
30-year rule. Until a very few years ago, Moscow's leaders too
preached worldwide support for wars of national liberation. But
Gorbachev's words in Havana seemed intended to reinforce his
professed determination to replace such vaporous ideology with
solidly grounded pragmatism -- obtaining influence in Latin
America, say, by diplomatic means and not just by Cuban proxy.
But as Castro boldly rejected the Moscow model of perestroika
and glasnost, Gorbachev bit his tongue and signed a new
friendship treaty. The Soviet Union was not about to provoke an
immediate change in its close relationship with Cuba.

    The spectacle of Gorbachev in Cuba was an instructive one,
more symbolic than substantive. Yet his message there echoed
far more loudly in such far-flung corners of the globe as
Poland and Kampuchea, where stunning events gave real meaning
to Moscow's "new thinking."

    In Warsaw the Communist government and Solidarity signed
sweeping agreements to legalize the long-banned independent
trade union and to allow Poland's first partly democratic
elections since 1948. In Phnom Penh, Soviet client Vietnam
announced that it would end its occupation and withdraw all its
troops, estimated at some 60,000, from Kampuchea by the end of
September. That opened the door to a broad rapprochement
between the U.S.S.R. and China, which had bitterly resisted the
Vietnamese encroachment. Beijing made the Vietnamese pullout
one of three conditions for making up with Moscow (the others:
an end to the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan and resolution of
conflicts along the 4,500-mile U.S.S.R.-China border).

    Neither in Poland nor in Kampuchea could these dramatic
reversals have been made without the sponsorship of Gorbachev.
They follow a string of precedents set by the Soviet Union: its
first contested elections in 71 years; withdrawal from
Afghanistan; constructive mediation in southern Africa; offers
of significant cuts in the Warsaw Pact's conventional-force
structure in Europe; and even, despite reports of an unwelcome
sale of jet bombers to Libya, suggestions of a generally more
helpful approach to the Middle East.

    The message everywhere is the same. The Soviet Union is
scaling back its cold war commitments overseas in favor of a
more pragmatic, diplomatic -- and potentially more successful --
drive to expand its influence abroad. The Soviets are moving in
more subtle ways than of old to position themselves
advantageously. The retrenchment from overt aggression, said a
top adviser to President George Bush last week, discloses "a
foreign policy of necessity designed to provide breathing
space." But this necessity has bred a virtue: the plaudits for
Moscow's policy shifts have led to an overall advance of the
Gorbachev cause overseas. It is, of course, domestic
imperatives that have forced Gorbachev to readjust, even
reconstruct Soviet foreign policy. Henry Trofimenko, a
specialist at Moscow's Institute of U.S.A. and Canada Studies,
laid the Kremlin's newly realistic approach squarely on three
forces: money, perestroika and the need for Western assistance.
Said Trofimenko: "First of all, we should spend less money
abroad. Second, there should be a concentration of people's
efforts on our internal situation. Third, we are trying to
improve relations with the West."

    True, Gorbachev's temperamental preference is for the
practical. But not even Gorbachev would be so eager to reduce
expensive commitments beyond his borders if his country were not
in such desperate straits. Though a military superpower, the
Soviet Union is struggling economically. To make perestroika
succeed, Gorbachev cannot afford to squander huge sums of money
and material on foreign adventures.

    At the same time he was curtailing exorbitant demands on his
country's exchequer, Gorbachev was trying to establish peaceful
conditions around the country's borders. Simply enforcing
totalitarianism on restive East bloc neighbors was no longer a
satisfactory solution; their own vast economic and political
troubles were becoming an insupportable drain on Soviet
resources and attention. Perhaps most important, Gorbachev
recognized that it was essential to enlist economic,
technological and managerial assistance from the West. The
price of that was a curtailment of cold war aggression and
regional agitation.

    The Soviets appear to appreciate that the world out there
has changed. "We have stopped using the Third World as a
battleground for capitalism or socialism," says Trofimenko. The
new battlefields are more economic and scientific than
ideological and military. To play on those fields, the U.S.S.R.
has to negotiate arms limits, pull back from regional
confrontation and permit political change among its satellites.

    Without that sea change in Moscow, it would be difficult to
imagine the events of last week. There could hardly be more
dramatic evidence of a break with the old thinking than the
recent events in Poland. Solidarity leader Lech Walesa signing
an agreement, smiling even, with Polish Communist officials.
The union grew out of economic despair in 1980 and was crushed
the next year by the imposition of martial law, one of the last
ironfisted displays of Brezhnev-style authority.

    For two months the parties negotiated over a 30-ft.-across
round table for unprecedented political freedoms. "Why a 30-ft.
table?" went a Polish joke making the rounds as the talks got
under way. Answer: "Because the world spitting record is only 15
ft." In the end, however, the two sides managed to craft a new
political order intended to save their country from economic
ruin and social chaos.

    The agreement calls for reorganization of the Parliament
with a strong President, expected to be General Wojciech
Jaruzelski. The legislature will offer unprecedented power to
the opposition: a re-established upper chamber, the Senate,
will have 100 members to be chosen in free elections in June;
the Sejm, or lower chamber, will retain its 460 seats, of which
the majority will continue to be reserved for candidates
representing the ruling Communist Party and its allies, but 35%
of Sejm members will be freely elected. The pact even provides
for opposition media, complete with a newspaper and regular
television and radio programming. And in separate negotiations,
the government agreed to give the Catholic Church full legal
status, a recognition dear to the deeply religious Poles.

    "We are closing a chapter in our history and opening another
one," said Interior Minister Czeslaw Kiszczak. Solidarity leader
Walesa, who co-signed the pact with Kiszczak, went further: "I
think this may be the beginning of democracy in Poland." But if
that prophecy is to come true, Poland must reverse its
disastrous economic decline, and the accord is weakest in its
economic provisions. It includes only limited measures to
advance productivity and a highly risky plan to index workers'
wages. The Bush Administration is thinking of rewarding Poland
for its moves toward liberalization by extending new credits,
the first since martial law was imposed in 1981. Even a generous
loan, however, may not be enough to help Poland surmount its $39
billion foreign debt, aging industries and chronic consumer
shortages. All too many Poles are gripped with a visible
depression of spirit that even the astonishing political changes
have failed to lift.

    For the Soviet Union, the practical advantage of permitting
such political experiments must be balanced against the threat
they pose. Poland will test to the limits Moscow's professed
willingness to let each country design its own version of
socialism.

    Half a world away, equally momentous but even more uncertain
changes were coming to Kampuchea. More than a decade ago, with
the U.S.S.R.'s blessing, Vietnam invaded its next-door neighbor.
Hanoi may eventually have tired of the unending war, which has
cost it 50,000 casualties. But in the past few years, Gorbachev
has had compelling reasons to withdraw Moscow's support.

    And so last week the Vietnamese announced their retreat, a
withdrawal that paved the way for a successful summit next month
between Gorbachev and Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping. The joint
declaration was made by Vietnam, Kampuchea and Laos, but it came
largely at the instigation of the Soviets. "The military doesn't
like it. They don't believe ((Premier)) Hun Sen's forces are
ready," said a senior Vietnamese official in Ho Chi Minh City.
"Basically, it's a political decision to withdraw. There's a lot
of pressure to get out, especially from the Soviets." Moscow
could ill afford to keep bankrolling the occupation of
Kampuchea. Nor did that venture square with Gorbachev's
promises to ease regional tensions and stop exporting
revolution.

    Whether because of Soviet pressure or its own fatigue,
Vietnam dropped its insistence that a fall pullout could take
place only if all aid to the forces opposing its puppet
government in Phnom Penh, including those of Prince Norodom
Sihanouk and the murderous Khmer Rouge, was simultaneously
halted. Kampuchea reserved the right to seek "assistance" once
more if such aid continued, but many analysts believe Hanoi is
more interested in concentrating on its own sadly deteriorated
economy. The Vietnamese hope their withdrawal will ultimately
open up economic links to the U.S., which has long made their
departure a condition for diplomatic recognition.

    But while Soviet and Vietnamese interests are well served by
the end of the occupation, Kampuchea's fate remains extremely
uncertain. A rearrangement of political power among all the
contending factions has yet to be worked out. More ominously,
diplomacy will have to move fast to forestall a triumphant
return of the Khmer Rouge. Some 2 million Kampucheans died under
their monstrous four-year tenure, and they are today the
strongest fighting force among opponents to the
Vietnamese-backed government.

    Ironically, it was in London that Gorbachev's new thinking
achieved its greatest success of the week. Despite serious
disagreements over policy during their fifth get-together,
Margaret Thatcher and Gorbachev still seemed devoted to their
mutual admiration society. Their talks, cooed the Iron Lady,
were "very deep, very wide ranging and very friendly." Grinning
from ear to ear, Gorbachev enthused that their "mutual
understanding is increasing." So much so that Queen Elizabeth
even accepted an invitation to visit the U.S.S.R., a historic
royal acknowledgment of the distance between Gorbachev and the
Bolsheviks who murdered her Romanov cousins.

    Moscow's about-face has mesmerized Western Europe,
convincing many that there is no longer anything to fear from
the Kremlin. A poll in the Times of London last week asked
which nation "wishes to extend its power over other countries."
The U.S.S.R. was named by 35% and the U.S. by 33%, compared with
70% and 31% respectively in a 1981 poll.

    West Europeans seem less anxious at the moment about Soviet
moves than about lack of action by Washington. Gorbachev seemed
to find a sympathetic ear when he expressed to Thatcher his
impatience with the lackadaisical pace of foreign policymaking
in Washington, where a thorough "review" is still under way.
Despite Bush's reiteration Friday that "Mr. Gorbachev knows
there is no foot dragging going on," the U.S. has been left in
the Soviet leader's diplomatic dust. Like nature, foreign
policy abhors a v"acuum. And if there is one certainty when
Gorbachev is around, it is that the Soviet leader, for all his
domestic problems, does not leave a vacuum when he takes to the
foreign road.