TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/060490/0604050.000

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                                                                                THE SUMMIT, Page 38

Anger, Bluff -- and Cooperation


Behind the Sandinistas' stunning election loss in Nicaragua is
the secret story of U.S.-Soviet partnership in Central America.
George Bush may lack Gorbachev's grand vision, but he and his
advisers proved their mastery of creative diplomacy

By MICHAEL KRAMER


    In late November 1989, American intelligence reported that
the Soviet freighter Vladimir Ilyich, bound for Nicaragua, had
loaded a cargo of four Mi-17 Hip helicopters at Port Leningrad.
The 38 Hips previously shipped to the Sandinistas had been used
to devastating effect in the war against the contra rebels. It
now looked as if Managua would get more. In neighboring El
Salvador, meanwhile, Marxist guerrillas had launched their
strongest offensive in years, managing to trap twelve American
Green Berets in a luxury hotel. President Bush responded by
dispatching a contingent of Delta Force commandos. U.S.
intervention seemed a distinct possibility. Then on Nov. 25
came an even greater shock for Washington. An unmarked plane
carrying 24 SA-7 surface-to-air missiles crashed in El
Salvador. The weapons were intended for the F.M.L.N. guerrillas
-- a clear violation of repeated Soviet assurances that
surface-to-air missiles would not reach El Salvador. What
followed was an escalation of U.S.-Soviet tensions that
threatened to undermine progress on arms control, Eastern
Europe and other sensitive issues. Cables flew between
Washington and Moscow. George Bush and Mikhail Gorbachev had
an acrimonious exchange at the Malta summit on Dec. 2. The
growing superpower cooperation that seemed to mark the end of
the cold war was fraying. But on the morning of Dec. 7, Moscow
sent a flash message to the Vladimir Ilyich: "Return
immediately to Leningrad."

    For Washington, the freighter's turnaround was proof that
eight months of intensive and mostly secret Soviet-American
diplomacy was paying off, an important signal that a tortured
and bumpy attempt to end the conflict in Central America was
back on track. The drama didn't end with the Vladimir Ilyich's
recall. A good deal of hard bargaining between Washington and
Moscow ensued. But when Nicaragua finally held its first free
election in February, and the Sandinistas peacefully
transferred power to the opposition that had defeated them, the
superpowers had reason to celebrate. They had shown they could
work together to solve the toughest conflicts. That cooperation
is continuing now in an effort to end the war in El Salvador,
and eventually it might help solve the thorniest problem of all
in the hemisphere: the rancorous dispute between the U.S. and
Cuba.

    Latin America has been a cold war battlefield for more than
three decades. That the first breakthrough in resolving
regional conflicts during the Bush presidency occurred there
is remarkable. The virtually untold story of that success
reflects how the two most powerful nations on earth do
business. It is a tale of bluff, deception, anger, accusation,
threat, candor, misinterpretation, goodwill and, above all,
creative diplomacy.

    U.S. Secretary of State James Baker and Soviet Foreign
Minister Eduard Shevardnadze have provided TIME with critical
information. They have also made key participants available for
extended interviews. Their motive is no mystery: it reflects
pride in what they have accomplished and offers insurance
against the day when old animosities re-emerge and citizens in
both countries question the value of superpower cooperation.

    BUSH'S OPENING BID

    The Central American policy George Bush inherited from
Ronald Reagan was widely perceived as being at a dead end.
Secretary of State Baker felt he had "few if any cards -- a
very weak hand that almost everyone expected us to fold."
Still, with Soviet military and economic assistance to the
Sandinistas running at close to $1 billion annually at a time
when Moscow was strapped at home, there existed the
possibility that the Soviets wanted out -- and that the
influence their aid provided could be turned toward ensuring
free elections in Nicaragua and an end to regional subversion.

    Bush and Baker decided to test their theory by making
Central America a key measure of the Soviets' supposed "new
thinking" in foreign policy. In an early strategy memo to
Baker, the newly named Assistant Secretary of State for
Inter-American Affairs, Bernard Aronson, wrote that Moscow must
see "tangible signs that they will pay a high price in
bilateral relations if they obstruct our Central American
diplomacy, but also tangible benefits from cooperation." The
key was speed: everyone realized that the proposed linkage
would erode over time. Bush and Baker knew a lack of progress
in the region could not long constrain movement on crucial
issues like arms control and Eastern Europe.

    America's hook was the Soviets' public support for the 1987
Esquipulas II treaty, which called for Nicaraguan democracy and
an end to regional subversion. Managua routinely ignored the
agreement's provisions, as the U.S. said frequently. Even the
March 24, 1989, Bipartisan Accord with Congress -- a stroke
that enlisted Democratic support for a new U.S. policy on
Central America -- echoed the basic line. Soviet and Cuban "aid
and support of violence and subversion in Central America,"
said the accord, "is in direct violation of [Esquipulas II]."
Three days later, on March 27, Bush reiterated the point in a
private letter to Gorbachev: "It is hard to reconcile your
slogans [about new thinking] . . . with continuing high levels
of Soviet and Cuban assistance to Nicaragua. A continuation of
[this] practice  in this region of vital interest to the U.S.
will . . . inevitably affect the nature of the [U.S.-Soviet]
relationship." After bashing Moscow, Bush asked for a signal:
"An initiative by the Soviet Union and Cuba to shut off the
assistance pipeline feeding armed conflict in the region would
pay large dividends in American goodwill. It would suggest that
the Soviet Union was prepared to promote a political settlement
in the region through deeds and not simply slogans."

    The immediate Soviet reply to Bush's letter was negative.
On March 30 Shevardnadze told an American embassy official in
Moscow that the real problem in Central America was "U.S.
material support to the contras." He expressed concern that the
latest round of contra aid was not "purely humanitarian," and
he held to the discredited view that the Sandinistas were
already complying with Esquipulas.

    Seated under a portrait of Lenin in his Foreign Ministry
office in Moscow last week, Soviet Deputy Foreign Minister
Viktor Komplektov explained that initial response to
Washington's strategy. "We never believed that Central America
was the key to improved superpower relations," he said. "We
did, however, believe that Central America is especially
important because conservatives consider the region as a litmus
test of a President's toughness." This led Moscow to
misinterpret Bush's opening. "Who was Bush but Reagan's man?"
says Yuri Pavlov, the Soviet's top Latin America policy
assistant. "That's how we incorrectly looked at it at the
beginning, before we really engaged. So the prospect of the
contras fighting again seemed to us very real."

    Then why did the Soviets play along? Their own interests
demanded a different sort of linkage, but cooperation was the
key to their goals as well. "As we have said," Komplektov
explained, "we want to deny you the image of us as your enemy.
Our desire to become respected by the international community
is central to our efforts at home, because it will help us
integrate into the world economy." From this perspective,
Soviet-American cooperation anywhere serves Moscow's interests.
Moreover, the Soviets genuinely wanted to reduce their
overextended position in Central America, and Esquipulas,
because it had regional legitimacy, offered both superpowers
an honorable way to defuse their rivalry in the area.

    THE GAME BEGINS

    As Baker prepared for his first full-fledged meeting with
Gorbachev and Shevardnadze in Moscow on May 10, the
Administration was still in the dark. Washington had used every
public and private avenue to press its message, but it had
heard nothing from Moscow since Shevardnadze's rejection of the
arguments in Bush's March 27 letter. With no fallback position,
Bush and Baker resolved to push the strategy again. "Time is
not on our side," Baker was reminded in a memo from his top
aides four days before the Moscow meeting. "We must convince
the Soviets not that we are in trouble and desperately need them
to throw us an anchor, but that it is they who risk being seen
as a spoiler. The bottom line is this: Soviet reduction of aid
and Soviet pressure on its clients are necessary to make up for
the leverage we lost in Central America when military aid to
the contras was ended." Unstated in writing, but understood by
all, was that the upcoming meeting could be the
Administration's last chance to turn Central American lemons
into lemonade.

    Late in the evening of May 6 -- the day before Baker left
for Moscow -- a breakthrough occurred. Gorbachev finally
responded to Bush's letter. "We note the positive trends in
Central America," Gorbachev wrote, "including the intention of
your Administration and the U.S. Congress to `give diplomacy
a chance.' I agree that productive Soviet-U.S. engagement on
regional questions will lead to a growing potential of goodwill
in Soviet-U.S. relations." Gorbachev, it appeared, had bought
the linkage. Then the Soviet leader added something of even
greater importance: "In order to promote a peaceful settlement
of the conflict, and bearing in mind that the attacks by the
contras' troops against Nicaragua have stopped, the U.S.S.R.
has not been sending weapons to [Nicaragua] after 1988." Bush
wanted proof of Moscow's good faith, and Gorbachev delivered.

    Encouraged, Baker set off for Moscow -- and pressed even
harder. In his first session with Shevardnadze, Baker pocketed
Gorbachev's May 6 arms-cutoff disclosure and then complained
that the weapons flow to Cuba and Nicaragua, and from there to
the F.M.L.N. in El Salvador, was nevertheless continuing
undiminished. He implored Shevardnadze to have his government
"lend its support through deeds as well as words to convince
Nicaragua and Cuba -- in whatever manner [you] choose -- to
halt all aid for subversion in Central America and to comply
fully with Esquipulas." If "these countries fail to comply,"
added Baker, "then we would ask that [you] reduce or end aid to
these governments accordingly." And although he never uttered
the word linkage, Baker alluded to arms control: "We have all
seen how events in other regions changed the political
atmosphere in which treaties agreed to by both sides were
considered."

    The carrot was next. "We would not expect you to take these
steps unless there were benefits," said Baker. The Secretary
then presented what would become known as the "Five Points."
Three were especially important: 1) early concrete steps by
Managua toward complying with Esquipulas would result in
improved U.S.-Nicaragua relations; 2) if the contemplated
election were free and fair by U.S. standards, Washington would
accept a Sandinista victory; and, perhaps most important to
both the Soviets and the Sandinistas, 3) an overall regional
settlement (by which Baker meant an end to the war in El
Salvador) would free up American aid to the region and thus get
Moscow off its financial hook.

    Later, Baker told Gorbachev that the deal was in Moscow's
interest for another reason: if the Soviets embraced it, no one
could accuse them of "abandoning Soviet friends in Nicaragua."
While Baker's Five Points proved that Bush was not
ideologically committed to an unending struggle with the
Sandinistas, the Soviets to this day believe incorrectly that
the Five Points were generated by Gorbachev's arms-suspension
announcement. No matter. The important point was Gorbachev's
reaction to Baker's presentation. In Esquipulas II, the two
sides had a common text -- a legalistic mechanism that could
justify pursuing the same goal. Now, with a slight nod of his
head, Gorbachev signaled that for the first time Washington and
Moscow also had a common strategy.

    IN THE TRENCHES

    Five days after his Senate confirmation on June 14, Bernard
Aronson took his first trip as State's top Latin expert. He did
not go south, to the area of his responsibility. Instead, he
flew east, to Moscow. Aronson's destination conformed to the
Administration's strategy and signaled respect: the U.S. was
serious about engaging the Soviets in Central America. On June
20 at 10:10 a.m. Aronson and his Soviet counterpart, Yuri
Pavlov, sat across from each other for the first time at a long
conference table at a Soviet Foreign Ministry guesthouse in
Moscow. The initial session went better than Washington could
ever have imagined. Both Aronson and Pavlov appeared intent
on solving problems rather than scoring points. Each clearly
spoke with the authority of his government, and each
acknowledged the other's concerns. The Esquipulas agreement,
Aronson suggested, was the perfect device for moving toward
free elections in Nicaragua -- and also for supporting Soviet
demands that the U.S. keep its promise to press contra
demobilization. From then on, the Soviets were co-conspirators
in the effort to level the electoral playing field.

    More important, the Soviets demonstrated initial good faith
in the matter of arms flows to Nicaragua and the Salvadoran
guerrillas. While Soviet military aid to the region diminished
in the wake of Gorbachev's May 6 letter, Cuba had stepped up
its weapons shipments dramatically to fill the void. More
ominously, evidence suggested that Soviet munitions intended
for Havana were being transshipped to Nicaragua. Technically,
Gorbachev's pledge to Bush was being honored. On the ground in
Central America, however, the situation had barely changed.
Aronson asked for a clarification: Was transshipment permitted
by Moscow? No, said Pavlov. "We will talk to our Cuban
friends."

    Of equal value, the first Aronson-Pavlov session resulted
in agreement on a mechanism for halting Sandinista arms
shipments to the F.M.L.N. in El Salvador. Nicaragua wanted U.S.
support in the U.N. for deployment of a peacekeeping force: the
U.N. Observer Group in Central America (ONUCA). The group was
supposed to monitor compliance with Article VI of Esquipulas,
which prohibited the use of territory to aid guerrilla
operations in neighboring states. The Sandinistas were eager to
have ONUCA ensure that the contras in Honduras could not
infiltrate Nicaragua. The U.S. insisted that ONUCA also monitor
the clandestine flow of arms from Nicaragua to the F.M.L.N.
Pavlov hinted that ONUCA would allow the Soviets to insist that
Nicaragua abide by the agreement. "To go to the Sandinistas and
say the U.S. had developed evidence of their violations would
not do for us," explains Pavlov, reflecting Soviet concerns
that they not be perceived as abandoning their regional allies.
"With ONUCA, we could say we were not carrying out the American
agenda, but the U.N.'s." ONUCA could easily verify the
movement of 12,000 armed contras in Honduras, Aronson argued,
but would probably not have the means to track the secret arms
flow to El Salvador. If in the U.N. Security Council the U.S.
supported ONUCA's deployment, Aronson asked, would Moscow then
be willing to accept American evidence of arms-flow violations,
even if the U.N. force was incapable of confirming the
allegations? Yes, said Pavlov. Cover was what the Soviets
wanted.

    It quickly became clear that both Washington and Moscow were
fortunate to have Pavlov as the Soviet interlocutor. At the
second session on the first day of meetings, the Soviet
delegation was joined by Komplektov, the Deputy Foreign
Minister. Komplektov was well known to veteran American
diplomats as a hard-line old thinker. With Aronson, he lived
up to his reputation. At lunch between sessions, Komplektov
told bad Russian jokes about affairs with the actress Gina
Lollobrigida. Across the table, he rehashed old Soviet
positions on Central America and lectured Aronson about the
sensibilities of small Latin nations condemned by geography to
labor in the shadow of the American colossus. Aronson was
concerned that the Soviet tone was changing and wanted to
signal that only the first session's manner could lead to
progress. When Komplektov did his "small nations" riff for the
third time in 90 minutes, Aronson fired back. "Mr. Minister,"
he said, "you don't have to tell me about the sensitivities of
small countries. My grandfather was a Latvian." Komplektov
never reappeared at a subsequent U.S.-Soviet discussion on
Central America.

    To further their cooperation, the Soviets asked that
Washington respond favorably when the Sandinistas took positive
steps. "The more evidence Managua sees that the U.S. is willing
to coexist with them after the elections, assuming they win,"
said Pavlov, "the easier it will be to create a free and fair
election." On Aug. 4, the Sandinistas signed an accord with the
democratic opposition calling for the disbanding of the contras
and general elections in February 1990. On Aug. 7, in the
tortured syntax that defines diplomatese, Baker said publicly
the U.S. was "very pleased with the steps that Nicaragua has
taken to establish a dialogue with the opposition and to move
toward procedures that might permit a free and fair election."

    A pattern began to form. The Soviets posed a number of tests
for the U.S., and Washington passed most of them. Pavlov argued
that Moscow's ability to stem the flow of weapons to Central
America depended on Soviet confidence that the military threat
to Managua was lessening. In response, Aronson described as a
concession the scaling back of U.S. maneuvers in Honduras. He
cited the cutoff of humanitarian assistance to a contra
commander who had independently attacked a Sandinista outpost
in violation of the Bipartisan Accord's ban on offensive
operations. He mentioned the closing of the contras' political
office in Miami (although in fact the CIA had shut the office
to save money). These efforts, said Aronson -- and the return
of the contras' political leadership to Managua to compete in
the elections -- should be taken as signs of U.S. good faith.

    It was now September, and while progress toward the election
was clear, the movement of arms to Nicaragua and to the
F.M.L.N. continued at unjustifiable rates. Aronson told Pavlov
that the American public would hold the Soviets accountable for
the continued flow, even if they were not directly responsible.
"You cannot escape it," Aronson said. "No one will ever believe
that you cannot control your allies when your assistance
sustains their very existence." Moscow's allies understood the
Soviet position, Pavlov replied. "We explain the changes in the
world every time we meet with the Cubans. But Castro is not
someone with whom one uses the word must if one is serious about
changing his behavior. Fidel doesn't take orders from anyone."
Almost as an aside, Pavlov wondered if it "had ever occurred
to the U.S. that some of our friends have no interest in seeing
an improvement in Soviet-U.S. relations."

    SMOKING GUNS

    On Oct. 18, Honduran troops intercepted a van loaded with
weapons destined for the F.M.L.N. in El Salvador. The shipment
was part of what the world would soon learn was a major
infusion of arms designed to fuel the guerrillas' "final
offensive" in November. Most of the cache had been manufactured
in the Soviet Union, and the van's driver admitted having run
munitions from Nicaragua to El Salvador on numerous occasions
during 1989. "We knew about many previous shipments," says
Aronson, "but this was a smoking gun." Summoned to the State
Department, Soviet Ambassador Yuri Dubinin was presented with
a packet of evidence. Shevardnadze's Oct. 30 reply infuriated
Baker. The minister rambled on about the contras and dismissed
Washington's evidence as providing "no grounds for accusing the
Sandinista leadership of violating its commitment to end
assistance to rebel movements." To Dubinin, who delivered the
Shevardnadze note, Baker said "This is the same old stuff."
What is more, the Secretary continued, it represents "old
thinking . . . The Sandinistas are tooling you around badly .
. . It is hard for me to believe Minister Shevardnadze wrote
this letter. I hope that someone else did." Dubinin handed over
the Russian original and joked that perhaps the letter would
look better to Baker before translation.

    To underscore Washington's anger, Baker raised the problem
publicly. In a speech to the OAS on Nov. 13, the Secretary
said, "Soviet behavior toward Cuba and Central America remains
the biggest obstacle to a full, across-the-board improvement
in relations . . ." Baker's original text labeled the Soviet
aid to Cuba and Central America "a big" obstacle. The Secretary
changed "a big" to "the biggest" shortly before delivering his
address.

    Baker's OAS speech got Moscow's attention, and Pavlov flew
to Washington for an emergency consultation. Tempers cooled,
but only briefly. The worst was about to happen.

    In the early morning of Nov. 25, two light planes stripped
of identifying markings took off from a Nicaraguan military
base and headed for El Salvador. One made the trip to a
guerrilla airstrip successfully. It unloaded its cargo and was
burned to cover up the evidence. The other, a twin-engine
Cessna 310, crashed in eastern El Salvador. On board was a
variety of weaponry destined for the F.M.L.N., including the
24 SA-7 surface-to-air missiles. The missiles had been
manufactured in North Korea from Soviet designs. They were then
sent to Cuba and transshipped to Nicaragua for delivery to the
Salvadoran guerrillas. In the previous clashes over arms flow
to Central America, the Soviets had sought to quell U.S. fears
by pointing out that light weapons "like AK-47s could not tip
the balance in Central America." Missiles could do that,
admitted Pavlov, just as American-supplied Stingers "had in
Afghanistan." Soviet seriousness, Pavlov had asserted
repeatedly, "can be seen in the fact that there has been no
introduction of SAM systems in El Salvador."

    Moscow knew that everything was at stake. The Soviets feared
that Washington would cancel the Malta summit. The SA-7s were
going to be hard to explain. On Nov. 28, Ambassador Dubinin
officially denied "attempts to link us directly or indirectly
with this incident. [There] is no reason for creating a crisis
situation." Within minutes of Dubinin's demarche, Baker drafted
the American response. "This latest incident," the Secretary
wrote to Shevardnadze, "calls into question your government's
undertakings toward mine . . . If the commitments we make
cannot be kept, we have little basis on which to proceed . .
. The time has come for [you] to stand up and . . . use your
influence to put a final and definitive end to Nicaraguan and
Cuban military and logistical assistance to the F.M.L.N."

    Someone was dissembling, but Baker was determined that Malta
go forward. His public formulation on Nov. 29, just three days
before the summit, was particularly artful. "Either the
Nicaraguans are lying to the Soviet Union," Baker said, "or the
Soviet Union is lying to us. We prefer to believe it's the
former."

    The stormy seas at Malta prevented a full discussion of
Central America -- and what Baker thinks would have been a
heated argument over the missile shipment. But the matter was
discussed, and the tension it created was palpable. At a
postsummit press conference in Brussels, Bush stowed his jovial
manner. "We have a big difference" on Central America, said the
President. "It wasn't all sweetness and light." For his part,
Gorbachev stuck to a sentence crafted carefully in advance: "We
have assurances -- firm assurances from Nicaragua -- that no
deliveries using certain aircraft were actually carried out."
Notice the "very precise wording," explains Pavlov.
"[Gorbachev] said, `We have assurances' from the Nicaraguans,
which in fact we did. But he didn't say we believed them."

    Clever distancing could be admired, but Washington cared
more about changing behavior. To press the issue, Baker
telephoned Shevardnadze shortly after Malta. "We will have to
have another very serious conversation with the Nicaraguans and
Cubans, even though we just had a visit," said Shevardnadze,
instructing his translator to emphasize very. Baker then sent
an eyes-only cable to Shevardnadze listing "requests of the
Soviet Union by the United States." Among them, he asked for a
"Soviet commitment that all arms shipments from Nicaragua to the
F.M.L.N. cease definitively and that no territory of Nicaragua
be used by others to provide arms support for the F.M.L.N."
Baker also asked that Gorbachev pressure Castro: We want a
"Soviet commitment to reduce Cuban military and economic
assistance as necessary to ensure that Cuba does not increase
[the] flow of lethal weapons  to Nicaragua and to ensure that
Cuba does not rearm the F.M.L.N." "Baker called his demarche
`requests,'" Pavlov remembers, "but they  were really demands.
Malta had taken place as scheduled, but we believed quite
seriously that the course of U.S.-Soviet relations was in
jeopardy. We had to act."

    Within days, the Vladimir Ilyich, with its cargo of Soviet
helicopters, was called home to Leningrad. Shortly thereafter,
Moscow denied a Sandinista request for emergency funds. "They
wanted money to put consumer goods in the stores, so they could
portray the economic situation as improving and attract voter
support," says Pavlov. "We didn't think it was a good
investment."

    Another price paid by the Sandinistas came at the Dec. 12
convocation of the Central American Presidents in San Isidro,
Costa Rica. It was there that the Sandinistas, in effect,
repudiated the F.M.L.N. The declaration Nicaraguan President
Daniel Ortega signed at San Isidro called for the Salvadoran
guerrillas to "immediately and effectively cease hostilities
and join the process of dialogue." The document also expressed
Ortega's support of Alfredo Cristiani's Salvadoran government
as democratic, something Managua had previously never conceded.
"We choked hard on that one," says a former Ortega adviser. "Of
course we didn't believe it, but our backs were against the
wall. It seemed that the whole world was down on us. Even the
Soviets had said -- in what for them was a strident manner --
if Soviet-American relations seriously deteriorated, we would
be to blame. If we hadn't gone along with the others at San
Isidro, we would have been completely isolated." Broadly seen,
San Isidro was a triumph of American and Soviet strategy.

    As the Feb. 25 Nicaraguan election approached, both sides
wanted to lock the other into accepting the outcome. In the
joint communique following their Feb. 10 meeting, Baker and
Shevardnadze pledged both nations would "respect the results
of free and fair elections." But the U.S. had another concern.
Washington questioned whether the Sandinistas would actually
transfer power if they lost. Aronson asked if the Soviets would
continue denying weapons to the Sandinistas if Violeta Chamorro
won. Pavlov said yes.

    In all their communications with Managua, the Soviets were
always subtle. With the crisis over, the helicopters that were
withheld in December were sent to Nicaragua at the end of
January. Moscow, however, assured Washington that they were
equipped for civilian use only. In explaining the Kremlin's
decision to send the choppers after all, a Soviet academic at
a Moscow think tank offers a lesson in the application of
pressure. "To maintain one's influence in a situation," he
says, "it is often necessary -- in fact it is usually necessary
-- to both give and withhold. Especially in Latin America,
where every leader thinks he is some sort of mystic God,
diplomacy requires dealing as one deals with children. If you
say no all the time, you are ignored, even if, as a parent, you
hold all the theoretical power. The helicopters signaled that
we were still on the Sandinistas' side. They already believed
we weren't. If that impression stuck, our ability to influence
their decisions would diminish. And at that time, when the
question of their actually transferring office was very much
in doubt, our influence was more crucial than ever."

    Equally important were the signals Moscow did not send. As
the Soviets watched the Ortega campaign unfold, they thought
the Sandinistas should steal the opposition's thunder by
seconding Chamorro's promise to end the hated military draft,
but Moscow never communicated its analysis. "We don't interfere
in someone else's elections," Pavlov deadpans.

    THE FUTURE

    When Aronson and Pavlov met in Washington on April 2, five
weeks after Chamorro's victory in Nicaragua, it became clear
the Soviets had learned just how the new game could be played.
The talk now concerned El Salvador, and the Soviets deftly
reversed roles. With Moscow supporting the F.M.L.N. rebels,
Pavlov borrowed the arguments Aronson had advanced for nine
months with respect to Nicaragua. Pavlov said he saw "no lack
of desire on the part of the F.M.L.N. to negotiate" an end to
its war with the Cristiani government. He asked that the U.S.
"pressure" Cristiani to "speak seriously" with the guerrillas.
Pavlov even adopted Reagan's justification for the contras to
explain Cuba's aid to the F.M.L.N. If the F.M.L.N. disarmed
before a political settlement was reached, he argued, its
ability to press the Salvadoran government to reform would be
lost. It was Aronson's turn to reassure Pavlov. If the arms
flow to the F.M.L.N. was reduced, he said, Washington would "do
all it could" to press for serious negotiations. The echoes of
the Nicaraguan settlement are distinct: Baker is trying to
fashion the same kind of bipartisan accord on El Salvador that
worked so well for Nicaragua, and the U.S. is strongly
supporting the current U.N.-mediated peace talks between the
government and the F.M.L.N.

    The lesson of the past year is simple: enough obstacles
existed to derail the peace process at any time. Moscow and
Washington pushed forward because it was in both their
interests to do so. For that reason, the elements of a deal
were always there. Assembling them was another matter.

    While the importance of the Soviet-American cooperation in
Central America should not be exaggerated, it can serve as a
model of trust and shared success, a potential bridge across
rocky moments ahead. An example occurred last April, when Baker
and Shevardnadze appeared stalled on an arms-control agreement
that had seemed virtually sealed in February. On both sides,
the mood was glum. During a break in the discussions, Aronson
and Pavlov conferred in a small room on the State Department's
seventh floor. As Shevardnadze walked by, Pavlov introduced him
to Aronson. For the first time in two days, Shevardnadze's
smile did not seem forced. "You two," said Shevardnadze, "are
the only ones who seem to have accomplished anything." "A lot
of that is due to Yuri's candor and professionalism," said
Aronson, "and I really think that what we have done in Central
America has affected the whole relationship for the better."
Said Shevardnadze: "We are learning." "So are we," Aronson
replied.