TIME: Almanac 1995

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<text id=89TT1530> <title> June 12, 1989: "Here We Go, On The Offensive" </title> <history> TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1989 June 12, 1989 Massacre In Beijing </history> <article> <source>Time Magazine</source> <hdr> WORLD, Page 28 DIPLOMACY "Here We Go, On the Offensive" </hdr><body> Bush finally scores a foreign policy triumph as he seizes the initiative from Gorbachev By 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 Ogden/Brussels </body></article> </text>