TIME: Almanac 1990/1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso/time/041789/04178900.037

Text File | 1990-09-28 | 12KB | 222 lines

WORLD, Page  32

DIPLOMACYMoscow Scales BackGorbachev spurs shifts here,

there -- but not everywhere

     By  CHRISTOPHER OGDEN

    There they were, shoulde)r 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 Viet Nam 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, Viet Nam 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 Viet Nam, 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, Viet Nam
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 see m 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.