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                                                                                GEORGIA, Page 46

No Time for Diplomacy


As hard-line nationalists and separatist ethnic groups tear
his homeland apart, Shevardnadze finds that his reputation as
a man of peace is on the firing line

By JOHN KOHAN/TBILISI


      Many Tbilisi residents escape to dachas in the hills
above the Georgian capital during summer weekends, but not
Eduard Shevardnadze. For the former Soviet Foreign Minister and
current chairman of the republic's provisional State Council,
affairs of state continue nonstop. Seven days a week, from 8:30
a.m. until well after midnight, Shevardnadze is on the job,
working the battery of telephones on his desk beneath a silver
icon of the madonna and child. On Monday fighting broke out
again in the secessionist region of Abkhazia. On Tuesday Russian
forces killed several Georgian guardsmen in the Abkhazian
capital. Wednesday, hard-line nationalists attempted to open a
new front in eastern Georgia. On Thursday Shevardnadze flew to
Moscow to negotiate another Abkhazian cease-fire. The endless
string of crises has set back his goal of building a democratic
Georgia and taught Shevardnadze that his civilized style of
negotiating, so admired in the West, does not work as well in
a country where the other side is liable to pull out guns.

     So it is not surprising that Shevardnadze has seldom had
a day off since he returned last March to the small Caucasian
republic where he ruled as Communist Party boss before Mikhail
Gorbachev summoned him to Moscow in 1985. At a time in life when
other senior statesmen would be content to write their memoirs,
the 64-year-old diplomat has embarked on the riskiest mission
of his career: bringing peace and stability to his homeland.
There he daily faces more violence than he did as a major player
in the cold war, as Georgia is beset by ethnic rebellions in
the independence-minded regions of South Ossetia and Abkhazia
and by a campaign of terrorist attacks by loyalists of deposed
President Zviad Gamsakhurdia.

     The fire-blackened walls of Tbilisi's Government House are
a grim reminder of the street battle last December that toppled
Gamsakhurdia, Georgia's first popularly elected President. The
fervently patriotic Georgians had been quick to follow the lead
of the Baltic republics in breaking away from Moscow early in
1990, but the majority admit they were duped by the charismatic
nationalist, whose dictatorial policies turned democratic
forces against him. Gamsakhurdia instituted no economic reforms
and left the state bureaucracy in a shambles. His worst legacy,
though, was to set his compatriots on a collision course with
ethnic minorities who felt threatened by his mystical notions of
a Georgian state. Still, die-hard followers refuse to accept
that his bungled experiment is over. With tacit support from the
separatists, they are trying to destabilize what they view as
the illegitimate regime in Tbilisi.

     So why come back to so many troubles? Shevardnadze pauses
a moment before answering. The melancholy look in his eyes
hints at the strain of the past five months. There was never
really any other choice for him. "I am a son of my people," he
says. "I was motivated by fears of a widespread civil war."
After traveling the globe to settle other nations' conflicts,
the veteran peacemaker could hardly ignore the plight of his
own people. And many of the same Georgians who accused
Shevardnadze of being a Kremlin agent less than a year ago now
believe he is the only man who can prevent their country from
splitting apart. As a close adviser puts it, "He is a hostage
of circumstances."

     An unrepentant Gamsakhurdia has accused Shevardnadze of
masterminding his downfall, conducting a ruthless crackdown on
political opponents and "capitulating to Russia," but such
charges are rooted in Gamsakhurdia's own obsessions. More
moderate critics fault Shevardnadze for throwing his support too
quickly to those who deposed the elected President. They fear
that a restoration of a communist-style system is under way,
with too few people wielding too much power.

     Shevardnadze is fully aware of his shaky claim to
legitimacy. He agreed to return only if elections for a new
parliament were held as soon as possible. The vote has been set
for October, but new obstacles keep cropping up. On the very day
last June that Shevardnadze was scheduled to hammer out an
accord on peacekeeping forces in South Ossetia with Russian
President Boris Yeltsin, gunmen loyal to Gamsakhurdia tried --
and failed -- to seize the Tbilisi television center. Last
month, after Shevardnadze issued a manifesto of reconciliation
and released jailed Gamsakhurdia supporters, an armed band of
them broke up peace talks the government was holding with the
rebels by taking the Interior Minister and 11 other officials
hostage.

     The failure of his peace gesture was a painful lesson for
the seasoned diplomat, who had been acting as if the same
give-and-take rules of East-West negotiations applied to
Georgia's political wars. He abruptly ordered 3,000 national
guards, under the command of Defense Minister Tengiz Kitovani,
to take control of key transportation arteries and safe havens
in Abkhazia that pro-Gamsakhurdia groups used to stage their
attacks. But what began as a preventive strike aimed at
releasing the kidnapped government officials soon escalated into
a bloody conflict with local nationalists.

     Kitovani's forces went well beyond their original mandate,
advancing into the regional capital of Sukhumi, storming the
local parliament and driving nationalist leaders into hiding.
Whatever his reservations, Shevardnadze has taken full
responsibility for the operation; now he will have to use all
his diplomatic skills to shift the action from the streets back
to the negotiating table.

     Shevardnadze's position would be more secure if he could
ensure that soldiers loyal to Kitovani eventually return to
their barracks. But to save the country from breaking apart, few
Georgians are ready to consider reducing the military's role,
and Kitovani earned a hero's credit for his tough treatment of
the separatists. There were plenty of brotherly embraces when
Kitovani gathered with officials in Shevardnadze's office to
welcome the return of a kidnapped minister, freed when Georgian
troops entered Abkhazia. But the family atmosphere is deceptive:
Tbilisi remains rife with political intrigue. As long as the
powerful Defense Minister and his troops are not subject to
parliamentary controls, another coup will always threaten. One
aide says Shevardnadze's major concern now is "to ensure that
the bullet-riddled, sinking ship gets safely into port for
elections."

     With more than 40 parties in the running, electing a new
parliament seems more likely to increase political paralysis
than to solve Georgia's problems. As Shevardnadze well knows,
his countrymen may be famed as a nation of toastmasters, but
eloquent speechmaking cannot compensate for the lack of
democratic traditions. Still, the Georgian leader firmly
believes the ballot box is the only way to force change. "There
were some who wanted to turn power over to Shevardnadze," he
says, "but I told them they were not going to make a dictator
out of me." He plans to run for the post of parliamentary
speaker as an independent, in an effort to stand apart from the
squabbling parties and blocs. With no political or military
power base he can trust, Shevardnadze has only one strong prop:
his personal connections with the West. Whatever else they may
think of Shevardnadze, Georgians take pride in the fact that he
has friends in high places.

     The reluctant leader often reflects upon the role his
country could play in regional and global diplomacy. "Great
policies are not made just by great powers," he says. "Small
countries can make great policies too." But before he can turn
his formidable talents to the international scene again, he must
prove that he can bring order to his own troubled land and start
Georgia moving steadily toward democracy and a free-market
economy. By comparison, ending the cold war seemed easy.