Confidence Building Measures in the Middle East

Confidence Building Measures in the Middle East

EDITED BY

Gabriel Ben-Dor and David B. Dewitt

First published 1994 by Westview Press

Published 2018 by Routledge

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ISBN 0-8133-2293-6

ISBN 13: 978-0-367-00942-7 (hbk)

Contents

List of Tables and Figures

Acknowledgments

About the Contributors

PART ONE
Introduction

1 Confidence Building Measures in the Middle East, Gabriel Ben-Dor and David B. Dewitt

PART TWO
Regional Actors: The Israelis and the Palestinians

2 The Palestinians and Confidence Building Measures in the Arab-Israeli Conflict: The Implications of Statelessness, Rex Brynen

3 Confidence and Security Building: The Israeli Domestic Dimension, Alan Dowty

4 Confidence Building Measures and Israeli Security Concerns, Mark A. Heller

5 The Role of Extremist Political Groups in the Context of Confidence Building Between the Israelis and Palestinians, Noemi Gal-Or

PART THREE
Regional Actors: Arab States

6 Reflections on Confidence Building in an Intricate Regional “Security Complex”—The Middle East, Gideon Gera

7 Israel and Syria: The Problem of Confidence, Gideon Gera

8 Jordan and the Question of Confidence Building: The Politics of Ambivalence, Emile Sahliyeh

9 Confidence Building and Dilemmas of Cooperation: The Egyptian-Israeli Experiment, Janice Gross Stein

PART FOUR
External Actors and Interactions

10 The United States and the Arab-Israeli Peace Process, Bernard Reich

11 Russia’s Role in Peacemaking and Confidence Building in the Middle East: Present and Future, Victor A. Kremenyuk

12 The Evolution of Arms Control in the Middle East, Keith R. Krause

13 Can the Media Mediate? Mass-Mediated Diplomacy in the Middle East, Gabriel Weimann

PART FIVE
Reflections About Confidence Building in the Middle East

14 Towards a Confidence Transformational Dynamic, Howard Adelman

15 Confidence Building and the Peace Process in the Middle East, Gabriel Ben-Dor and David B. Dewitt

Appendix A: The Arab Press: Newspapers and Circulation in Thirteen Countries

Appendix B: Radio-Listening in Arab Countries, 1974

Selected Bibliography, Andrew Richter

About the Book

Cover

Half Title

Title

Copyright

Contents

List of Tables and Figures

Acknowledgments

About the Contributors

PART ONE Introduction

1 Confidence Building Measures in the Middle East

PART TWO Regional Actors: The Israelis and the Palestinians

2 The Palestinians and Confidence Building Measures in the Arab-Israeli Conflict: The Implications of Statelessness

3 Confidence and Security Building: The Israeli Domestic Dimension

4 Confidence Building Measures and Israeli Security Concerns

5 The Role of Extremist Political Groups in the Context of Confidence Building Between the Israelis and Palestinians

PART THREE Regional Actors: Arab States

6 Reflections on Confidence Building in an Intricate Regional “Security Complex”—The Middle East

7 Israel and Syria: The Problem of Confidence

8 Jordan and the Question of Confidence Building: The Politics of Ambivalence

9 Confidence Building and Dilemmas of Cooperation: The Egyptian-Israeli Experiment

PART FOUR External Actors and Interactions

10 The United States and the Arab-Israeli Peace Process

11 Russia’s Role in Peacemaking and Confidence Building in the Middle East: Present and Future

12 The Evolution of Arms Control in the Middle East

13 Can the Media Mediate? Mass-Mediated Diplomacy in the Middle East

PART FIVE Reflections About Confidence Building in the Middle East

14 Towards a Confidence Transformational Dynamic

15 Confidence Building and the Peace Process in the Middle East

Appendix A: The Arab Press: Newspapers and Circulation in Thirteen Countries

Appendix B: Radio-Listening in Arab Countries, 1974

Selected Bibliography

About the Book

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Guide

Cover

Half Title

Title

Copyright

Contents

List of Tables and Figures

Acknowledgments

About the Contributors

Start of Content

Appendix A: The Arab Press: Newspapers and Circulation in Thirteen Countries

Appendix B: Radio-Listening in Arab Countries, 1974

Selected Bibliography

About the Book

Tables and Figures

Tables

3.1 Volatility of Israeli Opinion: The Intifada

3.2 Impact of Intifada: Party Support

3.3 Impact of Intifada: Territorial Concessions

3.4 Impact of Intifada: Negotiations with the PLO

3.5 Solutions for the Territories: Public Support

13.1 Functions and Dysfunctions of Mass-Mediated Diplomacy

14.1 CBM Assumptions

14.2 The Three Schools

Figures

9.1 Dilemma of Common Aversions and Divergent Interests: Egypt and Israel, 1956

9.2 Dilemma of Common Interests (Prisoner’s Dilemma): Egypt and Israel, 1974

9.3 Dilemma of Common Interests: Egypt and Israel, 1975

9.4 Dilemma of Common Interests with Asymmetrical Preferences: Egypt and Israel, 1977

13.1 Communication Channels in Interstate Relations

Acknowledgments

This volume grew out of two separate sets of discussions. First and foremost, it is the natural follow-on to our earlier volume, Conflict Management in the Middle East (1987), and we owe a debt of gratitude to all those who offered comments and suggestions concerning the issues raised in that book. Second, we acknowledge the role played by the CRB Foundation (Montreal). In preliminary discussions with Tom Axworthy, executive director, concerning the kinds of research that needed to be supported, Howard Adelman and David Dewitt proposed a long-term program on Israeli-Palestinian confidence building. There were to be two parts: one focusing on the perceptions of security and the future held by Palestinians in Israel, in Gaza and the West Bank, and in communities beyond; the other on confidence building between Israel, the Palestinians and the core Arab states. The CRB provided initial support for both projects and direct assistance in convening early meetings for each.

The research workshop in which many of the early drafts of the chapters in this volume were presented took place in Toronto in April 1992. In addition to the CRB Foundation, we have pleasure in acknowledging the financial assistance provided by the former Canadian Institute for International Peace and Security, the Social Science and Humanities Research Council of Canada and York University. A number of scholars and other experts attended or in other ways provided assistance to this project. Some also offered papers either at that time or soon thereafter for consideration in this volume, but unfortunately due to the vagaries of publication restrictions we were not able to include them.

Among those who contributed in various ways were Tom Axworthy, Juergen Dedring, David Harries, Linda Hossie, Andy Knight, Nabil Mekhael, Lourie Mylroie, Emile Nahkleh, Michael Shenstone, and Thom Workman. Gideon Gera deserves a separate note. For two years as a visiting scholar at York Centre for International and Strategic Studies he ensured that we maintained a critical focus on our project, not letting it become all things to all people. He also allowed us to draw on his unique expertise to write an additional chapter on Syria when our original contributor was suddenly unable to participate.

Special thanks to Kathy Byers, Steve Mataija and Heather Chestnutt for handling the conference preparations, with an additional nod of gratitude to Steve for working with us over the year on editorial revisions and to Heather for managing the process of transforming the revised papers into a copyedited typescript. The Centre for International and Strategic Studies, York University, provided a congenial and supportive home for us both during this period. Gabriel Ben-Dor also acknowledges the role played by the Department of Political Science, York University, and the Canada-Israel Faculty Academic Exchange program, which together made his stay in Canada possible. Dewitt acknowledges, with thanks, The Dayan Center for Middle Eastern & African Studies, Tel Aviv University, for granting him a Dayan Research Fellowship, 1993–94, during which time the final chapter and typescript revisions were completed. Finally, our thanks to Westview Press and Mick Gusinde-Duffy for handling this book efficiently and professionally.

As this typescript goes off to the publisher, the Arab-Israeli and Palestinian-Israeli peace processes are facing yet another challenge. Violence against both Jewish and Arab civilians has taken a sharp turn for the worse, and the leadership of both Rabin and Arafat in undertaking the Oslo Declaration of Principles is being questioned from within their own camps. Confidence building requires that this type of crisis be used as an opportunity to reassure and confirm all the commitments previously entered into and requires also the capabilities and political will not to allow extremism to have a veto over the legitimate political process. By the time this volume has been published, history will have recorded the outcome of this particular period. We, as so many others, hope that wisdom and reason will prevail and that a negotiated equitable peace for all will result.

Gabriel Ben-Dor
David B. Dewitt

Contributors

Howard Adelman is Professor of Philosophy and former Director of the Centre for Refugee Studies at York University in Toronto. Professor Adelman has published extensively on a variety of subjects, both theoretical—Hegel, philosophy of history, the logic of discovery in science, political philosophy and theory—and applied fields—nuclear disarmament, higher education, humanitarian intervention, and extensively on the Middle East. He is currently completing a book on the role of the United Nations in the partition of Palestine.

Gabriel Ben-Dor is Professor of Political Science and former Rector, Haifa University. He is the author of over 70 professional articles and two books, and is contributing editor to three books, including, with David Dewitt, Conflict Management in the Middle East (1987).

Rex Brynen is Associate Professor of Political Science and Chair of the Middle East Studies Program at McGill University. He is author of Sanctuary and Survival: The PLO in Lebanon (Westview 1990), editor of Echoes of the Intifada: Regional Repercussions of the Palestinian-Israeli Conflict (Westview, 1991), and coeditor of The Many Faces of National Security in the Arab World (1993) and Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World (forthcoming). Under the auspices of the Inter-University Consortium for Arab Studies (Montréal), he is currently engaged in research on the developmental aspects of regional security in the Middle East, with particular reference to the Arab-Israeli conflict.

David B. Dewitt is Professor of Political Science at York University, Toronto, and Director of the Centre for International and Strategic Studies. His current research focuses on regional security and conflict management, including evolving security concerns in Asia-Pacific and the Middle East as well as Canadian foreign and security policy. His most recent publication, edited with David Haglund and John Kirton, is Building a New Global Order: Emerging Trends in International Security (1993).

Alan Dowty is Professor of Government and International Studies at the University of Notre Dame and has taught at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and University of Haifa. He is currently working on a study of the Israeli political system.

Noemi Gal-Or has taught at the University of Tel Aviv, Haifa University, University of British Columbia and Simon Fraser University and is currently research consultant for the federal Solicitor General. Her current work focuses on ethnicity and the condition of the nation-state in Western Europe with regard to integration and the EC (the Single Act), immigration policies in West European countries and the EC, and ethnicity and political conflict in the context of the Arab-Israeli conflict.

Gideon Gera is Senior Research Fellow at the Moshe Dayan Center for Middle Eastern and African Studies since 1987. He is the author of Libya Under Quadhafi (1983, in Hebrew) and has had articles published on strategic and political issues of the region, including “Israel and the June 1967 War: 25 Years Late,” Middle East Journal, Spring 1992, and “Post-Gulf War Challenges to the Security of Israel,” in Security Challenges in the Mediterranean Basin (1993).

Mark A. Heller has been Senior Research Associate at the Jaffee Center for Strategic Studies, Tel Aviv University, since 1979. Dr. Heller has written extensively on Middle Eastern and Persian Gulf affairs. His most recent works include No Trumpets, No Drums: A Two-State Settlement of the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict (co-authored with Sari Nusseibeh) The Dynamics of Soviet Policy in the Middle East: Between Old Thinking and New and “Middle East Security and Arms Control” in The Arab-lsraeli Search for Peace (ed. Steven L. Spiegel).

Keith R. Krause is Associate Professor of Political Science at York University, Toronto. His current research focuses on arms transfers and non-proliferation, militarization in the Middle East and changing conceptions of security. His most recent book is Arms and the State: Patterns of Military Production and Trade (1992).

Victor A. Kremenyuk is Deputy Director of the Institute for USA and Canada Studies (ISKAN) of the Russian Academy of Sciences. Among his recent publications in the West: He is editor of International Negotiation: Analysis, Approaches, Issues (1991). His contributions to other works include, K. Gottstein ed., Integrated Europe? (Westview Press, 1992); J. Weeks, ed., Beyond Superpower Rivalry (1991); T. Weiss and M. Kessler, eds., Third World Security in the Post-Cold War Era (1991). His book Conflicts in and Around Russia is forthcoming.

Bernard Reich is Professor of Political Science and International Affairs and former Chairman of the Department of Political Science at George Washington University in Washington, D.C. Among Professor Reich’s publications are Quest for Peace: United States-Israel Relations and the Arab-Israeli Conflict; The United States and Israel: Influence in the Special Relationship; Israeli: Land of Tradition and Conflict (2 editions); and Historical Dictionary of Israel; as well as numerous articles, book chapters and monographs on Middle East politics, international politics, and United States foreign policy.

Emile Sahliyeh is Associate Professor of International Relations and Middle East Politics at the University of North Texas. He has written In Search of Leadership: West Bank Politics Since 1967 (1988) and The PLO After the Lebanon War (Westview, 1986), and has edited Unity Versus Separatism in the Middle East (with Mary Morris, Westview, forthcoming 1994) and Religious Resurgence and Politics in the Contemporary World (1990). He is currently completing a book entitled Jordan: Domestic Politics and Foreign Policy based on data gathered while on a Fulbright scholarship in that country during the summers of 1991 and 1992.

Janice Gross Stein is the Harrowston Professor of Conflict Management and Negotiation at the University of Toronto and is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Canada. She has coauthored Rational Decision-Making and Psychology and Deterrence and has just completed (with Richard Ned Lebow) We Ail Lost the Cold War. Her special area of interest is conflict management and conflict resolution.

Gabriel Weimann is the Chairman of the Department of Communication at the University of Haifa, Israel. His research interests include the study of media effects, public opinion, violence and the mass media, political campaigns and the interpersonal flow of communication. He is the author of Hate on Trial: The Zundel Case, the Media, and Public Opinion in Canada, The Theater of Terror: Mass Media and International Terrorism, and the author of The Influential: People Who Influence People.

Part One
Introduction

1
Confidence Building Measures in the Middle East

Gabriel Ben-Dor and David B. Dewitt

The Nature and Importance of Confidence Building

There are many things that can be done to facilitate the project of confidence building in the Middle East,¹ but probably none more important than defining the terms, and delimiting the subject by way of those definitions. So the first thing is to think systematically about what we mean by “confidence building,” and possibly by “confidence” and “security building measures.” Such definitions would have to go beyond the constraints of time and context and attempt to reach meanings that would be universally valid,² otherwise we will never be able to transcend the limitations of the fact that the terms were born in the East-West context, with particular emphasis on Europe, in the 1970s and the 1980s, in particular within the institutional mechanism of the Conference for Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE).³

Primarily, confidence building measures address themselves to the need to avoid outcomes that are unfavorable to parties even if they are in a conflictual relationship. In other words, contrary to some prevailing impressions, the occupation with confidence building measures does not assume an orientation to conflict resolution or to a peace process. It does not presuppose that the political will exists to transform a relationship radically. Rather, it assumes that whatever form the relationship may take, there are likely to be many situations in which the parties would be interested in avoiding mutually unfavorable outcomes. For instance, even in a heated conflict characterized by adverse relationships, in all probability the parties are not interested in an inadvertent breakdown that will create war which is not wanted by either side. Yet such possibilities and dangers exist and in fact they are inherent in the unstable structure of large human communities. In order to prevent such risks from materializing and causing conditions to deteriorate to the detriment of all concerned, it is possible to take various measures, some of them preventive, some of them confidence building, and some of them both.

Preventive measures could be theoretically divorced from confidence building, but in practice this is not likely. It is not possible to prevent inadvertent breakdowns without tackling the lack of faith that normally prevails between conflictual adversaries. Let us assume by way of an example that a relatively junior officer goes berserk in one of the contending armed forces, and starts shooting on his own authority, without regard to the policy of his country. Obviously, his own leaders will want to minimize the damage caused by his irresponsible behavior, and in order to do that they will have to communicate with the leaders of the other side and convince them that the incident was indeed a random occurrence that did not represent official policy. For that it is necessary to have lines of communication open, perhaps along with a mechanism of consultation and mediation. Even then, however, the other side may be reluctant to believe that this is a bona fide attempt to make up and avert further danger, since obviously a long historical record of hostility has generated a lack of faith in the intentions and the motives of the other. In other words, there is a lack of confidence, and that is mutually detrimental, regardless of the basic flaws in the relationship. If things are to be improved, more confidence must be created, and for that it is necessary to introduce confidence building measures.

Such measures as a rule will have to do with communications. In order to persuade the other that what you do is bona fide it is necessary not only to make the attempt to say so repeatedly, but also to allow the other side to gain a better insight and perhaps a voice in what you do by way of bringing questions and reservations into your activities with your forces. Hence, one of the first and most effective forms of confidence building in the East-West relationship had to do with a system of early notification to the adversary of large scale maneuvers in order to make sure that these will not be misunderstood and taken as a hostile step if something goes wrong. The very act of taking the trouble to announce intentions in advance is a fairly radical step, especially in a structure of hostile relations. Nevertheless, such a step was taken, and practically no one argued that, as a result, any of the parties suffered from damage to the national interest.

However, this step did not suffice because of various considerations. The question arose as to whether, in announcing intentions in advance, one would not be believed; that is, the adversary might not believe that you would announce everything that needs to be announced or the adversary might see in this notification an effort to lull them into a lack of readiness.

To this difficulty we should add the dynamics of a nuclear arms race that in reality had run its course. As a result, numerous negotiations were undertaken in order to control the arms race, and to bring it to a halt by way of a massive agreement regulating possession, development and testing. Of course, parties are not likely to enter into such agreements if they do not believe that they can be monitored and verified. In order to make monitoring and verification more attainable, steps were then taken to allow access to one’s strategic sites by the adversary along with such rather dramatic steps as allowing, and in fact inviting, its inspectors into one’s own military exercises, allowing overflights by the enemy’s surveillance aircraft and the like. Over the years all this created an intense relationship that not only created an enormous store of knowledge between the parties, but also created a much higher degree of trust.

Of course, trust is partly a matter of individual psychology, partly a matter of culture, and partly a matter of objective circumstances. Objective circumstances can be controlled by political will and particularly by political agreement. This was a case in point. Extensive access to the soft points of the enemy, and mutual exposure to massive amounts of sensitive information as well as the intensive system of communications, visibly demonstrating the commitment of both sides to the prevention of accidents and others mutually undesirable outcomes, graphically and vividly depicted a possibility of introducing a much higher degree of mutual confidence. To the extent that this was due to a conscious effort to accomplish trust by a series of artificially contrived steps for that purpose, we are justified of speaking of confidence building measures. Since avoiding accidents was not the exclusive goal of these steps, the more ambitious objectives being changing the entire relationship by fortifying faith in the other party’s good intentions, it is possible to argue that such steps are not only preventive, but also positive. Hence the term confidence building is amply justified.

Our first example demonstrates two interrelated aspects of the process of confidence building. First, it is obvious that the initial stimulus to think about the possibility of confidence building is a matter of enlightened self-interest without regard to the degree of hostility between the parties to the conflict. The second is that, once this enlightened self-interest leads the parties to undertake measures that were initially designed as no more than preventive, these measures contribute decisively to confidence building, since prevention cannot be considered exclusively a technical series of steps. Once the parties have undergone this much of a learning process, new possibilities in their relationship open up and creative statesmanship has a new niche of its own. At a more advanced stage, it is also possible that the coexistence, one might say structured coexistence that has been experienced by the parties in the process, allows them to think systematically about more basic aspects of the relationship, perhaps in order to transform or reduce the conflictual elements that have been dominant in it so far. However, this is not necessarily the case. Confidence building is, initially speaking, a technique much like negotiations or mediation. It is obvious from the literature that negotiations and mediation are excellent aids to conflict resolution, but they do not have to be introduced into conflict situations because of that. This point is so important that it bears repetition and some further exploration.

One can imagine a study of negotiations and mediation in the Middle East criticized on the grounds that the basic orientation of the parties is still conflictual, and not designed to aid conflict resolution. But this criticism would not be very strong, because it would be obvious that parties negotiate and utilize various form of mediation in all stages and types of conflicts, hence that conflict resolution is not a necessary precondition for using them, although extensive and regular use of them may facilitate a conflict resolution orientation at some later stage. It is possible to regard confidence building in a similar way, on the same analytical level. This comparison should help us understand the ontological status of the term, and perhaps this understanding will do away with the reluctance of some of us to deal with the term simply because we consider ourselves as “realists” who see the conflict as lacking political leaders with the will to transform and reduce it, along the lines of what took place in the East-West conflict and particularly in Europe.

Indeed, it is obvious that transplanting a Western term born in very specific—and probably very unique—circumstances in Europe to other areas of the world is a very hazardous enterprise. Not only are the political cultures different, presenting different clusters of ideas, habits, customs and symbols, but the issues at stake are quite different too. In Europe, unlike in the Middle East, there were no major territorial questions to resolve by the time of the CSCE, nor were there issues related to the existence of the parties, quite unlike the case of Israel or the Palestinians when the latter dimension of the conflict made it particularly bitter and not amenable to resolution or even regulation. Obviously, an existential type of conflict is quite different than an incremental one, since in the latter, confidence building is really a matter of logic, whereas in the former, the struggle for existence renders the entire structure of the relationship so intense and so much oriented toward zero-sum conceptions as to make everything that has to do with trust and confidence a major problem almost by definition. This difference alone should make us wary of generalizing about the Middle East on the basis of the European experience. Nevertheless, we have to realize that there are many different conflicts in the Middle East, some on the regional level and some on a country-by-country basis, some having to do with the fundamental Arab-Israeli problem and others with inter-Arab and inter-Islamic issues. Even within the framework of the Arab-Israeli conflict there are many different issues, and one has to make analytical distinctions between them. Certainly the country-by-country relationship of Egypt and Israel is qualitatively different from the existential struggle for the land of Israel/Palestine on a communal or ethnic basis. In fact, the Egyptian-Israeli relationship itself has undergone major changes in its eventful history, and what we now see does not resemble that which we saw during the turbulent Nasser years. In any case, the present structure of the relations between Israel on the one hand, and most regional actors on the other, is such that it does allow for confidence building measures to be introduced even in the lack of radical changes in the political will, simply because in the vast majority of the cases the conflict is not zero-sum or it can be transformed, so that it does not rule out many pragmatic forms of cooperation.

Even the simple and rudimentary example of confidence building that we have introduced so far demonstrates that the term has to be understood in a variety of contexts, according to some basic dimensions of variance. The first objective of trust is the self, and this is neither a facetious nor a trivial observation. Not all parties to a conflict have confidence in themselves, and many of the steps that they take are indeed intended to build just that trust in the self of the party concerned, either in the sense of fortifying the value system or in terms of fortifying the constituency concerned. Some argue that all politics are domestic politics, and while this may or may not be true, it is important to remember that in any case the domestic aspects of considerations in an acute conflict deserve to be treated with respect and to be kept in mind virtually at all times. The next major dimension is confidence toward the other, the other being the adversary or adversaries in the conflict. Of course, the fundamental understanding of confidence building is taken to be along this dimension, as in building confidence between the parties to the conflict. Another important dimension is that of outside actors (and these are certainly of immense importance in the Middle East), such as the Great Powers and international institutions, chiefly the United Nations. Finally, there is the question of confidence in the relationship itself, which in many cases has a structure and an existence of its own and therefore has to be considered as an entity in its own right, and not necessarily as a mere outcome of other factors, such as the way that one party regards another. Many of these relationships are dual, trilateral or multilateral, which complicates things that much more.

Obviously, a conflict characterized by existential elements, which then tends to create a zero-sum orientation, is acute enough. But the fact is that in cases such as the Arab-Israeli conflict, the relationships involve multiple actors who may well be involved in other conflicts, hence complicating the general situation that much more. A major example of this would be the system of inter-Arab relations. In fact, speaking about the Arab-Israeli conflict may already be a misnomer since there are so many different Arab forces involved, many of them mortally at odds with one another. The interrelationship between the two conflict systems has been the subject of a fair amount of research and controversy, yet it obviously has not been settled. It makes sense then to take into account that when we attempt to analyze the chances of confidence building between Israel and the “Arabs” we speak about a complex entity that may not exist at all in the real world of politics. Is there or is there not something labeled “the Arab world” that makes sense as an existing entity that can be identified with some degree of coherence and consistency? Yet many of these reservations apply to Israel also. While Israel obviously exists, it is by no means a monolith, even on some of the most fundamental questions of foreign policy and security. In past periods many Arab leaders chose to ignore the political pluralism in Israel, but recently this has changed quite dramatically. If anything, the distinction that Arab (and not only Arab) leaders make about the attitudes of the two major parties tends to exaggerate the differences between them and to underestimate the general complexity of the Israeli political scene, which is driven by many competing forces in relationship to such issues as the economy, society, ethnic relations and religion. All of these variables impinge on the macro-political level, and hence on Israeli attitudes to questions in the Arab-Israeli conflict. Yet the sum total of Israel, and any major force within it, is far more than a set of attitudes on any single dimension of public and political life. A relationship with Israel has to take all this into account.

If one wishes to establish a relationship of trust and confidence with the other, knowing the other is already a step forward can help to accomplish this. Even though more knowledge frequently implies knowing more things that are not particularly palatable, generally speaking, confidence probably cannot be based on ignorance and the resulting fears and misconceptions about one’s potential partners. Not taking any relationship for granted, and working on the relationship in order to enhance it in the light of greater and more profound knowledge is one important requirement on the road to confidence building. One might add that much of this is already discernible in the Israeli-Palestinian relationship (although admittedly there is a long way to go), which may be one reason why observers are relatively sanguine about the future of that relationship compared to say the one between Syria and Israel, notwithstanding the better record of the latter. Of course knowledge, in and of itself, is value-neutral in that it does not necessarily create either a hostile or a friendly relationship, but it does appear to be a necessary precondition for a stable relationship within the framework of confidence building.

The Dimensions of Confidence Building ⁴

Confidence building thus does have cognitive dimension, as it does involve knowledge in a significant way. However, it also has other important dimensions.⁵ There is the affective dimension that has to do with feelings. Such dimensions are often estimated in political analysis, yet they play an obviously important role in politics. Not only do we have likes and dislikes, sometimes very strongly held, but our values, our ideologies and sometimes our evaluations are affected by them, consciously or subconsciously. When we like someone, we are more likely to trust him or her, whereas instinctive or traditional dislike will probably lead us to a lack of trust even where it seems to be analytically unjustified. Finally, confidence also has a strong evaluative dimension. Beyond knowledge about an adversary in a conflict and basic emotions about it, we will always have an assessment as to the intentions and capabilities on the other side, and these assessments normally endure over quite some time apart from the ongoing analytical process, so that the resulting evaluation becomes a factor or a variable in its own right, frequently lacking the analytical component of the original process.

Evaluation has to do with several dimensions regarding the partner in the confidence building process. First, there is the question of intentions or will: what does the partner want, what are his or her objectives in pursuing the given stage in the conflict, how genuine is his or her commitment to a policy of conflict reduction and/or confidence building at this time? Now, to the outside analyst it is obvious that such a question is not only difficult to answer (just ask anyone who has experience in intelligence or strategic assessment) but also that the answer at any given time is contingent on dynamic factors, so that there is an element of time involved (we have already referred to the fact that participants in conflicts rarely behave like uniform actors in rational models.) Yet political dynamics have a life all their own, and they do not allow a contingent answer, such as “it depends,” to existential questions. People will have an evaluative answer to such questions based on patterns of past experience and will normally change their minds only in response to very strong stimuli such as massive transformations versus past behavior. Failing that or anticipating that we would normally proceed on the basis of past assumptions, the evaluative component of the confidence building process indeed has an existence of its own.

The second evaluative feature of great importance is the one oriented to capabilities. In general, assessing another is normally a combination of thinking that other’s intentions as well as capabilities. In confidence building, there is no exception. We may believe on occasion that the adversary indeed wishes for some reason to engage in confidence building, but we may still decide not to trust it because our evaluation (again, based on past experience) will guide us to conclude that confidence building is not a feasible option. This evaluation can be based on our assessment of the domestic constraints deriving from the nature of the constituency, the value system or the ideology involved, supposedly “objective” factors such as economic interests or even constraints that have to do with the international commitments concerned. When such an evaluation of capabilities clashes with the evaluation of intentions, there is the case of the proverbial “cognitive dissonance,” but people, as we know, like to avoid that. One way of doing that would be to change the evaluation of intentions so that it fits with evaluation of capabilities, a process well known in the world of intelligence. Of course, the results could be misleading, as many classic intelligence failures demonstrate, but this is a catch that will not be easily resolved in this type of situation.

The cluster of evaluative, affective and cognitive factors involved in the process of confidence building remind us exactly of the type of variables employed in the classic studies of political culture, and this probably is no coincidence. In fact, one may argue that confidence building is a subtype of political culture, because it basically deals with attitudes to the self, to the other and to the system, based on a heritage derived from the experience with the system (in this case, this would be the conflict system between the parties, which, of course, has a culture of its own). While the concept of culture in politics has been exceedingly difficult to employ in practice, and while many observers of politics are wary of the danger that it will deteriorate into a bias or even into a pejorative and patronizing term, obviously culture in politics (this is not necessarily identical to the classic idea of political culture) does exist, and most political analysts would readily admit not only its existence but also its overwhelming importance in conflict situations. The fact that our existing scientific apparatus does not now allow for a full-fledged theory of political culture should not blind us to the existence of culture or to its impact on many key problems in our formulations.

Culture does not have to be a pejorative, condescending or patronizing term. Nor does it have to be a catchall-type residual category, as in the works of some political scientists who explain whatever they can with rational variables, and whatever they cannot explain they attribute to the black box of “culture.” In fact, rational and cultural explanations are not mutually exclusive. Rational explanations concern themselves with people attempting to maximize benefits and minimize costs on the basis of the best available information, on the basis of some consistent set of preferences over time. The rational model, notwithstanding some serious flaws in its basic assumptions (as found, for instance, in the study of rational deterrence theory), is a powerful universal tool at our disposal, and it allows us to construct parsimonious models of behavior for the study of political interaction. Yet rational theory cannot explain why people adopt the preferences they do, nor why one political community has one set and the other follows another. Moreover, the values to be traded and their relative scale versus the preferences to be traded, the value of information, the value attributed to risk versus gain and other similar key aspects in the study of rational behavior are basically culturally oriented and the answers to questions posed in these areas are probably culturally determined.

Confidence by its very definition is a cultural term in the first place.⁶ It deals with an article of faith: our evaluation of the other and the degree to which we are able or willing to believe in the other, whether in intention or capability. In some cultures, belief in the other is widespread and in others it is not; in some cultures political conflict breeds distrust in outsiders and in others less so. Hence even the most universal theories of confidence building have to be understood in the context of the concrete cultural traits of each and every political community concerned. It is one of the most essential challenges facing the analyst to identify how each and every political community interprets the possibilities and the problems of confidence building within the concrete culture characterizing it, and thereby to give a specific expression to the universal ideas raised by the theory and the history of the concept. In order to do that, it is not necessary to have a whole theory of political culture (which we do not possess in any case!), but it is imperative to study the concepts of confidence in the given instance, both in general as well as vis-a-vis the specific adversary (and the would-be mediators) in the given circumstances.

Confidence Building and Statesmanship

Yet it is equally important to bear in mind that culture and attitudes are not immutable givens, but rather dimensions of variance. Attitudes change, and often they change suddenly and dramatically, at times in the most unexpected instances. The best case in point perhaps is the Sadat visit to Jerusalem and its drastic ramifications. Prior to the visit, Israeli public opinion held strongly that withdrawal from the Sinai with its rich oilfields, its strategic depth and the Israeli air bases was not a realistic option, and that this was not the way to achieve peace. This maxim was colorfully expressed by the late Moshe Dayan in his famous saying to the effect that it was, for him, preferable to have Sharm-al-Sheikh without peace than to have peace without Sharm-al-Sheikh. Yet in the wake of Sadat’s visit the entire situation changed, because the visit changed the fundamental parameters of the attitudes of the two sides to the conflict. Hence the entire context of perceiving the self and perceiving the other underwent a most substantial transformation. In the light of this, it may not be so surprising that Israel soon agreed to “peace without Sharm-al-Sheikh” with massive public support, and that, moreover, the same Moshe Dayan who articulated the previous consensus on this issue became the leading spokesman for the new one. At the same time, some of his colleagues who had been historically known as “pro-peace” could not bring themselves to support the Camp David accords and the resulting peace treaty with Egypt on account of the concessions that involved dismantling the Israeli settlements in the Sinai. The coalition eventually getting the treaty through the Knesset was very far from any classic left-right or Labor-Likud split as normally depicted in the popular media. There is much more depth and subtlety than that to the Israeli political scene, and most likely the same is true with the domestic constituencies of the other protagonists.

However, the main lesson is that creative statesmanship in the Middle East has more scope than anticipated by a simple analysis of attitudes. The attitudes that now prevail indeed constitute a powerful constraint on what can be done by way of a political initiative, but a political initiative in itself can change attitudes, thereby broadening the scope of possible political action. The lesson from all this is not only some reason for optimism, but also the general theoretical conclusion that while it would be foolish to ignore culture and attitudes, it would be equally foolish to treat them in a deterministic fashion. Culture and attitudes are the product of complex human processes, and what is created by human processes can also be changed by human processes. And it often has been changed by such processes. Of course, the fact that certain attitudes have changed once before does not constitute a guarantee that they will change again in the future, but it does point to this possibility. And politics, as often said, is the art of the possible. What is possible is evidently more extensive than a cursory examination of the present situation allows. Yet one must depict the picture of the present as the starting point, and into the cultural picture of that present one must also integrate the evolutionary patterns of the past. Only in such a way is it possible to paint a faithful picture which will not distort the past, yet will do justice to the potential inherent in the future. A systematic study of attitudes as presented for instance in the survey of public opinion polls in Israel reinforces this theoretical point with persuasive empirical data.

Such an act of creative statesmanship as the Sadat visit also raises a classic dilemma in the issue area of confidence building. This has to do with communications, the media and publicity. In the Middle East—and not only in the Middle East—there are several faces to diplomacy, and arguably the two most important ones are the public face and private face. Scholars and even more, diplomats, argue (and in some cases bemoan) the fact that we live in an age of public diplomacy, which allows little room for bargaining and compromise, because it exposes the process immediately to the scrutiny of the respective constituencies, restricts the freedom of the negotiators to engage in the kind of horse-trading that may well be necessary, not only to consummate a deal but also to build confidence between the negotiators by creating a rapport between them via the mechanism of secret exchange that allows for genuine trade relations, as it were. Scholars often point to the Camp David precedent as a most successful example of relative and temporary insulation from publicity and the media, allowing the parties to overcome the difficulties by intensive bargaining and then going public to the extent normally expected in such a process. We do not know whether such suggestions are at all feasible, even if the ideological objections to this line of thought were overcome. But there is an even more general point at stake here.

Confidence Building and Secret Diplomacy

The Arab-Israeli conflict has known many instances of secret diplomacy, not the least important of which was the series of secret meetings between senior Egyptian and Israeli officials paving the way for the eventual Sadat initiative. Equally well known is the long series of meetings between King Hussein of Jordan and the heads of the various Israeli governments. These meetings more quiet than secret diplomacy are so well known that the people involved rarely if ever even bother to deny their existence. Yet officially they are not supposed to have taken place, and their existence will not be confirmed for the record. In that sense, these meetings have a limited value.⁷ If such meetings are successful, they can build confidence among the participants, but the failure to go public with them also undermines that confidence, and more particularly it undermines the confidence either in the intentions or the capacity of the partners. In the case of King Hussein, clearly there was a doubt whether the talks yielded adequate results to justify going public. Of course, that is reason enough not to go public, but there is more to this decision than evaluating the results of the bargaining process so far. The fact that the King chose not to go public is often attributed to the growing trend towards a higher degree of popular participation in Jordanian politics, and of course the corollary argument is that the public opinion in Jordan is quite hostile to a possible accommodation with Israel on the formal level.

This view, which seems to be based on solid evidence, presents a striking contrast with the case of Israel, in which, according to equally solid evidence, public opinion is far “ahead” of the politicians, if one assumes that a more accommodative stance toward the adversary means being “ahead.” On the surface, this would imply that the prospects for creative statesmanship are grim in countries where public opinion is a constraint, not an opportunity. As the example of Sadat demonstrated, it is possible to change public opinion by acts of leadership, but since the problems are in the public realm, the solutions have to be in the same realm as well. So while secret negotiations may be preferable from the pragmatic point of view of achieving success in overcoming practical problems in bargaining, they have no public effect of the magnitude needed to bring about a massive transformation in basic attitudes. It is likely that policymakers such as King Hussein are quite aware of all this, but then it is difficult to find an exit from this dilemma in any case. The need for a ruler to satisfy the domestic constituency needed to keep power is a universal imperative, and there can be no criticism of anyone who follows that rule. Yet, rulers find that in the long run it is not possible to follow the dictates of a constituency blindly (they are bound to change in any case), but that it is necessary to try to shape them in the image of the goals desired by the leadership. So the public-private dilemma is eternal, and solutions can be found only by analyzing and evaluating the concrete demands of a given situation. We still do not possess any definite knowledge what it is that made Sadat go public at the time that he did, against the better judgment of all his trusted advisers.

What we do know is that when he did go public, the confidence he gained in Israel, around the world and to an extent in his own country was simply astounding. Arab critics argue—well within the logic of their paradigm—that by his spectacular act he gave away many, if not all, his bargaining chips, because the visit itself amounted to the recognition of Israel, so that this took away much of his ability to gain quid pro quos. On the other hand, the spectacular act he undertook made it virtually impossible for Israel not to reciprocate, and indeed it did just that. Moreover, the drastic nature of the act, which aimed at the most sensitive part of the conflict, the existential dimension, demonstrated the genuine nature of the transition into a nonexistential stage of the conflict. The public commitment made by Sadat to that end was the best confidence building measure and it did indeed facilitate the process of bargaining, eventually allowing the parties to conclude a formal peace treaty putting an end to all the territorial and military disputes between them. Without the public stance taken by Sadat in all likelihood this would not have been possible.

Making something public in this day and age means dealing with the media. Increasingly, this means dealing with the fast-moving electronic media that tend to treat the news with inevitable superficiality, which is the outcome of a shortage of time and a need to have everything vividly photographed. This is the nature of televised news. Such a presentation as a rule hardly inspires confidence even in the profundity or the truthfulness of the news, let alone in the protagonists who are often depicted in simplistic black and white. Add to this the aggressive stance of the media to have news happen, and frequently to make news happen, and you will see that the media are a difficult proposition to handle if one thinks about systematic efforts to build confidence in acute conflict situations. The right to know and the need to know, coupled with the inherent superficiality of a fast-moving and expensive technological medium, are facts of life in advanced Western democracies, as they are in Israel, but they do not necessarily contribute to the cause of confidence building. As to the media in the other countries in the Middle East, by and large these are “guided,” which means in practice being controlled by the governments (with some notable, but not very numerous exceptions), so that they are not independent actors, but rather reflect the stance of the political participants in the conflict.

Some scholars have seriously suggested ideas such as attempting to “educate” people who work in the Western media to a more responsible role in confidence building. By this they apparently mean the need to infuse the ethical world of journalists with values other than the need to know and the right to know, so that they also take into account the need to respect the right to exist, the right to negotiate, the right to be taken seriously, and the right for a certain degree of privacy in delicate stages of negotiations. It is not clear what would give us grounds for optimism in such an educational effort, but the picture by and large is not particularly encouraging. The journalistic credo in the West is very strong, and in fact there are numerous instances in which it may and does contradict the needs of the political efforts to build confidence. It is apparently not possible for us to introduce nonjournalistic criteria into the journalistic ethics, and basically this is a justifiable stand in our society for many reasons that have to do with our commitment to free speech and a free, independent-minded press (let alone electronic media). In the light of this, expectations should not be too high that the media can be “used” or “mobilized” for the cause of confidence building, or for any other cause promoted by politicians. Of course, seminars, meetings or indeed books shedding more light on the process of confidence building and thereby helping journalists understand it better are more than welcome, but we should have few illusions that they will implement drastic change.

Yet when we discuss seriously the idea of building confidence in the intentions of the adversary, and even more in his or her commitment to a political process, there is no substitute to the public commitment to the process, which is more often than not irreversible. If the media are cooperative in making this commitment public, so much the better. If not, so much the worse, but still the commitment will have to be made public. Once we realize this, it will be clear that we need to pay much more attention to the role of the media and publicity in confidence building, which is something that seems to be curiously missing from the literature so far. The recognition of this necessity of course in and of itself is far from sufficient to make politicians take a step that can be extremely risky to their future, but it is an important building block in the process of confidence building. Of course, the fact that it is not made when perhaps some external logic dictates that it should means that we are likely to have underestimated the importance of domestic political factors in the equation. We already have alluded to the (only halfway facetious) observation that all politics is domestic politics, and if there is more than a grain of truth in this comment, then this grainful of truth is certainly evident in the complexities of confidence building.

Confidence Building and the Nature of Regimes

This dilemma brings us to consider a related point of fundamental importance, namely the question of who the ontological units of the process are. In other words, who is to build confidence with whom. In the classic age of politics, when intergovernmental negotiations were conducted by professional diplomats who probably felt a greater affinity with one another than with their domestic constituencies, the question may not have been particularly relevant: those who were the negotiators were the ones in need of more confidence, and since they dealt with one another, they were the natural partners as well as the target groups in the process. However, the modern age in general has changed all that, and this is that much more salient in the age of the explosion of political participation, when each and every political decision of major importance has to be approved in some way by the political community at large, regardless of whether or not the regime as such is democratic in any sense. If it is not, it can manipulate the public and perhaps lie to it when controlling the principal channels of communications, but it cannot ignore the political community. It is highly likely than in the age following the democratic revolutions that have brought about the disintegration of the Soviet Empire this tendency to involve the political community at large in critical decisions of national character will increase.

Hence, one can argue with a high degree of confidence that such basic political transformations as confidence building involve by necessity not only governments but entire political communities, or in the old political parlance, peoples. To be sure, initially, and perhaps for quite a while, the process may concentrate almost exclusively on decisionmakers and negotiators, but sooner or later if the process is to be institutionalized, it will have to involve the community which is generally manifest in the public, that public which consumes news and political information. If for no better (and more practical) reason, it is on this account that it would be naive to imagine that in the long run the media that keep this public fed by information can be kept out of the confidence building process for any length of time. However, this is only part of the problem. There are even more basic ones, such as the ones that have to do with definition: how does one define and identify, let alone operationalize, a concept of the relevant public or “people” in order to make sure that one knows who is supposed to be involved in the confidence building process? And once such identification is made, how can one find the proper means to transmit the message of confidence building to the relevant groups of people in the various countries? The problem becomes that much more acute if we keep in mind that any reasonable answer to these questions is likely to require some intrusion into the realms of domestic politics and, given the extremely delicate, sensitive and even fragile character of most domestic political structures in the Middle East, this is a very tall order indeed. Yet something along these lines was part and parcel of the confidence building process in the European context.

Indeed, as will be recalled the European confidence building agreements were divided into a number of “baskets,” roughly along the lines of quite different issue areas. One of the baskets dealt with what we can loosely term “human rights,” including such steps as freedom to travel and have access to free information, accompanied by such concrete measures as the cessation of jamming radio broadcast from other, perhaps rival, countries. These steps which were not always taken seriously at the time, proved to be most effective not only in confidence building in the strict sense of the term, but also in regime transformation in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union. For that very reason, present day leaders in the Middle East are likely to view these steps with the highest degree of suspicion, as these leaders are not interested in seeing their regimes transformed, and certainly not as a result of the interaction with outside enemies in an acute conflict. Indeed, one may well ask with some astonishment whether the Eastern European and especially Soviet leaders did not realize the impact of these measures on the structure of their own regimes at the time of the agreements.

Of course, we do not have a definitive answer to this intriguing question. It may be that they indeed did not realize the importance of legitimizing human rights in their countries, or perhaps they felt that this would be at worst paying lip service to the idea without it being put into practice. Another explanation is that they had little choice, because this was the only way that they could get the agreement so badly needed from the strategic and economic points of view. Even so, one does not normally sign an agreement alleviating a serious set of problems, if the price involves risk to the survival of the regime, so that it is possible that the risk was not realized after all. Finally, there is the hypothesis with the diametrically opposed punch, namely that the leadership in the East was in itself already in the midst of massive cultural change, having lost its ideological self-confidence and itself being attracted to the value inherent in the culture of the West more than to the platitudes of its own. This transformation that led to the willingness to enter the process of confidence building in the first place allowed also for changes in the regime. Hence, there were relatively few problems in enhancing it with human rights clauses that in fact did impinge on the political structure of the countries concerned.

This, however, raises the important theoretical point of the relationship between domestic regime on the one hand, and international confidence building on the other. Much is made in popular literature of the claim (disputed by some scholars) that democracies as a rule do not go to war against one another, and hence that the best form of conflict resolution or at least conflict management, is the democratic convergence of regimes. Analysts of the Arab-Israeli conflict at times make the point that given the undemocratic character of most Arab regimes there is so little cultural affinity with Israel that conflict resolution is a virtual impossibility. Some of these analysts would in fact advise Israel to await the progress of “democratization” in the Arab countries as the best course of action for confidence building and conflict transformation. But this is very dangerous advice. First, it entails waiting for an indefinite future when there are pressing reasons not to wait. Second, it would involve the process of confidence building in the domestic politics of the adversary in a way that would allow no flexibility and no good options because of the rigidity of the ideological line taken. Third, and possibly most important, there is absolutely no certainty that there is anything to wait for. No one can analyze the Arab political system to the conclusion that democracy is in the cards any time in the foreseeable future, or that democracy in the Arab world really means what it is normally taken to mean in the West, and hence that it would entail a more accommodative stance toward Israel. At the moment, the evidence is mixed at best. In fact, in countries such as Jordan it appears that the greater the momentum of the process of democratization, the higher the level of hostility to Israel, which in the elite level has not been traditionally high. Although, as we have seen, public opinion in Israel seems to be more flexible than the official stand of the government on most issues having to do with the peace process, this does not mean that we can generalize on that basis for the region as a whole. So while the relevance of domestic politics for confidence building is obvious and should be stressed, there is no easy solution to the problem by using the variable of “democracy,” and perhaps a more discriminating look should be taken at each and every concrete case.

Perhaps the single most important question having to do with confidence building in the Middle East (and in all probability elsewhere as well) is the distinction between process and substance, and also style and substance. According to many practicing political leaders, the most important confidence building is progress on substance, because such progress demonstrates the potential inherent in the process, as well as the commitment of the parties to make a success of it, and also the benefits accruing to the parties that do so, thereby also speaking to the relevant domestic constituencies. Of course, we all know that nothing succeeds like success, and nothing inspires faith in future success as much as success in the present. This may be true, although not necessarily so, because there are many imaginable cases in which success up to a certain point does not indicate success in other stages in the future on account of the growing complexity of the issues still left. Thus the tremendous breakthrough in the negotiations between Egypt and Israel in 1977–79 did not inspire confidence between Israel and Syria or Israel and the Palestinians, because everyone quickly realized not only that the territorial and ideological issues of the latter cases were qualitatively more complicated than in the first one, but also because many people felt that it was precisely the success of the Egyptian-Israeli process that would lead to the freezing of the other stages, the initial success answering the demands of the major parties for a lengthy period of time.

It is important, to keep this possibility in mind, but that is not all by any means. Even if we assume that in most cases indeed success will breed confidence more than any other measure designed for “confidence building” in the explicit sense of the term, there is no assurance that such success is at all attainable. If it were, perhaps there would be little need for confidence building, as it would make more sense to invest in the substance of the process itself. One may well argue that in any case it makes sense to invest all the resources that one may have in the process itself. But when things go well and it is possible by investing the resources to make a success of the process, indeed confidence building is not necessary, or to put it more optimistically, it will come into being naturally, as the outgrowth of the success of conflict management or reduction. However, in many cases—of which the Middle East is clearly one—this is not feasible. Success in the process is not certain, and investing in it is not attractive to the parties because they are not certain that the adversary really “deserves” this investment, as a unilateral investment is not likely to engender success. Yet we may not be certain that our partners will want to invest as much as we would need to, and in the lack of some mutuality we may not be willing to contribute our share either. In such cases confidence building is a vital necessity, not as a substitute for success in the substantive process, but as a precondition for success in the process.

Confidence Building: Style and Substance

Confidence building, as both an aspect and instrument of diplomacy, has many corollaries and ramifications. It is necessary not only to have confidence in the willingness of the other side to commit resources in a process of negotiations, but it may be necessary to have confidence in the willingness of that side to accept the results of the process and implement them according to the agreements. It is necessary, as mentioned before, to have trust in the ability of the other side to make its word stick in the face of domestic and regional difficulties. It is necessary to have trust in the fairness of the process itself, and in the institutional-legal framework within which it is embedded: the resolutions of the United Nations and its organs. It is necessary to have trust in the major power propelling the process, the United States, which, in turn, faces all the classic dilemmas of mediation and arbitration. Every time it makes an attempt to solidify its historical ties with Israel, it has difficulties in acquiring the trust of the Arab powers, whereas every time it attempts to explain that the new global and regional realities have led it to adopt a more “even-handed” approach it loses the trust of Israel. Yet the 1977–79 peace negotiations between Egypt and Israel demonstrated that even when there was a high degree of willingness to engage in substance, and in a situation dramatically transformed by a revolutionary demonstration of change, it was necessary to have the massive involvement of a third party to create confidence among the parties when the negotiations became tricky. The eventual agreement contained a heavy investment by the United States in a variety of ways, and it is more than doubtful that without that investment there would have been any agreement at all. Given that the present process deals with even more difficult territorial and ideological issues, and given that it is dominated by the United States much more, the problem of confidence building between the parties and the outside superpower is that much greater. In fact it is probably the most serious difficulty facing American diplomacy at this point, and it is likely to continue to be of paramount importance in the future of the process as well. But of course it is important to see this not as an exclusively American problem, but as a general theoretical difficulty in the process.

In American regional relations, too, there exists the substance-style dichotomy. One can recall situations in American-Israeli relations, for instance, in which there were many major substantial difficulties, but the basic trust that characterized the relationship was so great that the practical difficulties were overcome on account of this extra dimension in the relationship. This state of affairs is comparable to one in the world of business in which the inability of a party in a business relationship to deliver for the moment is forgiven in the light of the large amount of credit that party enjoys in general terms, on the basis of past performance and the possession of overall resources rather than judging the entire relationship on the basis of getting something immediate done. The allegory of having credit is particularly useful here, because it refers to an intangible reserve that can be built up over time in order to serve as a cushion in the event of upcoming hard times. Of course, such times are very likely to come up in negotiations over the future structure of acute conflict, and hence the need to build up reserves is very real indeed.

Yet such reserves can be exhausted quickly. The world of politics in general is rather brutal, and the question, “what have you done for me lately?” is heard all too frequently in the rough-and-tumble of political life. Political leaders and constituencies have little tolerance for disappointment and for explaining it away on the basis of long-term propositions. The mass nature of politics in both democratic and nondemocratic political communities in our time makes this lack of tolerance even more acute. Even so, people do not judge political action exclusively by results; they also take into account motivation and relative performance under the circumstances. If they believe that you have done your best out of sincere motivation, they may be able to live for quite a while with the fact that the results are far from what they expected. When, however, motivation is questioned and there is no faith in the partner having done his or her best, the lack of results can be devastating. In fact, even if there are positive results they may be misinterpreted in a way that will make them dysfunctional. So what we do is obviously of overwhelming importance, yet how we do it, and how this is perceived by our negotiating partners, also has a profound impact. The dimension of what we do is a matter of substance, whereas how we do it is a matter of style.

Therefore, style matters and it matters very much. One major stumbling block in the recent American-Israeli relationship has been precisely this matter of style. To the Israelis, the lack of coordination with the United States has been not only a matter of changing American objectives in the face of a changing world, but also a matter of moving away from the symbols and the intimacy of the previous phase in the relationship. This is a matter of style, properly speaking. It may have been possible for the United States to make sure that the changing parameters in its policy are not presented in a way that undermines the basic credit in the relationship, just as it should have been possible for Israel to make clear that its objectives in the peace process differ from those of the United States without projecting an image of a power that is basically disinterested in the process itself. So the entire relationship has been undermined by a lack of trust which reaches beyond disagreement on the issues, no matter how fundamental. Of course, if there is any point in confidence building, it is precisely the building of reserves that can withstand the inevitable erosion in relationships when disagreements arise over the issues. It is not possible to imagine any relationship in a conflict situation in which such major disagreements cannot arise. On the other hand, one can feel somewhat discouraged by the American-Israeli example, because it has been historically considered such a sound and comprehensive one that if even this particular case could not withstand the erosion of disagreement, then the reserves of confidence built into it may have been most inadequate. Of course, all this is obvious to the leadership in Israel as well as in the United States, and the leaders of both governments are acutely aware of the need to undertake measures to restore confidence between the two before further initiatives are launched in the peace process.

Hence, the argument that the best confidence building measure is progress on substance is not necessarily true, and even if it were, it would not settle the problem because of lack of feasibility. While keeping in mind substantive progress as the objective to be accomplished, it is important to facilitate its accomplishment by creating a climate favorable to it, and confidence building can play a big part in that. Again, it is necessary to emphasize that confidence building is, in a way, a technique that can be learned—given the right circumstances—much like the technique of bargaining, negotiations, arbitration and mediation. In all these cases, too, one can argue that what is important is substantive progress in the process, rather than the technique, and that such progress does away with the need for technique. However, this begs the question how to make progress on substance when the necessary techniques are lacking. If, given these circumstances and premises, the study of mediation is a worthwhile enterprise, so then is the study of confidence building. Only we have to keep in mind that confidence building probably involves even more complex psychological and cultural issues than negotiations, but it is definitely comparable as an analytical problem to the study of mediation and arbitration.

Confidence Building and Domestic Constraints

One further variable that complicates the confidence building scene is the likely existence of many forces in the Middle East that reject any peace settlement that is likely to emerge from the present peace process. While the basic commitment of the major parties to the process in some form seems to be a fact of political life, many key political factors in the various countries are at least equally committed to opposing and subverting the process as it is now, and certainly to undermining its positive results if any. These forces can be loosely labeled rejectionists, and their rejectionism as a rule includes also rejectionism by way of denying the rights of some parties to exist, be they the State of Israel or some form of Palestinian entity. If a government reaches the conclusion that it is in its interest to sign an agreement growing out of the peace process, it will have to contend with such forces. This contention is not likely to be easy, because the rejectionists will be not only extremist and vehement, but they also will challenge the given regime by appropriating the symbols of its legitimacy. For example, radical settlers in the case of Israel will certainly evoke nationalist and religious images dear to the mainstream of Zionism, just as radical Palestinians will use Islamic and Arab nationalist images for their purposes. Defending a possible peace treaty against such potent opposition will be very difficult at the best of times, but this is likely to be that much more difficult since the peace treaty will have to be the result of a compromise, which to some extent will leave everyone dissatisfied. Both Arabs and Israelis know this, and we already have alluded to the importance of the fear of opposition as a powerful domestic constraint.

But this is not only a domestic constraint. This also is international-regional constraint, because one reason for not trusting an opponent is precisely the fear that it will not be willing and/or able to defend a possible deal concluded against domestic and regional rejectionism. One objective of the confidence building process has to be the creation of trust in the intentions and the abilities of the respective governments and regimes to stick to their wad in the face erf possible widespread rejectionism. This process has to start long before the expectation to conclude a written formal agreement, because otherwise die parties will be reluctant to conclude such an agreement for fear of not being able to derive the expected benefits from it when the impression is that it will not survive a rejectionist challenge. Yet we already have witnessed one heartening event, or rather chain of events, when following the assassination of President Sadat in 1981 the new Egyptian President and government continued to honor the peace agreement with Israel—some would argue that without enthusiasm, but by and large, the treaty was kept alive and well under rather harsh circumstances. Of course, many will argue that Egypt is a special case in the light of its long experience with “stateness” and its highly centralized state tradition, and that it is certainly not comparable to an essentially one-man regime such as Jordan. This is probably true, and has to be addressed. How does one build confidence in the ability of the Jordanian regime to fight its rejectionist adversaries successfully should a peace treaty between Jordan and Israel be concluded?

One final dimension of confidence building to be explored is flexibility versus rigidity. In human relations in general, flexibility is an asset, and it is to be applauded and cherished. A human structure that does not allow for change is not likely to stand the test of time. Yet there are exceptions to every rule. When one attempts to break a vicious cycle of hostility, it is necessary to undertake obligations that are irreversible in the foreseeable future. The ease with which the United Nations troops were pulled out of the Gaza Strip in 1967 caused almost irreparable damage to the standing of the United Nations in the region (particularly in Israel), because of the widespread feeling that an obligation that was so easy to abrogate was not worth having in the first place, and would not be worth having in the future either. Similarly, in a peace process in which territory will be probably traded for international obligations, it should not be easy to abrogate such obligations. If it is, we cannot expect the party having to concede territory to do so with any degree of enthusiasm or willingness to cooperate. One major component of confidence building has to be generating faith in the possibility that the parties will be willing to undertake irreversible commitments (after all, ceding territory is equally irreversible, or even more so!) and to honor them over time.

Confidence Building: Instruments and Practice

In order to demonstrate confidence building measures in a practical way, there follows a list of fourteen such measures that have been tried in the European and East-West context and some that have been frequently mentioned in the Middle Eastern context, with a list of observations and questions intended to probe some of the problématique inherent in the specifics of the present peace process in the Middle East. The list is not intended to be exhaustive by any means, but rather to stimulate further thinking about the possibilities and the problems associated with their implementation. Hence this is a “shopping list": it should guide us to a variety of possible items without purporting to cover the entire range of possibilities.

Documents and legal formalities. There is an argument to the effect that Security Council or General Assembly resolutions, as well as international agreements such as the Camp David Accords, tend to create norms and points of reference that facilitate communications and perhaps even conflict resolution. Is this true?

The international community. Obviously, the peace process was born in response to international pressure, largely of American making. This also means that the parties in the Middle East respond to stimuli from international sources, so that they have to adopt some of the language and perhaps even the culture of the international community, which in itself creates some confidence between the parties. Is this true?

Media. Catering to the media, much of it international, is a central feature of the peace process. Obviously, this means that the parties care about their image in the media, and that they read international newspapers, watch television, etc. Does this mean that they use the messages of the media in a way which also contributes to some common language and culture, thereby creating the possibility of greater confidence between the parties?

The United States. Obviously, the main partner for each of the regional participants in the peace process is the Administration in Washington, and beyond that, the United States at large. This implies a massive effort to communicate with Americans in a language and form acceptable to the latter. If this is what all the parties do, then by default they also cater to norms and language common to them. Is this the case? Does it make a decisive difference in terms of the capability to generate more confidence?

Past history. Many of the parties have had a long history of negotiations and other contacts, and in some cases they have had a long-standing tradition of successful agreements, such as the 1974 disengagement agreement on the Golan Heights or the Egyptian-Israeli peace treaty of 1979. One would assume that parties that have been exposed to such a successful tradition would have more faith and confidence in their negotiating partners than those who have not been so exposed. Is this true? How can we utilize the existence of such traditions more successfully for confidence building measure in the future?

Common interests. In many cases, there are surprising convergences of interests, as, say, between Syria and Israel for the existence of a common enemy, Iraq. Is this perceived in a way that allows for more confidence to be built? How can we use such facts of regional political life more creatively in the future so that they can be part of an effort for confidence building?

Arms control. In many case, there is a fear of further arms races, and a fear of weapons of mass destruction. Can this be regarded as a foundation for confidence building? If not, what should be done in order to improve the situation? To what extent can we use examples from other areas of the world?

Communications. Images of hot-lines and red telephones connecting the leaders of the adversaries are often evoked in talking about confidence building. Is this a substantial way to proceed?

Humanitarian gestures, having to do with alleviating the lot of some relevant population, particularly on issues of sensitivity to the other side, may contribute to building trust in the political intent of the principal parties. However, there is a highly sensitive arena subject to misinterpretation especially concerning interference in another state’s domestic politics. Nevertheless, are there opportunities here which could contribute to mutual benefit?

The diplomatic process itself. One needs to ask the question to what extent the process itself is a confidence building measure when it brings together parties that do not normally meet, and thereby creating a (possible) relationship. It would be interesting to know more about the attitudes of the various parties to the process itself.

Resources, water and economic development. Much has been made in the past of using water and other resource management issues, as well as general demands of economic development, as possible functional steps for pursuing benefits of mutual interest to the various parties. On the other hand, there are but very few examples in the Middle East of economic considerations overruling the political ones. Is it possible to change this? Alternatively, is it possible to get the parties together in a common framework in order to work together on projects that are nonpolitical in nature, but which create possible political “spillover effects"?⁸

Diplomatic relations. Traditionally, it has been the Israeli position that formal recognition and diplomatic relations not only point in the direction of peace, but that they also facilitate relations between peoples and political communities. One wonders about the second half of this statement, even while not necessarily doubting its fundamental logic. For instance, does the case of the Egyptian-Israeli relationship teach us anything about this? Can we say that diplomatic relations between the parties in this case have significantly enhanced the level of confidence between them?

Cultural exchanges. These, too, were assumed in the past to have been beneficial to the cause of peace and confidence building between peoples. We now have some specific cases, notably that of the Israeli Academic Center in Cairo, yet the scientific community in Egypt, which is its principal constituency, apparently has not been very impressed. It continues to be among the most hostile segments of the Egyptian public in terms of attitudes to Israel in general and the peace treaty in particular. What is the lesson from this, if any, and how it is possible to turn cultural exchanges, if it all, into more potent weapons of building confidence?⁹

Tourism. Open boundaries and exchanges of tourists and visitors are among the measures that are very frequently mentioned as popular steps for building confidence. The boundaries between Egypt and Israel have been more or less open for almost one-and-a-half decades, and there is substantial tourist movement from Israel to Egypt, although much less (not much more than a trickle) from Egypt to Israel. Does this make a substantial difference in any way? Is it likely to make a substantial difference in the future? Also, there has been a rather massive movement of Palestinian tourists into Israel (not just the territories) for about a quarter of a century. How does this affect the relationship between Palestinians and Israelis? Has the movement of Palestinians into Israel created confidence between them and the Israelis? Does a parallel movement of small businesspeople into the territory of the other create any confidence that has political significance?

Such questions cannot be answered in the abstract, and in most cases not even by generalizing about the Middle East as a whole. It is necessary to examine them in the context of specific countries and the resulting concrete relationships, some of them bilateral and some of them multilateral. The concretization of abstract notions in concrete experience is the challenge of the next stage in the development of the fledgling study of confidence building measures.

This introduction is based on a discussion paper offered in preparation for the May 1992 research meeting on “Confidence and Security Building in the Middle East the Arab-Israeli Nexus.” It was to serve as an initial focus for consideration and also as an aid to those responsible for preparing introductory briefs on the various topics for discussion. For some of our earlier thinking on these issues, please consult Gabriel Ben-Dor and David B. Dewitt, eds., Conflict Management in the Middle East (Lexington: Lexington Books, 1987), especially the chapters by Ben-Dor, Dewitt, Stein, and our concluding chapter.

Notes

1. It is interesting to note that within the last two years, CBMs as both instruments and as process have become a focus of policy-relevant research and discussion among those concerned with regional security and conflict management. Conflicts in Central and South America, Southeast Asia, southern Africa, parts of the Middle East as well as a number of contested borders have begun to attract the attention of those scholars and practitioners interested in practical measures to enhance mutual security while reducing tensions. These involve both military CBMs and the broader functional categories of CSBMs. See Geoffrey Kemp, The Control of the Middle East Arms Race (Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 1991); Alan Platt, ed., Arms Control and Confidence Building in the Middle East (Washington: United States Institute of Peace Press, 1992); James Macintosh, “Confidence Building Measures—A Conceptual Exploration,” in Confidence Building Measures and International Security, R.B. Byers, F. Stephen Larrabee, Allen Lynch, eds. (New York: Institute for East-West Security Studies, 1987); Allan J. Vick, “Building Confidence During Peace and War,” Defense Analysis, vol. 5, no. 2 (1989).

2. At this time, the literature is very slim on C(S)BMs outside the European context. While new work is emerging on south-south and south-north conflicts, the theoretical work on conflict management remains as underdeveloped as the non-European empirical case studies are underrepresented, given that they were the locus of most of the “hot wars” during the Cold War period. The current transformation of the international security system is likely to have significant impact upon how regional conflicts will be played out, and may well augur in a new era of how best to use external third parties to facilitate resolution or management. Much theoretical work needs to be undertaken along with the empirical studies so often favored by the policy community.

3. In the European experience, political, economic, and cultural legitimacy existed between NATO and WTO. Although strains existed both between and within these rival alliances, a sufficient historical basis existed for the emergence of a reasonably stable, mutually beneficial, and well-managed interregional security regime. In this case, the evolution of a structurally embedded arms control process became a cornerstone upon which to build first CBMs and then, later through the CSCE process which broadened both the agenda and the actors, CSBMs. In the Middle East, as in many other parts of the world, arms control regimes are much more difficult and tenuous, and have very little empirical basis upon which to evolve.

In the language now readily identified with the CSBMs approach to conflict management, critical concepts which must take on operational meaning between the parties include “transparency,” “compliance,” and “verification.” While the intent primarily relates to military security, threat prevention, and tension reduction, both military and nonmilitary instruments and procedures can contribute to these goals. This is especially important when the prerequisite to security is the concurrent recognition of political legitimacy.

4. Transformation of the so-called rules of the game may be a fundamental aim and consequence of CBMs. Without changing the anticipated payoff matrix of a new future, and hence without transforming the rules of interstate interaction to conform with these new goals, conflict management and/or resolution is unlikely. Guarantees and other mechanisms offered by third parties to facilitate such political and security risk-taking hence become almost a necessity.

5. Sverre Lodgaard, “A Critical Appraisal of CSBMs by Category,” in Confidence and Security Building Measures: From Europe to Other Regions (New York: United Nations, Disarmament Topical Paper No. 7).

6. It also is the case that in some political and security contexts what “objective, external” analysts might suggest as obvious CSBMs would be viewed by the protagonists as aggravating tensions and exacerbating mistrust. While “intelligence” functions contribute towards transparency and, hence, to a more trusting and confident security environment, in some situations it is more likely that such measures would be seen as compromising security by undermining the ability of one actor to be militarily secure from the incursions of others.

7. Tacit agreements, understandings, and mutually reinforcing actions should not be undervalued. In a number of arenas of relatively high and protracted tension—Israel, Syria, and Lebanon as one example, China and the former Soviet Union another—tacit understandings have contributed to a reduction in tensions, in the level of military activity, and in the latter case, to substantial arms reductions. While trust between the parties may not be the direct result, tacit processes often afford opportunities for testing the situation without loss of face or increased vulnerability.

8. Over the past few years, we have witnessed an effort to explore a number of areas of interest both to Israel and to some combination of Palestinians and Arab state(s) that are proposed to offer “functional” entries into a process of cooperating for mutual advantage. Hence, water management, a common electric grid, shared international airport and air controller facilities, collaborative deep-sea commercial port management, and cooperative efforts to develop but also to protect the Aqaba Gulf area all are viewed as basic infrastructural issues which, if addressed in advance of a peace settlement, will both contribute to its occurrence and ensure its maintenance. These are part of the “economics of peace” programs pursued by both the principals and third parties in pursuit of peace.

9. Scholars are, themselves, part of this confidence building process. For a number of years meetings among academic experts including Israelis, Palestinians, and other Arabs have resulted in publications-^whether books, articles, conference reports, newspaper opinion pieces, or manifestos—and follow-up discussions with elites, including officials at times in their “unofficial” capacities. This process, of course, is not unique to this particular conflict system. At various times elite and well-connected NGOs have played roles in many of the conflicts of the Cold War era, and some of these laid the groundwork for the advancement of interests and the development of communications networks which could transcend alien boundaries and facilitate efforts to resolve or manage conflict and to terminate violence.

Part Two
Regional Actors: The Israelis and the Palestinians

2
The Palestinians and Confidence Building Measures in the Arab-Israeli Conflict: The Implications of Statelessness

Rex Brynen

Among all the actors in the Arab-Israeli conflict, the Palestinians are unique in their lack of the formal, institutional and practical attributes of statehood. Of the more than five-million-strong Palestinian community, some 1.7 million live under Israeli occupation in the West Bank and Gaza Strip. The remainder live in exile, in a diaspora that includes major concentrations in Jordan, Lebanon and Syria, smaller populations in the Gulf states, Egypt and other Arab countries, and communities of varying sizes in Europe, the Americas and elsewhere.¹ Palestinians have succeeded to a remarkable degree in maintaining a strong and cohesive social identity, notwithstanding physical dispersal and despite (or perhaps, because of) the vicissitudes of their national history. They have also succeeded in constructing a viable national polity based on a dense network of institutional and ideological bonds, ranging from local community organizations (both inside and outside the occupied territories) to a transcendent Palestinian nationalist movement. Despite the growing influence of Islamist groups, this polity remains primarily centered on, and within the framework of, the Palestine Liberation Organization and its affiliated organizations.²

Palestinian statelessness has several important implications for the possible application of confidence building measures to the Arab-Israeli conflict. To begin with, Palestinian self-determination is a primary issue of dispute. For Palestinians, the achievement of this (and more specifically, the establishment of an independent state) is an existential issue. As such it plays an overriding role in determining their attitude towards other parties in the conflict, and especially towards Israel. Secondly, the Palestinians’ present lack of statehood has important practical effects on the way in which the Palestinian community formulates and pursues its political objectives, as well as the strategies and tactics adopted in negotiations. Thus the unique geographic, demographic, and socio-economic characteristics of the Palestinian “polity” shapes equally significant patterns of internal politics and policy-making, characteristics which must be taken into account in any confidence building initiatives. Finally, if realized, Palestinian demands for self-determination would represent a fundamental change in the status quo, with uncertain effects on neighboring states and on the regional political, economic and military environment. Given these uncertainties and the attendant insecurities generated by them, confidence building measures would have a critical role to play in reassuring the parties, creating and extending shared interests, containing the repercussions of the accidental and unforeseen—and hence in both easing the transition and stabilizing final status arrangements.

This chapter will examine each of these three sets of issues in turn. In so doing, it will focus on how confidence building measures might be applied to the Palestinian community, as well as on the factors shaping the formulation by Palestinian leaders of potential initiatives aimed at Israel and others in the conflict. The question of how precisely Palestinian confidence building measures might assuage the insecurities felt by others will only be touched upon in passing, since a sustained analysis of this topic would require a much fuller examination of the regional security environment and domestic political processes of Israel and the various Arab regimes than is possible in this chapter.³

Confidence as a Scarce Commodity: Palestinian Views of Israel

Confidence (and security) are commodities in Palestinian-Israeli relations that are “evident” only by their absence. In general—and despite variations among Palestinians of differing backgrounds and ideological outlooks—a profound and pervasive suspicion exists as to Israeli actions and motives. Israel is widely seen as an aggressive and imperialist state; Zionism as an inherently racist and colonialist ideology;⁴ Israeli political leaders and parties (and much of the Israeli population) are seen as almost uniformly hostile to Palestinian interests and even to the notion of a “Palestinian” identity altogether.⁵ Since it is through the lens of such perceptions that Palestinian leaders and mass publics assess (and respond to) their Israeli counterparts during periods of negotiation, they represent a formidable barrier to a negotiated resolution of this conflict—and hence are a primary target of potential confidence building measures. At the same time, if one is to design and implement measures intended to reduce misperception, enhance stability and build trust between Palestinians and Israelis, it is important to first acquire a sense of the processes that generate and sustain suspicion in the first place.

Of Scorpions and Frogs: The Uses and Abuses of “Culture” in Explaining Conflict

One possible source of such suspicion and hostility is culture. As noted by Gabriel Ben-Dor and David Dewitt in chapter 1 of this volume, it is indisputable that politics is shaped by culture. Indeed, given the importance of conflicting national self-identities (and their attendant sociopolitical values), this would appear to be particularly true in the Arab-Israeli context. A significant proportion of Palestinian attitudes to Israel, for example, are undoubtedly bound up with Palestinian society’s sense of cultural self-identity, passed on through family socialization, sustained by peer groups and educational systems, and embodied in the arts, literature, and popular entertainment.⁶

Given this, one logical place to begin is with analysis of the content and cultural acquisition of Palestinian attitudes to politics, conflict, and conflict resolution. To date, however, very little solid research has been done in this area. Instead, the field has been left open largely to those who stress a sort of “primal antagonism” in Palestinian and Arab attitudes to Israel. In this view, the Arab-Israeli conflict is rooted, in whole or in part, in relatively unchanging component norms of Arab-Islamic culture and personality. Arabs, it is argued, are authoritarian, mendacious,⁷ violent and hostile,⁸ unrealistic,⁹ with a tendency to view events in terms of external conspiracies.¹⁰ The contemporary conflict with Israel is simply a modern manifestation of Islam’s historic unwillingness to accommodate other religious groups.¹¹ The general implication of such an approach is that confidence building measures have only a limited role to play: while they might be employed to limit the prospects for accidental conflict, the culturally rooted sources of distrust would only be amenable to change through gradual learning processes or longer periods of cultural evolution.

Hence, like the tired old story of the scorpion and the frog, conflict becomes non rational; violence occurs because “that’s the Middle East."¹² Yet this sort of assertion of the analytical salience of an entrenched primal antagonism requires an empirical and analytical leap of faith.¹³ The supposed cultural predispositions arising from Islam, for example, have largely been derived from an interpretive (and hence selective and subjective) reading of doctrine and history. The resulting view is both homogenizing and static, rarely acknowledging the diversity of political culture, its patterns of internal variation, or the forces and importance of attitudinal and cultural change. Although tremendous explanatory power may be assigned to cultural variables, remarkably little solid evidence is adduced linking either doctrine with attitudes, or cultural with political behavior. The resulting logic is presumptive: culture exists, conflict exists, and somehow the latter must be rooted in the former.¹⁴ Indeed, this sort of analysis frequently veers off into a sort of pseudo-scientific racism that would hardly be worthy of serious consideration were it not for the frequency with which it manifests itself among both opinion leaders and mass publics, both in Israel¹⁵ and in the West in general.¹⁶

Another, more nuanced type of cultural analysis shifts its emphasis from evaluation of the inherent characteristics of cultural norms to the problems of inter- and cross-cultural interaction.¹⁷ From this perspective, the cultural differences between Palestinians and Israelis complicate efforts at conflict resolution by inhibiting mutual understanding. At one level, individuals from different cultures may assess the value of symbols, actions, commodities or territories in very different ways. Communication may be further hampered by linguistic and other differences. This absence of agreed-upon values and common discourse complicates bargaining. One side may over- or under-evaluate gestures made or actions taken by the other side. Misperception becomes endemic, reciprocation difficult. The difficulties stemming from such misperceptions are, in an existing context of hostility and suspicion, easily seen as confirmation of malice. Thus the gap between the negotiating parties endures, even grows.

Applied to the Arab-Israeli conflict, this sort of cultural interpretation of Palestinian nonconfidence in Israel (and vice-versa) has rather different implications for confidence building measures. The effects of initially incommensurate values and perceptions can be ameliorated through measures intended to build consensus on a common agenda; communication channels can be opened, and possibly facilitated through the good offices and mediation of third parties. Unilateral gestures, presuming that they are appropriately targeted on an opponent’s value structure, can be used to signal goodwill. Specific measures can be adopted to avoid “accidental” conflicts between the parties that might otherwise contribute to a deterioration of relations. Indeed, confidence building measures can be seen as part of a general “learning experience” whereby the negotiators (and possibly also their respective mass publics) are encouraged to both bridge and diminish the cultural gap between them.

Overall, the precise ways and the absolute and relative degrees to which culture affects both conflict and confidence building remain analytically problematic.¹⁸ Moreover—as the preceding discussion suggests—the employment of culturally centered explanations also raises important problems of ethnocentrism, reductionism, and relativism which the existing social scientific literature has far from fully overcome.¹⁹ This is not to say that analysis of the dynamics of cross-cultural communication has no important insights to offer: clearly, the Arab-Israeli conflict in general and the Palestinian-Israeli conflict in particular have been afflicted by a (un)healthy share of differential values, incommensurable understandings, misunderstood signals, misperceptions and miscommunications. Yet even here it is important not to overstate the cross-cultural component of the conflict. While Palestinians may misread Israelis and vice-versa, the problem is not as intense as in some other Arab-Israeli interactions (for example, between Syria and Israel). Relatively high levels of Palestinian education, coupled with the close contact between Palestinian society and Israeli society under occupation since 1967, have created myriad opportunities for greater comprehension: Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza Strip may speak or understand Hebrew, read Israeli newspapers, and work for Israeli employers on either side of the Green Line. Outside the territories, Palestinians (particularly in Jordan, and to a lesser extent in parts of Syria, Lebanon and Egypt) also watch Israeli television or listen to Israeli radio.

Finally, cultural explanations are not necessary to account for the bulk of the hostility and tension that exists in the Palestinian-Israeli relations. Instead, the roots of Palestinian attitudes to Israel can be most effectively understood with reference to the past and existing pattern of Palestinian-Israeli interaction.²⁰

The Implications of Existential (and Asymmetric) Conflict

For Palestinians (as for Israelis), the Arab-Israeli conflict has been an existential one. Jewish settlement in Palestine, the establishment of the Israeli state in 1948, occupation of the West Bank and Gaza Strip in 1967, and the expulsion or flight of a majority of Palestinians from their national territory have all posed a direct and fundamental challenge to the survival of the Palestinians as a society. This challenge has been exacerbated by a host of other Israeli actions, ranging from land expropriation and settlement, to the banning of nationalist symbols, suppression of nationalist institutions, overt and covert warfare against the PLO, and rejection of any inherent Palestinian right to self-determination. Viewed from the perspective of Palestinian historical experience, Zionism—an ideology that emphasizes the fundamental task of constructing and maintaining a Jewish national home in Palestine—has, not surprisingly, been understood as a fundamental negation of Palestinian rights and interests.

The Palestinians’ confrontation with Israel has also been perceived by Palestinians as unequal: on one side, a modern and powerful Israeli state; on the other, an occupied, dispossessed and scattered Palestinian community. This asymmetry has been further aggravated by the support enjoyed by Israel from world Jewry, the West and especially a powerful United States—contrasted with problematic backing for the Palestinians from self-interested (and sometimes hostile) Arab states, and limited support from the (now collapsed) socialist bloc or (largely powerless) Third World.

Such perceptions of the conflict as both existential and asymmetric—views also held in different ways by most Israelis²¹—have important implications for both confidence-building and conflict resolution. Each side has tended to assert its political position in terms of inherent “rights.” Given the historical context of competing national claims to Palestine and self-determination, these rights have generally involved an explicit or implicit denial of the national rights asserted by the other—a rejection that only serves to exacerbate the mutual insecurity.

This contradiction has proven to be a difficult context within which to build confidence. In the case of the Palestinians, for example, demands that they explicitly recognize Israel’s “right to exist” have thus seemed to implicitly demand acceptance of the whole Zionist enterprise, and hence have appeared tantamount to legitimation of the very processes that resulted in Palestinian dispossession. Similarly, demands that the Palestinians affirm acceptance of Israel by disavowing nationalist symbols (for example, the Palestine National Charter)²² have been understood as a demand to rewrite Palestinian national history so as to suit Israeli tastes (tastes, moreover, that have scant room for Palestinian national aspirations in the first place).

The asymmetry of the conflict has further reinforced Palestinian reluctance to waiver on this point. Although weakness may lead negotiating parties to more readily consider suboptimal outcomes, it also disinclines them to offer concessions for fear that they will be unreciprocated by the more powerful party, thus further weakening an already weak bargaining position. In the Palestinian view, it is Israel—fully in control of Palestinian lands and destinies—which alone holds the territorial keys to peace. The Palestinians, by contrast, have nothing to compromise over, other than their existential right to self-determination, a right that is clearly nonnegotiable. Equally, Palestinians have been historically reluctant to accept “interim” solutions (such as the autonomy provisions of the Camp David accords) which fall short of independence, fearing that given the strategic asymmetry of the conflict and hence their inability to push final status negotiations to a satisfactory conclusion, any “interim” arrangement might well prove “interminable."

This belief that the asymmetries of the conflict require Israel to make the first and most important initiatives, coupled with a corresponding reluctance to deplete an already weak bargaining hand through Palestinian concessions or unilateral gestures, has long been seized upon by some Israelis as evidence of fundamental unwillingness to reach a negotiated peace, and hence evidence of the existential threat Palestinian nationalism itself poses to Israel’s long-term survival. Yet Palestinian positions towards Israel have changed dramatically over the years. Since the 1970s, a series of political developments—the 1974 and 1977 resolutions of the Palestine National Council, the 1982 Fez summit declaration, and especially the PNC’s 1988 declaration of Palestinian independence—evidenced a growing willingness to accept the reality of Israel.²³ The initiation of direct Palestinian-Israeli negotiations in Madrid in October 1991 represented a culmination of this, with the aspirations of Palestinian negotiators and the mainstream PLO clearly focused on self-determination within the territorial confines of the West Bank and Gaza Strip. Moreover, the post-1991 negotiations represented the first time ever that Palestinian negotiators have been willing (albeit reluctantly) to negotiate interim self-government arrangements for the occupied territories in the absence of any clear commitment as to their final status.

Although this shift was both accompanied and sustained by growing sensitivity to the nuances of Israeli society, it did not result from some new-found fondness for, or trust in, Zionism. Nor did it stem from a fundamental change of heart about the legitimacy of Israel’s historical foundation in Palestine.²⁴ Rather, pursuit of a negotiated, two-state settlement with Israel has occurred for largely pragmatic reasons: the conviction among a growing proportion of Palestinian political elites and mass publics that a series of factors—Israel’s strength, the limits of armed struggle, the pace of Israeli colonization in the occupied territories, the uncertain nature of Arab support, the general global context—collectively rendered the historic dream of liberating all Palestine untenable. The historical lesson here has not so much been the supposed “missed opportunities” of 1936–39, the 1948 partition plan, or the 1978 Camp David accords (none of which, seen from the Palestinian perspective, offered much in the way of real opportunity), but rather the bitter lessons of Jordanian confrontation in 1970–71, Egyptian abandonment in 1977–79, Syrian betrayal after 1976, and the 1990–91 Gulf War, all contrasted with successful policies of incremental state building by the Jewish community in Palestine prior to Israeli independence and threatening post-1967 Israeli policies of “creating facts” in the occupied territories. All of this suggested that nationalist strategy was best refocused on achieving the achievable—a mutual accommodation of, and territorial compromise between, Palestinian self-determination and Israeli security, achieved through incremental negotiations.

This pragmatic shift has been widespread within the Palestinian community, but not universal: as discussed later, some political actors continue to reject the idea of accommodating Zionism or giving up on historic claims.²⁵ It has also been a painful transition, forcing Palestinians to emotionally surrender those portions of Palestinian territory upon which Israel was established in 1948, and from which many (particularly in the diaspora) originate. In many ways, the difficulty of the shift underlines its substantive nature.

Combined with a similar pragmatic rejection by Israel’s Labor Party of reclaiming Judea, Samaria and all historic Israel, this shift opens up the theoretical possibility for conflict resolution based on territorial compromise. Yet it does not necessarily instill confidence. On the contrary, the pragmatic (and hence, some argue, transitory) policies of the mainstream Palestinian nationalist movement cause some Israelis to fear irredentism on the part of any future Palestinian political entity, while the refusal of most of Israeli’s Zionist political parties (including Labor) to recognize an explicit Palestinian right to self-determination generates considerable Palestinian suspicion about Israel’s good faith and long-term aims.

This represents a potentially dangerous impasse. Having subordinated historic claims in favor of pragmatic accommodation, an actor is likely to feel that it has offered a major unilateral concession. Accordingly, it may be disinclined to offer further concessions until it receives from its opponent some correspondingly significant reciprocation. However, an opponent—uncertain about the depth or genuineness of such pragmatism—may press instead for additional explicit, public “goodwill” gestures and confirmatory confidence building measures. When these are not forthcoming, previous suspicions only increase; the bargaining position of both sides hardens.

This dynamic has been evident in Palestinian-Israeli interaction since the late 1980s, and especially in the months following the onset of direct negotiations in 1991. Palestinian recognition of Israel (viewed by Palestinians as a historic compromise) was generally not seen by either Israelis or the American as representing a concession requiring reward or reinforcement, but rather as an overdue gesture that simply represented a sort of admission ticket to the negotiating table. Moreover, scant understanding was shown of either Palestinian perceptions of the conflict as asymmetrical and existential, or of their corresponding unwillingness (or inability) to further compromise their weak bargaining position. Instead, Palestinian negotiators were pressed to be even more flexible at a time when most believed it was Israel’s turn to compromise.²⁶

The Importance of Events

Palestinian attitudes to Israel have been shaped not only by broad historical experiences of occupation or dispossession, but also by a myriad of practical encounters with Israel: road blocks, prohibitions, burdensome administrative regulation, military patrols, the sealing and destruction of homes, ID cards, beatings, censorship, shootings, Jewish settlers, travel restrictions, fines, arrests, detentions, and so forth.²⁷ For some, the daily realities of occupation may engender a greater flexibility, as they underline the desirability of ending Israel’s presence in the territories as quickly as possible. Equally, however, such encounters stoke an anger that can be expressed in greater radicalism. Moreover, for much of the Palestinian population, the content of these daily interactions—whether deriving from official Israeli policy, local military initiative or accident—provide the most immediate barometer of Israel’s intent.

Because of this, modification of the practical structure of Israeli occupation offers important opportunities for confidence building during transitional negotiations. A whole range of possible gestures could be contemplated, ranging from relaxation in administrative regulation (particularly those of a largely punitive nature) to changes in IDF patrol procedures (including frequency, geographic scope, and intrusiveness, as well as restraints on the activities of undercover units). Particularly significant would be gestures which signaled a willingness to accept peaceful Palestinian nationalist action, such as the release of Palestinians held in administrative detention or the reopening of closed community institutions. Reciprocal Palestinian actions might include the limitation or suspension of certain intifada-related actions (such as protests and commercial strikes), as well as instructions to cadres intended to minimize the level of Palestinian-Israeli violence. At the same time, routine and formalized communications between the Israeli and Palestinian authorities could be established to minimize the repercussions of “accidental” clashes, or to defuse potential violent confrontations.²⁸

The effectiveness of such measures will be mediated by several factors. Perhaps the most important of these is the overall assessment by each party of the other’s long-term intentions. In the case of the Palestinians, this expresses itself in a constant ambiguity with regard to any Israeli moves intended to improve the “quality of life” in the occupied territories: such measures can be seen either as genuine confidence building measures, or as attempts to undermine Palestinian political mobilization and influence international public opinion by “gilding the cage” of occupation. The particular interpretation placed on events is likely to be shaped by the initial ideological preferences of individuals and groups, with opponents of the peace process more likely to view such measures in negative terms. It is also likely to vary with the known political agenda of the Israeli government in power. Given the declared unwillingness of the Likud party and its political allies to surrender any occupied Palestinian territory, its policy initiatives were—with considerable justification—viewed by Palestinians as either meaningless or hostile. In contrast, the Labor Party’s acceptance of the principle of territorial compromise means that whatever confidence building measures it may initiate or propose are likely to be received with greater seriousness by Palestinian decision makers. Even so, many will doubtless still feel that some are (as they may well be) cosmetic, public relations exercises, or targeted at improving bilateral US-Israeli relations.

Where successfully implemented, such confidence building measures have a dialectical impact: having overcome initial suspicions, they serve to generate goodwill (or reduce ill-will), which in turn facilitates additional confidence building measures in the future. In the Palestinian-Israeli case, however, the situational differences between the two parties complicate the picture. Due to the very different position of occupier and occupied, there are few cases where common and identical measures are appropriate for both parties. This is in contrast to the model of the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE), or indeed other interstate cases, where a larger range of symmetrical arrangements (for example, mutual notification of military exercises) may be possible. Because of this, different confidence building measures must be “bundled” together (for example, an Israeli agreement to release most detainees, tied to a Palestinian agreement to end certain types of intifada activities). Such bundling is a difficult process, however, since the parties are likely to disagree what constitutes a “fair” exchange. In particular, many of what Israel considers to be confidence building measures are seen instead by Palestinians as simply implementation of (previously violated) commitments under the Fourth Geneva Convention, UN Security Council resolutions or other aspects of international law.²⁹

An alternative to the problem of “bundling” is the unilateral implementation of confidence building measures by one side or another. The obvious difficulty of such unilateral gestures is that there is no guarantee of suitable reciprocation; hence, parties may be reluctant to make them for fear of weakening their position. As already noted, the power asymmetries between Israel and Palestinians under occupation render Palestinian leaders acutely aware of the need to optimize their bargaining effectiveness, and hence particularly unwilling to make gestures without a significant and direct return. This is reinforced, moreover, by a parallel opposition to unilateral concessions among the mass public—an important constraint that underscores the central importance of internal political processes both in the negotiating process and in the construction and application of confidence building measures.

Palestinian Politics and the Peace Process

Domestic politics has played a key role in the evolution of the Arab-Israeli conflict, and is likely to play an equally important role in shaping current and future processes of conflict resolution. It is hardly surprising, therefore, that analysts frequently emphasize the significance of such factors as Israeli coalition politics, domestic pressures on US decision makers, and the implications of American and Israeli electoral outcomes when attempting to gauge the prospects of the current Arab-Israeli negotiations. Palestinian internal political processes, however, are rarely considered to be of parallel importance.³⁰ Instead, a commonly expressed view (frequently repeated by then US Secretary of State Baker in the run-up to the Madrid peace process) has been that the Palestinians “have the most to gain” from any peace process, and that their participation and even flexibility is to be expected accordingly.

There are, of course, a number of reasons for this. Even in the best of times, nonstate actors are often given short shrift by states, who tend to expect a higher degree of passivity and compliance from them.³¹ Palestinian politics and policy-making has always been deeply affected by the policies of other interested states, and particularly by the major Arab powers. The weakening of the PLO as a consequence of both the 1990–91 Gulf War (a conflict that cost the Palestinians considerable material and political support) and the transformation of the Soviet Union and East Europe, served to reinforce the view on the part of the US, Israel, and Arab states alike that the Palestinians could or should be expected to acquiesce in whatever negotiating arrangements were otherwise agreed to. Indeed, the ground rules for Palestinian representation at the Madrid talks, intended to assuage Israeli concerns over the sensitive issues of the PLO, East Jerusalem and Palestinian diaspora participation, themselves embodied a truncated image of the Palestinian political system by excluding these critical elements from formal negotiation.

While it is certainly true that a changing regional and international environment deeply shaped Palestinian decision making at this historic juncture (as in the past), it would be a mistake to view Palestinian diplomacy solely or even primarily in terms of external pressures and constraints. On the contrary, safeguarding the independence of Palestinian decision making—an imperative decried by some as political unrealism, but fundamentally bound up with the very notion of Palestinian self-determination—has been central to the nationalist movement since its modern emergence after the 1967 war. This principle has, over time, been further reinforced by the unreliability and self-interested nature of Arab backing, by the Palestinians’ own shift to more explicitly statist goals, and by the self-reliance and independence of the intifada. Put differently, the viability and status of the Palestinian nationalist movement is ultimately dependent not on its diplomatic relations (important as these are), but rather on its authenticity as a Palestinian movement, and hence the political support derived from Palestinian society.

The implication of this is that understanding Palestinian domestic political processes is essential to understanding the movement and its behavior. In fact, even a cursory examination of the Palestinian dimension of the post-1991 Arab-Israeli negotiations reveals the very great extent to which Palestinian negotiators have been and will continue to be deeply affected by the opportunities, pressures and constraints generated by their own community. This context—including public opinion in the West Bank, Gaza Strip and across the diaspora; relations between the Palestinian leadership inside and outside the occupied territories; and the factional realities and maneuvering within (and outside) the Palestine Liberation Organization—must be taken into account in any discussion of the possible role of confidence building measures.

The Political Context

The Palestinian political process is a complex one, divided by both ideology and geography. In general, however, four major political trends can be identified.

First, there are those organizations and individuals that might best be described as pragmatic nationalist supporters of the peace process. This includes the mainstream of Yasser Arafat’s Fateh movement, the Yasser ‘Abd al-Rabbuh faction of the Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine (DFLP), and most of the Palestinian People’s Party (PPP, formerly the Palestine Communist Party). It also includes a great many “independent” nationalist figures inside and outside the occupied territories who are not formally identified with a particular organization.

In strategic terms, this coalition supports the need for a Palestinian-Israeli peace settlement based on negotiation and territorial compromise; tactically, they favor the US-led negotiation process begun in October 1991, either because of an optimistic assessment of its promise or a pessimistic evaluation of the post-Cold War, post-Gulf War alternatives. Fateh is by far the most important part of this coalition, since it is the predominant organization within the PLO and the largest Palestinian political group inside or outside the occupied territories. The DFLP and PPP are much weaker, but also have a genuine political base, particularly among intellectuals and within mass organizations. “Independents” (ranging from nationalist academics to the remnants of the traditional pro-Hashemite West Bank elite) also play an important role. This is due both to their informal social influence, and to their formal participation in the political and decision-making process (in negotiating teams and local committees within the territories, or in nationalist institutions such as the Palestine National Council and PLO Central Council on the outside).

Second, there are those who, while supporting Arab-Israeli negotiations and territorial compromise in principle, opposed participation in the Madrid negotiations in the belief that either the negotiating framework was unfair, and/or that the broader regional and global context was too unfavorable. This group of pragmatic nationalist critics includes some of the Fateh leadership and a significant fraction of the rank-and-file. It also includes the Nayif Hawatima wing of the DFLP, a smaller portion of the PPP, and a great many independents (especially in the diaspora). As the negotiations proceeded through 1992, most of these actors shifted their criticism from participation in the negotiations in principle to the particular mechanics of the meetings and specific negotiating strategy adopted by the Palestinian side.³² At other times, however (notably with the disappointingly slow pace of negotiations in the latter half of 1992, as well as with Israel’s decision to deport more than four hundred Palestinians in December of that year) opposition has also refocused on the broader question of participation altogether.

Third, there are those nationalist rejectionist groups who evinced an even stronger opposition to the Madrid negotiations, whether on practical grounds, because negotiation represents recognition of Israel, or in some cases because they fundamentally reject a two-state solution to the conflict. By far the most important of these has been the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, which maintains a significant popular base inside and outside the occupied territories. The PFLP’s initial opposition to the negotiations was based on a mix of principle and strategic and tactical rationales. In practice, these have tended to merge with those of the DFLP (Hawatima) and other pragmatic critics, establishing the groundwork for common opposition. At the same time, the PFLP—which has consistently behaved as a “loyal opposition” within the framework of the PLO—has maintained open lines of communication and even periodic cooperation with Fateh and other groups.

The same is not true of most of the other radical nationalist groups opposed to the peace process, both inside³³ and outside³⁴ the PLO. Most of these more clearly opposed the negotiations and territorial compromise as a matter of principle. None enjoys any significant influence within the West Bank and Gaza Strip, and scarcely more outside beyond the support provided by external sponsors. Moreover, many operate outside the framework of the PLO, even against it. While the substantive political weight of these factions is negligible, they do have the capacity to complicate the Arab-Israeli peace process through acts of terrorism.³⁵

Finally, outside the framework of the PLO, there are those who might be termed Islamic rejectionists. The most important group of these is the Hamas movement, which is strongly opposed to the idea of any compromise over Islamic territory. Instead, it favors a continuing jihad to liberate all Palestine—min al-nahr ila al-bahr ("from the river to the sea")—from Jewish control.³⁶ The strength of the Islamic movement, although fluctuating, has grown dramatically since the start of the Palestinian intifada. This is due in part to the general rise of political Islam in the region, and in part to the perceived failures of the nationalist movement. Today Hamas is second only to Fateh within the territories; outside, it finds sympathetic support for its position from the Muslim Brotherhood in Jordan (who themselves represent the single largest bloc in the Jordanian parliament).

In addition to ideological differences within Palestinian society, there are also potential geographic differences sustained by physical dispersion. Varying historical and present experiences, coupled with the discontinuities created by occupation and diaspora, might be expected to generate differential political attitudes and groupings fi al-dakhil ("on the inside") and fial-kharij ("on the outside"). Palestinian refugees from within the borders of pre-1967 Israel, for example, may be less likely to compromise on issues of “the right of return” (or even a two-state solution) than local inhabitants of the West Bank and Gaza.³⁷ Certainly the political importance of the territories vis-à-vis the diaspora has grown sharply since the 1982 war in Lebanon and the start of the intifada in 1987. The onset of Arab-Israeli negotiations in October 1991 accelerated this trend still further, bolstering the profile and influence of members of the negotiating teams and the local support committees.³⁸ At the same time, the apparent post-Gulf War influence of the “external” PLO was undercut by reduced Arab political and financial support, as well as by the back-room status assigned it at Madrid.

This having been said, however, it is important to recognize that other factors have thus far counterweighed the centrifugal effects of statelessness and dispersion. Family and social links bind Palestinians across political borders, sustaining a powerful sense of common identity and destiny that transcends geography. Political and organizational ties have a similar effect. On the one hand, the “inside” (like the diaspora) hardly constituents a politically coherent entity, divided instead by factional (and personal) differences. On the other hand, grass roots activists in the West Bank and Gaza Strip are linked to their external leadership through factional chains of command. Many key policymakers on the “outside” are themselves deported activists from the “inside,” strengthening the bond.³⁹ In short, ideological differences crosscut and overshadow potential inside/outside divisions: a PFLP activist in Nablus has far more in common with the PFLP on the outside than with (Fateh’s) Faysal Husayni on the inside; Husayni’s position is far closer to Arafat’s than it is to a local Hamas leader (or even some local militant Fateh cadres). For this reason, it remains important to analyze Palestinian politics in terms of a complex pattern of competing political positions and actors, rather than in terms of a dichotomy between an aging, radical, “external” PLO and a younger, moderate, emerging non-PLO local leadership in the territories.

Because the strength of each group is primarily a product of the size and weight of their Palestinian constituency, relations between groups are generally highly competitive as each seeks to maximize its popular support. Popular support, in turn, is primarily shaped not by coercion, but the appeal of ideology and by changing local and regional circumstances.⁴⁰ Thus, in moments of diplomatic movement and optimism, proponents of the peace process tend to gain in public opinion. At times of political stalemate or in reaction to excesses by the Israeli army, support shifts to radical critics of the PLO mainstream: the PFLP and particularly Hamas. The desire of Palestinian negotiators to maximize multilateral Arab backing for their position—an inclination largely deriving from a desire to maximize Palestinian negotiating power in an otherwise asymmetric bargaining process—also relates in part to this background of political competition. Specifically, to the extent that Palestinian initiatives are coordinated with other Arab actors, both the level of internal criticism and the political “exposure” of Palestinian political elites to radical criticism is also somewhat reduced.

Internal Politics and Palestinian Negotiating Behavior

The importance and implications of the dynamic balance of power within the Palestinian political system has been evident throughout the Arab-Israeli peace negotiations initiated in October 1991. The decision to participate in a conference under US auspices was a contentious one, with many inside and outside the territories opposed.⁴¹ It required a full meeting of the Palestine National Council (September 1991) and PLO Executive Committee before a green light was given. Even then, the move was denounced by a number of radical splinter groups, and (more importantly) by PFLP, DFLP (Hawatima) and Hamas.⁴² Subsequently, the PFLP announced its decision to suspend its participation in the PLO Executive Committee in protest against the negotiations.⁴³

In general, however, Palestinian public relations successes at the opening conference session in Madrid bolstered proponents of the peace process. This was evidenced by the series of (Fateh-organized) “peace demonstrations” that accompanied the Palestinian delegation’s return home, as well as overwhelming Fateh victories in November elections to the Gaza Chamber of Commerce and the Hebron League of University Graduates.⁴⁴

This enthusiasm began to fade, however, as the slow pace of negotiations became evident in subsequent months.⁴⁵ Partly because of this, the Palestinian delegation took a harder line at the opening session of the multilateral track in January 1992, traveling to Moscow but boycotting the conference itself.⁴⁶ The following month, support for the process was strengthened by Washington’s firm position on housing loan guarantees for Israel, but only temporarily. Prior to the third round of negotiations, internal criticism of Palestinian negotiating strategy resulted in an interactional agreement to refrain specific issues with Israel while it refused to halt settlement activity. When the delegation nonetheless submitted its proposals for a Palestinian Interim Self-Governing Authority in late February, the PPP (temporarily) ordered its representatives to (temporarily) withdraw.⁴⁷ Meanwhile, back in the territories, moderate nationalists triumphed in elections to the Gaza Bar Association, but were dealt a stunning reversal in early March by Hamas in Chamber of Commerce elections in Ramallah.⁴⁸

Shortly thereafter, a major petition began circulating within the occupied territories, calling upon the PLO not to continue with the negotiations under present circumstances.⁴⁹ Outside the territories, another memo was sent to the Palestinian leadership by 179 leading Palestinian nationalists stating that “continuing this process under US-Israeli conditions will harm our national and political accomplishments…[and] a quarter century of our people’s national struggle."⁵⁰ Due to such mounting criticism, special meetings of the Fateh Revolutionary Council and the PLO Central Council were called.⁵¹ Meanwhile, in a speech delivered to mark the fifty-second month of the intifada, Arafat urged Palestinians to rally behind the Palestinian negotiating team.⁵² The importance of this support was underlined in April with news of Arafat’s plane crash: delegation members speculated that, had the PLO leader died, the absence of his mobilizing efforts of their behalf would have severely complicated their task.⁵³

Although Arafat’s survival gave pragmatic nationalist forces a boost, the continued strength of their opponents was underscored by another Hamas electoral victory, this time in student council elections at a Ramallah teaching college.⁵⁴ The PPP announced that it might boycott the next round of negotiations.⁵⁵ A growing number of physical clashes were reported between proponents and opponents of the peace process.⁵⁶ Perhaps sensing the scope of popular disillusionment with the negotiations, the PFLP, DFLP (Hawatima) and Hamas were more receptive than were Palestinian negotiators to Israeli proposals for municipal elections in the territories—elections which might have reflected the erosion of the pragmatic nationalists’ position.⁵⁷ When the PLO Central Council met to discuss such issues, it received a further submission from some Palestinians in the occupied territories calling for a toughening of Palestinian negotiating strategy.⁵⁸ Nonetheless, the council ultimately endorsed participation in both the bilateral and multilateral talks—but by a narrow margin.⁵⁹ Privately, Palestinian delegates expressed the concern that weakening public support might still imperil their participation in the talks altogether. They pointed in particular to an increasingly heaving burden of daily harassment by Israeli occupation forces, which most believed were deliberate “confidence destroying” measures intended to undermine the domestic position of Palestinian negotiators.⁶⁰

At this point, Israel’s approaching June 23rd elections appeared pivotal. Had the Likud-led government—adamantly opposed to territorial compromise—been reelected, it seemed likely that Palestinian public opinion would have concluded that the negotiations were pointless; the pressures to withdraw from the process might therefore become irresistible. In the meantime (and with the polls showing Labor with a narrow lead), many adopted a wait-and-see attitude. This, coupled with intense political mobilization, helped Fateh to victory in elections to the Nablus Chamber of Commerce and the Bethlehem University Student Council.⁶¹

With the subsequent electoral victory of Yitzhak Rabin and the Labor Party, the prospects for negotiation appeared to brighten. In Nablus, Fateh supporters swept student council elections at al-Najah University.⁶² The prospects of a future agreement, however, also precipitated a rapid and violent escalation of the tensions that had mounted in recent weeks between Fateh and Hamas. From late June into early July frequent clashes erupted between the two in the Gaza Strip, with Hamas leaflets calling for an end to the “capitulationist [peace] talks."⁶³ Meanwhile, Palestinian negotiators looked forward to renewed negotiations with Israel in August with both hopes and trepidation. Much as the (excessive) public optimism that had greeted the Madrid conference had given way to disillusionment as talks had dragged on, so too the expectations of Palestinian public opinion might once again be dashed if the talks encountered serious obstacles. Despite the greater flexibility it was hoped Labor would demonstrate, improved US-Israeli relations also threatened to increase the external pressures placed on the Palestinian side to offer concessions.⁶⁴

In fact, as 1992 came to a close, both of these concerns were realized. Negotiations with the Rabin government proceeded at a glacial pace, reinvigorating Palestinian critics of the peace process. Israeli proposals on interim self-government were seen as little more than modified versions of proposals previously offered by Likud. In this context, opposition groups were able to argue that the interim self-government negotiations were a dead-end, unlikely to result in eventual Palestinian self-determination. As the first anniversary of the negotiations approached, thousands of Palestinians in Lebanon and Syria held protest demonstrations, while ten Palestinian groups issued the first of a series of unified calls for a complete Palestinian withdrawal from the negotiations.⁶⁵

Although a majority of the PLO Central Council once more reaffirmed its support for the negotiations in a meeting in mid-October, it did so only after a stormy debate in which the DFLP (Hawatima) walked out of the meeting and the PFLP refused to vote. Responding to this domestic pressure, the PLO signaled its displeasure with Israel’s negotiation stance by sending a reduced, four-person delegation to the eighth round of the negotiations in December. Meanwhile, Hamas stepped up its campaign of attacks against Israeli military personnel and civilians, clearly hoping thereby to derail the talks altogether.

It was in response to the latter that, in late December, the Israeli cabinet approved the deportation of 415 Palestinians (all alleged supporters of Hamas) to Lebanon. Although Lebanon’s refusal to accept the deportees was unanticipated, the move was bound to have serious repercussions in any event. Given the uprooting and dispossession that lies at the core of the Palestinian’s national existence, deportation carries with it a powerful negative symbolism; accordingly, it destroyed most of whatever credibility the Rabin government had in the eyes of the Palestinian population. Such action in violation of the Fourth Geneva Convention also damaged Palestinian faith in the diplomatic process in general, particularly when the United States reportedly threatened use of its veto to block any UN Security Council sanctions against Israel over the matter.⁶⁶ Inside and outside the occupied territories, Islamic fundamentalists used the episode to strengthen their public reputation for commitment and struggle. By contrast, the mainstream Palestinian nationalist movement, incensed by the deportations (if not necessarily by Israeli action against Hamas) and conscious of the angry mood on the streets, was doubly driven to take a strong public stand against Israel. Although some of Arafat’s advisers appear to have supported delinking the deportation issue from the negotiations so as to safeguard the latter, the negotiating team (and apparently the PLO chairman) understood that this was politically untenable. Instead, they threatened to boycott negotiations until the issue was satisfactorily resolved.⁶⁷ Indeed, one senior member of the Palestinian delegation, Ghassan Khatib (PPP), went so far as to suggest the team had now lost its popular mandate to negotiate with Israel, and that the reestablishment of public support was critical before the talks could ever proceed.⁶⁸

Palestinian Politics: The Implications for Confidence Building Measures

Discussion of confidence building measures tends to focus on the role such measures may play in improving relations between the negotiating parties, reducing the possibility of accidental deterioration in the relationship, and creating a common commitment to, and trust in, the conflict resolution process. Correspondingly, emphasis tends to be placed on relations between political leaderships, as well as channels of interstate communication and restraints on certain types of state activity. By contrast, domestic politics often figures as a secondary factor at best.

This conceptualization of confidence building measures tends to derive from European historical experience: although domestic political pressures and constraints did play some role in shaping both the CSCE and East-West arms control agreements, it was clearly a secondary factor for most of the participants. The same cannot be said, however, of the Arab-Israeli dispute. As demonstrated previously, regional tensions are deeply entrenched at the societal level; political actions and actors are thus strongly affected by public attitudes and internal politics. Negotiators need to retain a significant degree of public support if they are to proceed. This is particularly true in the highly pluralistic Palestinian political system, as well as in democratic Israel and an increasingly liberalized Jordan. Moreover (as Naomi Gal-Or has discussed in chapter 5 of this volume), rejectionist groups within these societies may seek, whether through violent or nonviolent action, to stoke mutual hostility, undermine confidence building measures, and subvert negotiated conflict resolution altogether.

Because of this, measures which seek to enhance confidence within the domestic constituencies of negotiators are equally important. To the extent that such “internal” confidence building measures are successful, they serve to undermine rejectionists and enlarge negotiators’ freedom to maneuver, thus potentially injecting greater flexibility and willingness to compromise into the process. In the specific case of the Palestinians, the competitive nature of Palestinian politics means that popular and organizational support plays an important role in shaping Palestinian bargaining positions. No Palestinian leader, much less the delegated negotiating team, can risk moving too far beyond their constituency. Weak public support thus tends to harden Palestinian negotiating positions, as the negotiators (and their PLO sponsors) seek to deflect rejectionist criticism and slow the erosion of their political base. Diplomatic stalemate thus becomes self-reinforcing, reducing the incentive to compromise and, at a certain point, potentially imperiling Palestinian participation itself.

Conversely, diplomatic movement and gestures—in other words, changes that Palestinian leaders can take back to their constituencies as tangible payoffs from the negotiating process—have the opposite effect. They weaken the mobilizing appeal of radical, rejectionist groups. And, by increasing the scope for Palestinian flexibility, they enhance the prospect for successful negotiations on broader interim and final status issues.

A number of types of initiatives can be identified that might serve this sort of function. As suggested earlier, evidence of Israeli willingness to accommodate Palestinian national aspirations (through a complete cessation of settlement activity or explicit recognition of Palestinian rights to self-determination) would have perhaps the greatest positive impact on general public opinion. Short of this, measures could be considered which would alleviate the pressure on, or even strengthen, pragmatic nationalist institutions inside and outside the occupied territories.⁶⁹

In discussing such measures, however, an important paradox must be noted: what Palestinians may see as either basic truisms or as progressive “confidence building measures” may be seen by Israel instead as major concessions. The former is particularly true of existential issues, such as recognition of Palestinian nationhood and rights to self-determination. Palestinians tend to see this a fundamental and self-evident starting point for any negotiation, but Israel generally views it as a problematic issue (raising the possibility of Palestinian statehood) to be either avoided or held in abeyance for final status negotiations after agreement on interim self-government. At a more immediate level, the same paradox arises with regard to many occupation policies. Palestinians perceive measures such as use of live ammunition, deportation, house demolition, curfews and other collective punishments as both excessively harsh and clear violations of international law—in other words, as both unnecessary and prohibited. Israel, by contrast, may see those same measures as either essential mechanisms of social control (and hence necessary), or representative of its general political authority in the territories (and hence bound up with questions of self-government, sovereignty, and final status). This incommensurate perception inhibits even the construction of an agenda for confidence building let alone substantive negotiation, with the parties unable to agree on the relative weight and possible equivalence of various initiatives under consideration.

How can this paradox be circumvented? In some cases, the political cost of Israeli policy changes (such as changes in patrolling activities or use of punitive measures) might be reduced by delinking them from the negotiating process, and by failing to publicize them. This would provide an Israeli government with some degree of plausible deniability should it be faced with right-wing criticism of an excessively soft or concessionary approach to the Palestinians. Yet, ironically, this same deniability might also reduce the value of such initiatives as “internal” confidence building measures by inhibiting the ability of Palestinian negotiators to claim them as victories. In other words, it may often be that an Israeli “concession” needs to be visible as such if it is to be used to build Palestinian public support for the negotiating process.

An essentially similar constraint also applies in reverse: whereas Palestinian leaders might be able to privately offer guarantees and initiatives to Israel in an attempt to partially escape domestic political constraints, the covert nature of such promises weakens their value.⁷⁰ Moreover, experience suggests that covert Arab-Israeli diplomacy often does not remain covert.⁷¹ Indeed, the vibrancy of the Palestinian and Israeli press and political systems makes leaks particularly likely.⁷²

Confidence Building Measures, Interim Arrangements and Palestinian Statehood

Although some aspects of the CSCE (specifically, its human rights provisions) played a supportive role in the eventual political transformation of the Soviet bloc, the primary purpose of this and other confidence building measures in Europe in the 1970s and 1980s was to stabilize the postwar territorial status quo. In the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, however, the reverse is true: confidence building measures are generally intended to facilitate a conflict resolution process aimed at irrevocably altering the status quo. This is particularly true of Palestinian aspirations for self-determination in an independent state, which—if realized—would have far-reaching effects on the regional system. Since the task of confidence building measures is, therefore, not to consolidate existing matters in place, but rather to facilitate their transformation—thus replacing an undesirable but known relationship with a presumably more desirable but ultimately unknowable future—they are that much harder to design and implement. Yet precisely because of the uncertainty and insecurities generated by change, their potential contribution to reassuring the various parties is rendered all the more important.

Within the Palestinian movement, relatively little attention has been devoted to the role that confidence building measures might play in easing that transition or in stabilizing the situation of the new Palestinian political entity, whether by reassuring nervous partners and neighbors or by minimizing the prospects of the destabilization (accidental or otherwise) of a negotiated settlement.⁷³ Part of the reason for this lies in Palestinian views of the peace process. The United States has clearly viewed the two-stage nature of the process begun in Madrid—initial talks on interim Palestinian autonomy, to be followed by later negotiations on the final status of the territories—as a confidence building measure in and of itself, intended to create common interests between the two parties, ease tensions, and reassure Israel about its security concerns. The question of where the final process might lead has thus been left open. Successive Israeli governments, although having a rather clearer view of where they would like the negotiations to go (or not go), have also tended to emphasize process over outcome.⁷⁴ In contrast, the Palestinians generally view the negotiation of interim status arrangements as an unavoidable stepping stone on a pathway that ultimately leads to full and genuine self-determination. Accordingly, both its negotiating positions and many of its organizational activities in the occupied territories have been directed at optimizing the conditions for, and rate of, Palestinian state building.⁷⁵

Other factors reinforce this inclination to focus on state building over long-term confidence building. To begin with, Palestinians generally understand “mistrust” as deriving from the fact of Israeli occupation: were the occupation to end, so too the major source of Palestinian-Israeli hostility would be removed. In the meantime, it is primarily Israel’s responsibility to signal its goodwill by refraining from repressive measures. Internal politics places a constraint on the public formulation of long-term confidence building measures, since discussion of the limitations that might be placed on a future Palestinian state potentially plays into the hands of opponents of the peace process. Under such circumstances, vagueness about the specifics of statehood is preferable to excessive frankness. Further complicating the picture is the Palestinian relationship with Jordan: although statehood would likely occur in the context of confederal ties to the Hashemite Kingdom, the specific nature of these remains to be spelled out in detail. This lack of clarity is due not only to the speculative nature of the enterprise (relevant more to the final than the interim stage of negotiations), but also due to significant Palestinian-Jordanian and intra-Palestinian differences as to what confederation might look like and how it might proceed.⁷⁶ Finally, the strategic asymmetry between the Palestinians and Israelis often leads the former to question the scope or genuineness of the letter’s professed security concerns. Indeed, since statehood raises concerns not within the Palestinian movement but on the part of Israel, other regional states, and the United States, much of the initiative is thus left to others to propose confidence building measures and interim or final status arrangements to which the Palestinian side can then respond.⁷⁷

This is particularly true insofar as issues of military security are concerned, an issue where concerns exist first and foremost on the part of Israel. Still, although Palestinian officials have refrained from stating a clear public policy on the matter (both because its negotiating stance is presently fixed on the interim stage, and due to domestic political constraints), it is evident that they accept the need for a constraining securing regime. Many acknowledge (albeit privately) that any Palestinian state—although not completely demilitarized—would have to accept major limits on the size and composition of its armed forces. Furthermore, it would be bound by international security guarantees, subject to international inspection and the deployment of UN or other international peacekeeping forces.⁷⁸ These latter measures would also be necessary to protect the security of the Palestinian state against external challenges, given the obvious military disparities that would exist between it and its neighbors. Finally, some Palestinians have discussed the possibility of an extended multilateral Conference on Security and Cooperation in the Middle East, modeled on the CSCE. During the interim and final status negotiation phase, the CSCME would facilitate negotiations on interrelated issues of regional security. After the conclusion of a comprehensive Arab-Israeli peace, the CSCME would provide a framework for restraining the destabilizing effects of arms races, nonconventional weapon proliferation, technology, and military postures through regional and subregional arrangements.⁷⁹

The broader question of political security has also received relatively sparse attention, despite its congruence with the Palestinian movement’s state-founding and state-building agenda. To the extent that it has been addressed, this has largely taken the form of assertions of (1) how the entrenched nature of Palestinian pluralism would render future political institutions democratic and stable, or (2) the extent to which the self-interest of an interim Palestinian authority or future state would disincline leaders from assuming a radical and destabilizing posture. Somewhat more work has gone into exploring the economic viability of a Palestinian state, a issue that cuts directly to the question of future political stability.⁸⁰ More sensitive issues (such as how a Palestinian interim self-government and eventual state would deal with terrorism or irredentist groups) have not been dealt with publicly, in part because any discussion of future containment of rejectionist elements would only stoke present political tensions within Palestinian society.⁸¹

In many ways, such issues of political security are more indeterminant than those of military security. Whereas the implications of force limitations and military balances are fairly predictable (within the limits of technological change) in the short and medium term, questions of political development, stability and leadership are open to far greater uncertainty. As the editors of this volume have noted, the two are ultimately linked. Confidence and nonconfidence may flow from an appraisal of an opponent’s capabilities, or intentions, or both. Because of this, at least some of the latter’s indeterminacy can be accommodated through greater attention to the former: to the extent that Israeli security capabilities are maximized and the capabilities of a Palestinian entity are limited, the latter’s potential to destabilize a regional settlement becomes less dependent on internal political developments.⁸² Ultimately, however, both must be addressed, particularly if and when discussions over interim status give way to autonomy and negotiations over the ultimate disposition of the territories.

Conclusion

In examining the Palestinian dimension of confidence building measures in the Arab-Israeli conflict, this chapter has emphasized the central importance of Palestinian statelessness. The historical and daily experiences of statelessness, occupation and dispersion have been the primary force shaping both contemporary Palestinian attitudes to Israel and more general orientations towards past, present and future processes of conflict and conflict resolution. Statelessness also represents the dominant characteristic of Palestinian society and the polity it sustains, deeply shaping those dynamics of internal politics that in turn so critically affect Palestinian positions and negotiating behavior. Consequently, it provides the structural context—one significantly different from the European experience of the CSCE—within which confidence building measures must be designed, and to which they must be applied.

In the short term, attention to the internal dynamics of Palestinian—as well as Israeli—politics is critical to building a productive negotiating relationship. Indeed, the costs of not doing so were dramatically shown in December 1992, with Israel’s mass deportation. This move—taken not only to weaken Hamas, but also (or primarily) to shore up Prime Minister Rabin’s tarnished credentials as a tough-minded security “hawk"—had precisely the opposite of their intended effect, reinforcing Hamas’ reputation for militancy and forcing the mainstream Palestinian nationalist movement to threaten a boycott of future negotiations. More generally, as one Palestinian adviser to the negotiations noted, “The failure of the Palestinian negotiating team to obtain tangible changes in the daily lives of people under Israeli military occupation has lent credence to the Hamas argument [that the peace talks are a sham] and steadily eroded the credibility of the PLO, which authorized participation in the peace process.⁸³ A similar point was made by the overall chief of the Palestinian negotiating teams, Faysal Husayni. “As a negotiator,” he argued, “I need two things: credibility and flexibility. I started as a billionaire of credibility…[now] I’m not sure that if I sign another cheque it would be accepted on my account."⁸⁴

Ironically, Yitzhak Rabin has complained that negotiating progress with the Palestinians is slow and difficult because they “do not have a consolidated leadership."⁸⁵ While such a statement reflects the impact of internal divisions on Palestinian policy-making, it fails to address the extent to which Israeli policies—suppression of nationalist organizations, harsh countermeasures which strengthen radicals, the convulted arrangements for Palestinian representation agreed at Madrid—exacerbate these, particularly in the context of the current negotiations. By contrast, the decision of the Israeli parliament to lift the legal ban on contacts with the PLO represented a partial, but still very limited, recognition of Israel’s interest in recognizing the role of its only credible interlocutor on the Palestinian side. A more daring and productive confidence building policy would be for Israel and the international community to lift the remaining artificial constraints on PLO participation in the negotiating process, recognize its essential central role in the process of conflict resolution, and tacitly but actively encourage the consolidation of nationalist institutions in the occupied territories.

Such a policy may seem unlikely, even incredible. Yet there is important precedent in another case of sustained social conflict: South Africa. There, President F.W. de Klerk’s release of Nelson Mandela, legalization of the African National Congress, and explicit abandonment of apartheid, was intended to signal the government’s seriousness of purpose, build a degree of trust and confidence, and acknowledge the ANC’s position as the leading representative of nonwhite South African society. In South Africa, the prospects for a negotiated resolution of that country’s difficult internal problems may depend on the existence of an ANC rooted in civil society with sufficient strength and credibility to make compromises and sustain an eventual agreement.

In the longer term, statelessness—or, more accurately, Palestinian ambitions for eventual statehood—will also affect the potential future role of confidence building measures. Of course, the pace of events and the uncertainty of the negotiating process makes specificity and future prediction difficult. Nonetheless, it is clear that should the Palestinians’ desired transition to statehood come about, the regional uncertainty it will necessarily create will require careful attention to arrangements which seek to reduce threat perceptions, control strategic capabilities, discourage escalation and preemption, and minimize the chances of accidental conflict.

These requirements generated by the transition may also be facilitated by it. As a Palestinian self-governing entity acquires the levers of state power, its ability to control potentially destabilizing Palestinian behaviors will increase. Equally, the emergence of raison d’état will most likely dictate a cautious regional foreign policy, as Palestinian state leaders seek to safeguard their hard-won independence. At this point, the Palestinian-Israeli case will come to more closely mirror European and other interstate experiences with confidence building measures. Thus in this specific case—as Gabriel Ben-Dor has elsewhere argued for the Middle East in general⁸⁶—the arrival of Palestinian “stateness” may hold the key to a lasting settlement of a prolonged and costly regional conflict.

Postscript

On 13 September 1993 Israel and the Palestine Liberation Organization—having formally and mutually recognized each other a few days earlier—signed a joint Declaration of Principles. This called for a withdrawal of Israeli forces from the Gaza Strip and the West Bank town of Jericho, and the establishment there of a Palestinian interim self-governing authority (PISGA). Later, Israeli troops would redeploy away from other Palestinian population centers, Palestinian elections would be held, and PISGA’s authority would be extended to the rest of the West Bank (excluding Jerusalem). Negotiations on the final status of the territories—including the contentious issues of Jerusalem, Israeli settlements, borders, and Palestinian refugees—would begin two years after the signing of the accords.

The agreement (and the process which gave rise to it) reflected many of the arguments presented above, following the débâcle of the December 1992 deportations, Israel had belatedly recognized the need for direct negotiations with the PLO. For its part, the PLO accepted a gradual, phased process of political “empowerment,” agreeing to postpone the most critical and divisive issues. The stalemated public process of bilateral Palestinian-Israeli negotiations in Washington was supplanted by a secret PLO-Israeli channel in Norway, which served to lessen the domestic political constraints operating on the negotiators.

The agreement transformed (and was intended to transform) the previously moribund peace process. With it, the two main protagonists gained a certain amount of stake in each other’s success: failure to successfully implement the accord would likely hurt the reelection prospects of Yitzhak Rabin and the Israeli Labor Party, while collapse of the process would deal a serious—and perhaps fatal blow—to the PLO under Yasser Arafat’s leadership. Yet none of this guarantees success. The Gaza/Jericho process faces staunch opposition within both the Israeli and Palestinian polities. In the Palestinian case, this comprises essentially the same array of nationalist critics and rejectionists that opposed the Madrid/Washington negotiations. Both Israeli and Palestinian opponents of the deal have and will engage in acts of violence, hoping thereby to ignite a cycle of attacks and counterattacks which might overwhelm everything. Moreover, the phased implementation process itself creates a successive series of obstacles—negotiation and implementation of a Gaza/Jericho withdrawal; the holding of Palestinian elections; the operation of PISGA and the extension of its authority and geographic scope; the final status negotiations—any one of which could grind conflict resolution to a halt.

In this context, several sorts of confidence building measures are important. Both the Israeli and Palestinian political leaderships must speak frankly to their own populations, counselling against unreasonable immediate expectations and preparing them for the difficulties and violence that the transition process will inevitably involve. Both the Israeli and Palestinian leaders must attempt to signal to each other’s population that their commitment to the process is real, allaying Israeli concerns of future Palestinian irredentism, and allaying Palestinian fears that interim autonomy will prove a trap rather than a route to genuine self-determination. Finally, as argued throughout this chapter, confidence building measures must aim at strengthening the “internal” confidence of the Palestinian authorities, thereby enhancing both their political flexibility and their capacity to deliver on commitments made to Israel. (Israel’s reluctance in early negotiations to release the vast bulk of Palestinian political prisoners, and heavy-handed measures by the IDF against Hamas and other Palestinian groups, are examples of precisely what not to do in this regard.) Particular effort also needs to be paid to strengthening PISGA, including not only its administrative and police components, but also its degree of popular support. Financial support—of which $2.2 billion has been pledged over five years by external donors—will play a critical role in this. It is vital that such aid be targeted in ways that generate rapid and significant improvements in the standard of living of the Palestinian population, and that evident credit for this be attributable to PISGA and the peace process.

At the time of writing, the challenges to successful implementation of a long-term process of Palestinian-Israeli conflict resolution remained serious. The Declaration of Principles, and the steps it envisaged, were vague and indeterminate, with much remaining contingent on future events and negotiations. Such characteristics were, of course, quite deliberate, for they have opened up possibilities that did not previously exist without committing the parties at the outset to specific (and possibly incompatible) preferences and outcomes. In other words, confidence building is precisely what the process is all about. And specific confidence and security building measures will be essential if the parties are to reach a mutually satisfactory, negotiated and peaceful settlement to their long and costly conflict.

Notes

1. As of 1991, the Palestinian population was distributed approximately as follows: Israel, 730,000; occupied territories (including East Jerusalem), 1,700, 000; Jordan, 1,800, 000; Syria, 300,000; Lebanon, 340,000; Kuwait, 50,000; other Arab countries, 445,000; rest of world, 450,000. These figures are the author’s estimates, based in part on data provided in Edward Said et al., A Profile of the Palestinian People (Chicago: Palestine Human Rights Campaign, 1983), p. 14; Lisa Hajjar, “The Palestinian Journey, 1952–1987,” Middle East Report 146 (May-Jime 1987), p. 10; Facts and Figures About the Palestinians, Information Paper 1 (Washington: Center for Policy Analysis on Palestine, 1992).

2. For discussion of the transnational character of Palestinian political organization, see Rashid Khalidi, “The Palestinians: Twenty Years After,” Middle East Report 146 (May-June 1987); Laurie Brand, Palestinians in the Arab World: Institution-Building and the Search for State (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988); Helena Cobban, “The PLO and the Intifada,” Middle East Journal 44, 2 (Spring 1990); Rex Brynen, “The Politics of Exile: The Palestinians in Lebanon,” Journal of Refugee Studies 3, 3 (1990).

3. In particular, see the contributions of Keith Krause, Emile Sahliy eh, and Alan Dowty elsewhere in this volume.

4. According to one 1980 survey, 64.0 percent of Palestinians in Israel “agreed” and a further 28.7 percent “agreed with reservations” that Zionism is a “racist movement.” Murad A’si, Israeli and Palestinian Public Opinion, Occasional Paper 5 (Kingston: Near East Cultural and Educational Foundation, 1986), p. 15. Although no data is available for Palestinians in the occupied territories or diaspora, it seems safe to assume the figures would be of equal or greater magnitude.

5. Asked in a 1986 survey whether a Likud or Labor government held out the best possibility for a peaceful resolution of the Palestinian problem, 73.9 percent of Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza stated that neither held out such a hope. In related questions, only 13.8 percent felt that a majority or significant minority of Israelis would accept the establishment of an independent Palestinian state, while 44.3 percent felt that the extremist, racist Israeli Kach party represented “the deep-seated feelings of a majority of Israelis” (52.2 percent disagreed, however); al-Fajr public opinion survey, reprinted in Journal of Palestine Studies 16, 2 (Winter 1987). These figures predate both the intifada and the Madrid Peace Conference, and have certainly changed over time. Nonetheless, they do provide some measure of the magnitude of Palestinian suspicions.

6. The few rigorous studies of Palestinian political socialization were conducted in the 1970s among diaspora populations. These suggest the primacy of peer and family socialization in the transmission of Palestinian nationalist ideas. See Tawfic Farah, “Learning to Support the PLO: Political Socialization of Palestinian Children in Kuwait,” and Rosemary Sayigh, “Sources of Palestinian Nationalism: A Study of a Palestinian Camp in Lebanon,” both in Political Socialization in the Arab States, Tawfic Farah and Yasumasa Kuroda, eds. (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1987). For an overview of the role of family, organizations, the mass media and arts in Palestinian nation-building, see Dov Shinar, Palestinian Voices: Communication and Nation-Building in the West Bank (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1987).

7. Sania Hamady, The Temperament and Character of the Arabs (New York: Twayne, 1960), p. 36; Yehoshofat Harkabi, Arab Attitudes to Israel (Jerusalem: Hebrew University Press, 1971), pp. 343–352. Although much of the logic of “primal antagonism” is evident in Harkabi’s early work (cited by many as confirmation of intractable, culturally rooted hostility), he did also emphasize the importance of structural and political factors, and hence held out greater prospects for attitudinal change. In subsequent writings he clarified his own view that “the desire to eradicate Israel does not stem from any aggressiveness or maliciousness inherent in the Arab character or culture, but from the Arabs’ situation and their view of it.” Harkabi, Palestinians and Israel (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1974), p, 223.

8. John Laffin, The Arab Mind Considered (New York: Taplinger Publishing, 1976).

9. Arab thought processes are … more independent of reality than the thought processes typical of Western man.” Raphael Patai, The Arab Mind (New York: Scribner, 1973), p. 311. Some elements of this can also be found in William R. Brown, The Last Crusade: A Negotiator’s Middle East Handbook (Chicago: Nelson Hall, 1980), for example his assertion that “for the Arab, action is grounded in faith; for an American the idealized basis for action is reason, often derived from self-interest” (p. 9).

10. For example, Brown, The Last Crusade, pp. 67–68; Daniel Pipes, “Dealing with Middle Eastern Conspiracy Theories,” Orbis 36, 1 (1992), pp. 41–56. Pipes’ article is based on a study for the US Central Intelligence Agency.

11. For example, Raphael Patai, The Seed of Abraham: Jews and Arabs in Contact and Conflict (Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1986).

12. The story runs something like this: A scorpion wished to cross the Jordan river, but could not swim. He noticed a frog, and asked if he would ferry him across the river on his back. The frog initially refused for fear that he would be stung—but then agreed when the scorpion observed that, were he to do this, both of them would surely drown. Yet, part way across the river, the scorpion stung the frog. Asked by the frog why he had brought destruction upon them both, the scorpion responded, “That’s the Middle East!"

13. For discussion of these issues, see Benjamin Beit-Hallahmi, “National Character and National Behavior in the Middle East: The Case of the Arab Personality,” International Journal of Group Tensions 2, 3 (1972); Fouad Moughrabi, “The Arab Basic Personality: A Critical Survey of the Literature,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 9, 1 (February 1978); Halim Barakat, “Beyond the Always and the Never: A Critique of Social Psychological Interpretations of Arab Society and Culture,” in Theory, Politics and the Arab World: Critical Responses, Hisham Sharabi, ed. (New York: Routledge, 1990).

14. The case of Islam is particularly instructive. Although the doctrinal position of Islam vis-à-vis other religious groups is often used as an explanation for Palestinian attitudes to the Jewish state, survey data finds no significant correlation between Palestinian Muslim religiosity and militancy/radicalism. Mohammed Shadid and Rick Seltzer, “Trends in Palestinian Nationalism: Moderate, Radical and Religious Alternatives,” Journal of South Asian and Middle Eastern Studies, 11, 4 (Summer 1988), p. 65; Michael Inbar and Ephraim Yuchtman-Yaar, “The People’s Image of Conflict Resolution: Israelis and Palestinians,” Journal of Conflict Resolution, 33, 1 (March 1989), p. 51. The reason for this is suggested by the work of Nels Johnson. Due to the salience of issues of conflict and group boundaries in Islam, its cultural and symbolic content provides a ready-made vocabulary for the Palestinian experience; equally, Islam’s emphasis on group maintenance may strengthen this dimension of Palestinian social movements. At the same time, the breadth and ambiguity of Islam provides for a multiplicity of ideological uses. Nels Johnson, Islam and the Politics Of Meaning in Palestinian Nationalism (London: Kegan Paul International, 1982).

15. Negative Israeli stereotypes of Arab/Palestinians are, of course, hardly surprising in view of the long history of conflict between the two peoples. Equally, many of these stereotypes (unreasonableness, aggressiveness, disregard for human life) are reciprocated in Palestinian stereotypes of Israeli Jews. For a brief overview of research, see A’si, Israeli and Palestinian Public Opinion, pp. 4–8.

16. For recent examples from the US elite press, see Charles Krauthammer, “The New Crescent of Crisis: Global Intifada,” Washington Post, 16 February 1990; Leslie Gelb, “Hear, O Islam,” New York Times, 22 June 1992. In general, Western public stereotypes of the Arabs are among the most negative of any national group. In one 1980 survey, 44 percent of Americans identified Arabs as ‘barbaric and cruel,” 49 percent as “treacherous and cunning,” and 50 percent as “warlike and bloodthirsty.” Shelly Slade, “The Image of the Arab in America: Analysis of a Poll on American Public Opinion,” Middle East Journal, 35, 2 (Spring 1981), p. 147.

17. Despite citation of the work in discussion of the “primal antagonism” approach above, this is the major thrust of Brown, The Last Crusade. For examples of more complex analyses, see Robert Rubinstein, “Culture and Negotiation,” in Israelis and Palestinians: The Struggle for Peace, Elizabeth Wamock Femea and Mary Evelyn Hocking, eds. (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1992) and Raymond Cohen, Culture and Conflict in Egyptian-Israeli Relations: A Dialogue of the Deaf (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990). Gabriel Ben-Dor has also argued that incommensurable cultural paradigms have inhibited solution of the Arab-Israeli conflict; Ben-Dor, State and Conflict in the Middle East: Emergence of the Post-Colonial State (New York: Praeger, 1983), pp. 185–227.

18. I. William Zartman and Maureen Berman, The Practical Negotiator (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1982), pp. 224–229. Zartman and Berman found that a slim majority of United Nations diplomats held culture to be an important factor in negotiation. However, asked to evaluate various national groups, most respondents identified the same negotiating style for each.

19. Edward Said, Orientalism (New York: Vintage Books, 1979), and Covering Islam (New York: Pantheon, 1981); Leonard Binder, Islamic Liberalism: A Critique of Development Ideologies (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988), pp. 85–127.

20. This point was neatly captured in a cartoon in the Palestinian newspaper al-Fajr: a impoverished, gagged, Palestinian family is chained to a wall entitled “25 years of occupation,” while a crawd of well-dressed Israeli onlookers wonders aloud “Why do these people hate us? Beats me!”, al-Fajr (weekly edition), 1 June 1992.

21. The Israeli view is in many ways a mirror image: Israel is not a powerful state with powerful friends, but a small and vulnerable one surrounded by the hostile armies of a larger Arab world.

22. The case of the Palestinian National Charter deserves discussion at length, because it has often been cited by Israeli hawks as evidence that no compromise can be reached with the Palestinians/PLO, while Israeli doves have frequently called for its amendment. Moreover, the whole issue usefully demonstrates file complexity and difficulty of Palestinian-Israeli confidence building measures.

The National Charter (al-withacf al-watani al-falastini), was first adopted by the Palestine National Council in 1964, and amended in 1968. It is the founding document of the Palestine Liberation Organization, and hence a powerful symbol of the birth of the modern Palestinian nationalist movement. At dispute are those sections of the charter which stress the indivisibility of Palestinian territory (article 2), deny residence rights to Jews who arrived with the “Zionist invasion” (article 6), emphasize the centrality of armed struggle (article 9), and call for the “elimination of Zionism in Palestine” (article 15). Notwithstanding periodic revisionist interpretations by PLO officials, the charter was originally intended to pose an existential challenge to a Zionist Israel. Today, however, it plays virtually no practical role in Palestinian politics, having long ago been superseded by other resolutions of the Palestine National Council and by the PNCs November 1988 declaration of Palestinian independence. Efforts to explain this (notably Arafat’s May 1989 comments that the charter was caduc, or “obsolete") have generally been seen by Israelis as disingenuous: if the charter is not relevant, they ask, why not do away with it? Many Palestinians, by contrast, find it difficult to believe that a nuclear-armed Israel really feels threatened by a quarter-century-old and largely irrelevant piece of paper; consequently demands for its revision are often perceived either as a humiliating effort to force repudiation of an important part of Palestinian national history, or as a calculated effort to divert attention from concrete issues. Such demands are also seen as unfair, since few Israeli politicians would condemn the Balfour Declaration or admit the injustice of Jewish efforts to construct a national home on Palestinian territory. Finally, even Palestinians who find the National Charter to be a political millstone rarely advocate its amendment, since they are reluctant to be seen to be tinkering with national symbols at the behest of an external foe, as this would increase their vulnerability to attacks from radical opponents of the peace process.

Of interest in this connection are the writings of Yehoshafat Harkabi (former chief of military intelligence and a leading Israeli dove). In his early works, Harkabi cited the charter as evidence of fundamental Palestinian hostility to Israel; see The Palestinian National Covenant and its Meaning, 2nd ed. (London: Valentine, Mitchell 1981). Later, however, he argues that the charter no longer defines the PLO’s stance, and—while its amendment is desirable—an easier solution would be for all parties to cease making an issue of it. Israels Pateful Hour (New York: Harper & Row, 1988), pp. 15, 18.

23. On this evolution in the PLO’s position, see Alain Gresh, PLO: The Struggle Within (London: Zed Books, 1988); Muhammad Muslih, ‘Towards Coexistence: An Analysis of the Resolutions of the Palestine National Council,” Journal of Palestine Studies 19, 4 (Summer 1990).

24. This remains so, despite the PLO’s recognition of Israel in 1988 and the direct Palestinian-Israeli negotiations initiated in 1991. With regard to the former, Yasser Arafat’s statements at a special meeting of the UN General Assembly in Geneva stressed “Israel’s right to live in peace and security,” i.e., its practical rights as a presently existing state, rather than any sort of rights emanating from a valid historical, religious or moral claim to Palestinian territories. With regard to the latter, Palestinian negotiators have been careful not to suggest that the establishment of Israel has any legitimacy, only that pragmatism requires that the Palestinians and Israelis reach a lasting settlement based on mutual interests.

25. One 1985 survey suggested that although most (68.6 percent) Palestinians would prefer to see the liberation of all Palestine, a majority were either favorable (45.3 percent) or neutral (12.4 percent) to the idea of a Palestinian state in the West Bank and Gaza as a practical solution. The same survey found no similar consensus on a solution within Israel: although the most “acceptable” solution to the conflict (annexation of the territories and expulsion of the Palestinians) was supported by 42.9 percent of Israeli Jews, it was opposed by 49 percent. Inbar and Yuchtman-Yaar, “The People’s Image of Conflict Resolution: Israelis and Palestinians,” pp. 46–47.

26. See, for example, the interview with Haydar ‘Abd al-Shafi in Journal of Palestine Studies 12, 1 (Autumn 1992), p. 65.

27. Prior to the intifada, 74 percent of Palestinian families reported having experienced curfews, 56 percent reported insults and harassment at military checkpoints; 51 percent reported beatings or physical threats; 48 percent reported political arrests; and 34 percent reported travel restrictions. Between the eruption of the uprising in December 1987 and the end of 1991, a total of 1,002 Palestinians had been killed by the security forces or settlers; an estimated 120,000 had been injured; over 14,000 persons had been held in administrative detention; 2,059 homes had been sealed or demolished; over 128,000 trees uprooted; and more than 11,000 days of curfews applied in various locales. The point to be made here is not the scope of human rights abuses (however serious one may believe them to be), but rather the extent to which Palestinian hostility and suspicion towards Israel is rooted in real, lived experience; al-Fajr public opinion survey, reprinted in the Journal of Palestine Studies 16, 2 (Winter 1987); Palestine Human Rights Campaign, “Human Rights Violations Summary Data,” in Journal of Palestine Studies, 21, 3 (Spring 1992), p. 125.

28. An example of the benefits of this sort of communication were provided by the successful defusing in July 1992 of a brewing confrontation between the Israeli army and students at al-Najah University.

29. A case in point was provided by the July 1992 decision of the Rabin government to cancel almost 7,000 housing units in the occupied territories, but to complete construction of over 9,000 others (potentially increasing the settler population by 50,000). Both Israel and the US interpreted this as a major conciliatory gesture. Palestinians-recalling past United States and UN condemnation of settlement activity, as well as the illegality of all settlement in occupied territory under the Fourth Geneva Convention, were much less impressed.

30. This was highlighted by the crash of an aircraft carrying PLO chief Yasser Arafat in April 1992. Although the event spurred a brief flurry of (generally shallow) ‘’what if” speculation, attention quickly faded upon reports that he had survived.

31. Mohammad Selim; “The Survival of a Non-State Actor: The Foreign Policy of the Palestine Liberation Organization,” in The Foreign Policies of Arab States: The Challenges of Change, 2nd ed., Bahgat Korany and Ali Dessouki, eds. (Boulder: Westview Press, 1991).

32. In particular, criticism has focused on the mechanics of Palestinian representation (especially the participation of diaspora and East Jerusalem Palestinians); the visibility and role of the PLO; the need to place greater emphasis on the Palestinians’ “right of return"; and the need to make the cessation of all Israeli settlement activity a precondition to negotiation.

33. Within the PLO, these include the Palestine Liberation Front, the Iraqi-controlled Arab Liberation Front, and the Palestinian Popular Struggle Front. Of these, the PPSF later altered its initial opposition to the talks, a move which sparked considerable internal conflict. Ironically, subsequent to this shift its chief spokesperson in the territories, Fadl Tahbub, was sentenced by Israel to eight months administrative detention; al-Fajr (weekly edition), 17 February 1992.

34. Non-PLO opponents of the negotiations include the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine-General Command, the Syrian-controlled al-Sa’iqa, Fateh-intifada (headed by Abu Musa) and the Fateh Revolutionary Council (headed by Abu Nidal).

35. The PFLP-GC, FRC, and PLF (responsible for the attack on a Tel Aviv beach which scuttled the formal US-PLO dialogue) have been particularly active in acts of terrorism. At the same time, because of their reliance on Arab support and lack of a popular constituency, their ability to attack the peace process in constrained by the attitude of regional states. Syrian involvement in the peace process is particularly important in this regard, since it has a significant ability to restrain Damascus- or Lebanon-based radicals.

36. Others include various small Palestinian groups acting under the name of Islamic Jihad, and the Palestinian offshoot of the Lebanese fundamentalist party Hizballah.

37. The late Fateh leader Salah Khalaf ("Abu Iyad") is among those who have argued that diaspora populations have sometimes been more rejectionist than those in the occupied territories. However, it is important not to overstate these differences. Abu Iyad, My Home, My Land: A Narrative of the Palestinian Struggle (New York: Times Books, 1981), p. 142.

38. PLO officials sometimes express the view that the Palestinian delegation are at best amateur negotiators, and express concerns over the growing influence exerted by local elites from the territories. Equally, members of the Palestinian delegations often express frustration with the external PLO bureaucracy. Nonetheless, these tensions have remained within the bounds of expected institutional politics and readjustment, and hardly threaten the essential unity of the mainstream Palestinian movement. Moreover, the negotiations have provided an unparalleled opportunity for activists from both “inside” and “outside” to work closely together, in many cases cementing the bond between them.

39. For example, Fateh’s Akram Haniyya, who played a central role in 1991–92 in coordinating the PLO/delegation interface during the bilateral negotiations.

40. This is not to say that coercion does not exist—it does, as excessive violence against alleged collaborators and periodic factional clashes both attest. However, violence has never been the primary currency of Palestinian politics, in part because of a general acceptance of the principle of political pluralism by most Palestinians and among the major PLO organizations, and in part because groups lack the ability to coerce widespread popular support in any case.

41. One September 1991 poll by al-Bayadir al-Siyasi in the West Bank and Gaza found that 48.6 percent of Palestinians supported the proposed peace conference, while 46.7 percent opposed it; al-Sha’b (East Jerusalem), 12 September 1991, in Foreign Broadcast Information Service-Near East and South Asia (hereafter FBIS).

42. October 1991 saw various joint statements condemning the conference issued by the PFLP-GC, FRC (Abu Nidal), Fateh-intifada (Abu Musa) and Islamic Jihad, as well as the PFLP, DFLP (Hawatima), PPSF and al-Sa’iqa. The PFLP-GC’s Ahmad Jibril even threatened Palestinian delegates with assassination, a move the PFLP and DFLP quickly condemned. In the West Bank and Gaza, the PFLP and DFLP also joined with Hamas in issuing a rare joint communique calling for a (partially observed) strike in protest of the talks. Fateh responded with a leaflet of its own, rejecting the strike. For an overview of these debates, see Ali Jaibawi and Roger Heacock, “Winds of War, Winds of Peace: The Palestinian Strategy Debate,” Middle East Report 175 (March-April 1992), pp. 12–15; and the chronology in the Journal of Palestine Studies XXI, 2 (Winter 1992), pp. 180–183.

43. Radio Monte Carlo, 6 November 1991 (FBIS).

44. Daoud Kuttab, “Euphoria Quickly Fades,” Middle East International 22 November 1992, pp. 4–5. Middle East Today, 6, 25 November 1991.

45. A poll of public opinion in the territories in late November showed a plurality of Palestinians (48.6 percent, with 46.7 percent opposed) favoring suspending the talks due to Israel’s continued construction of settlements and refusal to consider withdrawal from the occupied territories; al-Nahar (East Jerusalem) 28 November 1991 (FBIS).

46. Most of the delegates from within the occupied territories urged boycotting the Moscow meeting altogether, but Arafat argued otherwise. Daoud Kuttab, “Palestinian Representation,” Middle East International, 7 February 1992, pp. 5–6; Middle East Today, 27 January 1992.

47. See d-Fajr (weekly edition), 17 February 1992; Haaretz (Tel Aviv), 5 March 1992 (FBIS).

48. Middle East Today, 2, 4, March 1992; al-Fajr (weekly edition), 9 March 1992.

49. Middle East Today, 6 March 1992; Hadashot (Tel Aviv) 6 March 1992 (FBIS).

50. The memo also called upon the PLO to link continued participation to a halt to Israeli settlement activity; full participation of the PLO, diaspora and East Jerusalem Palestinians; implementation of the Fourth Geneva Convention; resolving the refugee question in accordance with the right of return; and rejection of all “partial and separate solutions.” Some 117 of the 484 members of the Palestine National Council signed the memo; signatories included not only members of the PFLP and DFLP, but also (and more significantly) two members of the Fateh Central Committee (Hani al-Hasan and Abbas Zaki), as well as several well known moderate independents. Jordan Times, 16 March 1992; text in Journal of Palestine Studies 21, 4 (Summer 1992), pp. 141–142.

51. The Fateh Revolutionary Council approved continued participation in the talks in late March, but not until after a blistering attack on Palestinian strategy by some members. The most important of these was Hani al-Hasan (one of the senior, historic leaders of the organization); for the text of his critique, see al-Haya (London), 29 April-3 May 1992, also in the Journal of Palestine Studies 21, 4 (Summer 1992), pp. 142–149. The PLO Central Council meeting was postponed after Arafat’s plane crash.

52. Middle East Today, 11 March 1992.

53. See al-Fajr (weekly edition), 13 April 1992; Daoud Kuttab, “A Day of Celebration,” Middle East International, 17 April 1992, pp. 3–4.

54. Middle East Today, 29 April 1992.

55. See al-Ra’i (Amman) 25 April 1992 (FBIS).

56. Tensions were particularly acute between Fateh and Hamas. However, tensions between Fateh and the PFLP and DFLP were also serious, seriously undermining the effectiveness of the “Unified National Leadership of the Uprising.” Jordan Times, 23 May 1992.

57. Middle East Today, 6 May 1992. The differences on this issue do not appear to have been quite so great as they have been portrayed. Nonetheless, some members of the Palestinian negotiating team believed that Israel had proposed municipal elections in the first place so as to divide the Palestinian movement and strengthen the political base of Hamas and others opposed to the mainstream nationalist movement. Interviews, May 1992.

58. About 100 prominent personalities from the West Bank and Gaza signed the letter, which called upon the PLO to stop what it termed “the chain of free concessions” offered by the delegation at the negotiating table; al-Fajr (weekly edition), 11 May 1992.

59. Some 57 of the 103 members of the Central Council voted in favor of continuing the negotiations; 16 members (from the PFLP, DFLP and ALF) voted against, and the remainder abstained. Lamis Andoni, “A Go-Ahead Despite the Rifts,” Middle East International, 15 May 1992, p. 6; Middle East Today, 11 May 1992; text of the resolution in Journal of Palestine Studies 21, 4 (Summer 1992), pp. 149–153.

60. Interviews with several members of the Palestinian delegations to the bilateral and multilateral negotiations, May-June 1992.

61. Nonetheless, the Islamists—running against a unified nationalist coalition—did win around 45 percent of the votes cast. Jordan Times, 23 May 1992; Middle East Today, 22, 26 May 1992; al-Fajr (weekly edition), 25 May 1992.

62. Daoud Kuttab, “Highest Hopes Dashed,” Middle East International 24 July 1992, p. 10. Fateh’s margin of victory was not all that great, however, having won around 57 percent of the student vote. The same was true of student council elections at Bir Zeit University later that fall.

63. Jordan Times, 940, 11, 13, 14 July 1992; Middle East Today, 29 June, 7, 8, 10 July 1992. One prominent pro-Fateh activist in the territories asserted that “Hamas is afraid that a settlement will be reached and that they will not have a place in that agreement.” Hamas spokespersons responded by accusing Fateh of provoking the clashes to divert attention from its failures at the negotiating table.

64. Palestinian delegation spokesperson Hanan Ashrawi, for example, warned that the delegation’s already strained public credibility would be worsened not only by the absence of progress on the ground, but also by a widespread Palestinian perception that the United States would “look kindly” on the actions of the Rabin government “regardless of what they do.” New York Times, 13 August 1992, p. A10. In fact, Washington’s decision to grant loan guarantees to Israel in exchange for only a partial freeze on settlement provoked widespread calls from Palestinian editorialists to boycott the next round of negotiations. Middle East Today, 18 August 1992.

65. The ten groups were the PFLP, the DFLP/Hawatima, the PFLP-GC, the Palestinian Revolutionary Communist Party, Fateh-Provision Command/Abu Musa, al-Sa’iqa, the Popular Struggle Front, the Palestine Liberation Front, Hamas, and Islamic Jihad. In their first joint declaration in September 1992, they called for a strike to protest the negotiations. Text carried by Voice of the Oppressed (Ba’labakk), 18 September 1992 (FBIS).

66. US military action against Iraq during the same period (attacks nominally in defense of UN Security Council resolutions) further contributed to an almost universal Palestinian view that they were the victims of an international double standard.

67. A restrained response to the deportations was apparently urged by Bassam Abu Sharif (a chief aide to Arafat) and Nabil Sha’th (the Fateh official responsible for coordination with the delegation, who publically suggested delinking). The negotiating team—acutely aware of the intensity of opinion on this issue within the territories—quickly put out a statement commiting themselves to a boycott. At the same time, the Unified National Leadership of the Uprising and Hamas issued a joint communique calling upon the PLO leadership to “reevaluate” the negotiations. Text in al-Quds (East Jerusalem) 13 January 1993; UNU-Hamas joint statement, Voice of Palestine (Sana’a), 12 January 1993 (FBIS).

68. Daoud Kuttab, “Pressure on the Leadership,” and Mariam Shahin, “Uncertainty Over Peace Talks,” in Middle East International, 22 January 1993.

69. As suggested earlier, Israel might end detentions and bans aimed at nonviolent nationalist activities. Outside parties, meanwhile, could make any number of political gestures designed to encourage continued support for the peace process by the PLO mainstream (i.e., an end to the semiboycott of the PLO by the West; encouragement to Gulf states to reduce their hostility to the organization; explicit recognition of the role that the PLO has played). Indirect material support (whether through NGOs or third-party donors) could be provided for nationalist institutions in the occupied territories, such as universities, hospitals and charitable organizations. As well as reducing some of the radicalization caused by economic conditions, this would strengthen local proponents of the peace process (thus offsetting the decline of external PLO funding and counterweighing the support now being given to Islamic institutions by some Gulf states). Finally, adjustments could be made in the modalities of Palestinian representation. While major changes are unlikely, there is considerable scope for expanding Palestinian participation at the multilaterals, and enhancing the role of PLO officials forming part of the unaccredited advisory teams at the negotiations. In fact, by mid-1992 many of these latter types of initiative were evident in the policies of the European Community.

70. One example of this is the Palestinian “right of return.” Most mainstream nationalists readily acknowledge that the return of Palestinian refugees would have to be largely confined to the West Bank and Gaza. However, domestic political constraints make it difficult to render this view as an official public position. Thus, during the May 1992 Ottawa multilateral session on refugees, one member of the Palestinian delegation suggested in an Israeli TV interview that the “right of return” could be confined in practice to repatriation to a Palestinian state. After this interview was broadcast in Israel (and hence the occupied territories), a senior member of the overall Palestinian negotiating team telephoned Ottawa to warn that such statements should be avoided, since they went beyond what local public opinion could presently bear. For “unofficial” signals of Palestinian flexibility on this issue, see the interview with Faysal Husayni in the Journal of Palestine Studies, 18, 4 (Summer 1989), pp. 11–12; Sari Nusseibeh and Mark Heller, No Trumpets, No Drums: A Two-State Settlement of the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict (New York: Hill & Wang, 1991), pp. 86–96; Rashid Khalidi, “Observations on the Right of Return,” Journal of Palestine Studies, 21, 2 (Winter 1992), pp. 29–40.

71. The obvious example of this is the not-so-secret history of Israeli-Jordanian diplomacy. See Adam Garfinkle, Israel and Jordan in the Shadow of War (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1992).

72. Saying one thing to one constituency in one language, and another to a different target in a different language (a staple, for example, of Canadian politics), hardly solves the problem: Palestinian signals in Hebrew through Israeli media are almost immediately picked up by other Palestinian actors and the mass public. In short—and in an interesting contrast to the literature on cross-cultural (misjcommunication—the problem in Palestinian-Israeli negotiations may sometimes be not that the parties do not understand each other, but rather that they understand each other too well!

73. For one important effort to outline both the process of transition and the nature of final-status arrangements, see No Trumpets, No Drums, by Palestinian activist Sari Nusseibeh (head of the technical team supporting the Palestinian negotiators) and Israeli strategic analyst Mark Heller.

74. Likud’s proposals for “Peaceful Coexistence in the Territories during the Interim Period,” submitted to the talks in February 1992, were heavily couched in the language of confidence building. Thus: “the wounds inflicted by the long and bitter Arab-Israeli conflict, need a time for healing, and trust must be built gradually…” and "the gap can be bridged only through a process of building coexistence so the interim period must therefore “present an opportunity… to build mutual confidence.” In practice, the proposals were clearly aimed at granting a minimal level of self-administration to the Palestinian population, while continuing settlement activity and retaining long-term control over the land itself. For the text of the proposals, see the Journal of Palestine Studies, 21, 3 (Spring 1992), pp. 132–135. Because Labor’s view of the future status of the territories is rather more fuzzy, and because it may be willing to agree to more far-reaching changes in the status quo, it may place even more emphasis on the confidence building component of any interim arrangements.

75. In contrast to Israel, the proposals for a “Palestinian Interim Self-Governing Authority” (PISG A) put forward by the Palestinian side in January and March 1992 made no mention of confidence building, stressing instead an “orderly transfer of powers and responsibilities presently exercised by the Israeli military and/or other Israeli authorities in the Occupied Palestinian Territory… to the PISGA.” Text in Journal of Palestine Studies 21, 3 (Spring 1992), pp. 135–140. Equally, the activities of the technical and coordinating committees set up by Palestinians in the occupied territories have been almost solely aimed at preparing for the exercise of legislative and executive power under autonomy, as a precursor to eventual statehood. For an overview of Palestinian discourse on this issue in the territories, see the series of elite interviews conducted by Fouad Moughrabi, Elia Zureik, Manuel Hassassian, and Aziz Haidar, “Palestinians on the Peace Process,” Journal of Palestine Studies 21, 1 (Autumn 1991), pp. 36–53.

76. Indeed, the issue has provoked considerable disagreement within the Palestinian negotiating team; al-Fajr (weekly edition), 23 March 1992.

77. For an interesting argument in favor of a more proactive Arab and Palestinian role in reassuring Israel through confidence building measures, see Rami Khouri, “The Moment of Truth is at Hand,” Jordan Times, 21 July 1992.

78. Walid Khalidi, “Thinking the Unthinkable: A Sovereign Palestinian State,” Foreign Affairs 56, 4 (July 1978), pp. 703–705; Moughrabi et al., “Palestinians on the Peace Process,” p. 48; Heller and Nusseibeh, No Trumpets, No Drums, pp. 61–74.

79. Yezid Sayigh, “Security and Cooperation in the Middle East: A Proposal,” Jordan Times, 19 July 1992 (reprinted from an earlier article in Middle East International). Sayigh (coordinator of the Palestinian “nondelegation” to the Arab-Israeli arms control multilateral talks) suggests that a further benefit of such an arrangement would be the role it might play in convincing the protagonists “to make necessary concessions and to accept certain asymmetries, because they are assured of an exchange and that their core concerns will be squarely addressed."

80. See, for example, George Abed, “The Economic Viability of a Palestinian State,” Journal of Palestine Studies, 21, 2 (Winter 1990).

81. On the question of Palestinian irredentism, see Khalidi, “Thinking the Unthinkable,” pp. 711–713. A brief discussion of postindependence political development is provided by Sari Nusseibeh in No Trumpets, No Drums, pp. 160–172. For a rather more provocative view by a member of the Palestinian delegation to the multilateral (refugee) negotiations, see Salim Tamari, “The Future in the Present: Issues of Palestinian Statehood,” in Femea and Hocking, eds., Israelis and Palestinians.. It is evident, however, from joint Palestinian-Jordanian discussions on police training and internal security that these sorts of concerns have been addressed within the Palestinian leadership. Palestinian technical committees have already been established within the occupied territories to plan for public security during the transitional period, and discussions have been held with Jordan regarding future security cooperation and the establishment of an up to 20,000-strong Palestinian police force. Jordan Times, 3 August 1992.

82. This, for example, is the approach largely taken by Mark Heller in A Palestinian State: The Implications for Israel (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1982).

83. Yezid Sayigh, “Feeding Violence in the Occupied Territories: Hamas or Rabin?", Middle East International, 22 January 1992, p. 17.

84. Gazette (Montreal), 23 February 1993, p. B4.

85. New York Times, 26 January 1993, p. A10.

86. Ben-Dor, State and Conflict in the Middle East.

3
Confidence and Security Building: The Israeli Domestic Dimension

Alan Dowty

Clearly the feasibility of any measures to build mutual trust between Arabs and Israelis depends on the political acceptability of these measures, among other things. It is therefore useful to examine the structure of Israeli domestic politics in relation to these issues, with particular focus on public opinion and the positions of political parties.

First, however, let us examine the particular problems of designing confidence building measures (CBMs) for the Middle East, in order to identify the questions of particular relevance for Israeli domestic politics. Our major experience with CBMs has been in the context of East-West relations in Europe during the declining phase of the Cold War. In this setting, there was de facto acceptance by both sides of the assumption that the use of military force was not a viable or rational policy option, and that consequently, efforts to avert war could focus on preventing the outbreak of hostilities that no one wanted. Under this assumption, such issues as relative force levels or degrees of preparedness became less sensitive, arms races lost their impetus, and the demonstration of nonviolent intent was relatively noncontroversial. But can these measures be extended to the Arab-Israeli theater, where all parties continue to see the use of force as a very real possibility for which they must be prepared?

As the introductory chapter of this volume affirms, “avoiding mutually unfavorable outcomes” is a legitimate pursuit of statesmen even in the absence of progress in reducing other dimensions of a conflict.¹ Confidence building measures do not necessarily require success in addressing the underlying issues of a conflict or even in reducing the intentional use of force between hostile states; their first function is to avoid a war that neither party wants. They may therefore coexist with the continuing intermittent use of force, while performing the limited but useful function of preventing wars that, contrary to Clausewitz, are not an act of policy. Even in Arab-Israeli affairs, some of the military conflicts have been more accidental than purposeful. Most notably, the 1967 war, so fateful in the evolution of the conflict, was not planned or even clearly foreseen by any of the belligerents. Theoretically, therefore, CBMs can perform at least this limited but important function in the Middle East as well as elsewhere, despite significant differences in the role that military force still performs in the area.

Furthermore, though it is not always noted, CBMs in this primary role—reassurance that the use of force is not seriously contemplated—already do exist in those arenas of Arab-Israeli confrontation to which they are relevant. The Egypt-Israel peace treaty is backed up by a number of arrangements designed to demonstrate peaceful intentions, and especially by the presence of a multinational observer force. Likewise the presence of a UN-sponsored observer force on the Syria-Israel frontier underscores the reality that neither side is seriously considering a military challenge in the near future, despite the continuing high level of hostility. Relations between Jordan and Israel have been characterized by numerous high-level contacts intended to avert misunderstandings and find common ground in Arab-Israel diplomacy. On the other hand, measures to show peaceful intentions have not been effective where one or both sides employ force on a regular basis, as in Lebanon or in Israeli-Palestinian relations generally.

This type of confidence building, which typifies most of the measures in Europe (at least in the earlier stages), could be characterized as “first-order” CBMs addressed to a problem that is basically perceptual. Since neither side intends to initiate military action, the task is to guarantee to each an accurate perception of the other’s intentions and plans. The question is largely technical: how to transmit a reassurance that is based on reality, and which both sides have an interest in transmitting. It is, in other words, an issue of communication. Successful communication of peaceful intentions may have a positive impact on the basic political positions of both sides, since it reduces perceptions (or misperceptions) of threat. But basically it is not a substantive move, and the substantive positions of the parties impose serious limits on the positive contribution of first-order CBMs to the reduction of tensions. When states remain in sharp conflict over basic political aims, reducing fears of unwanted war and misperceptions generally may have a moderating influence, but the conflict will remain.

Addressing the basic aims and policies of parties in conflict involves “second-order” CBMs: steps aimed at the substantive issues rather than the way that these issues are perceived. First-order CBMs typically seek to convey a state’s rejection (at least for now) of any inclination to use force; a second-order CBM seeks to secure this rejection of force in the first place. When does a state in a conflict abandon—at least in a de facto sense—the use of force as an option? History would indicate that this happens either when the parties have accepted an agreed “endpoint” to their quarrel, or when they have become resigned to resolving their remaining differences by means short of force (possibly due to diminishing potential gains, increasing costs, or lack of military feasibility). Giving up the military option is also generally premised on the other side taking the same step.

In Arab-Israeli affairs (apart from the Egyptian front) these conditions do not apply. There is no agreed endpoint on the underlying Israeli-Palestinian conflict, including the future of territories occupied by Israel since 1967. The minimal Arab demand, as formulated in recent years by the official leadership of the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) and most Arab governments, is for a Palestinian state on the West Bank and Gaza; mainstream Israeli opinion has favored either autonomy for these areas, under Israeli control, or an arrangement sharing control with Jordan. Nor is there confidence that the remaining differences between the two sides will be worked out without the use of force. Israelis will not circumscribe their military option so long as they fear Arab designs to destroy or undermine Israeli either by direct attack or indirectly by attrition. Arabs, even if they no longer regard the military destruction of Israel as a feasible goal, will maintain an option to use force so long as they fear Israeli territorial aggrandizement or other Israeli military moves, or so long as they feel Israel is using its military advantage to underwrite de facto assimilation of the occupied territories without a resolution (in their eyes) of the Palestinian issue.

Of course, to the extent that these fears on either side might be unfounded, there is still room for first-order CBMs that would reduce apprehensions by communicating the true state of mind on the other side. Steps to correct misperceptions of intentions can apply not only to immediate tactical concerns—whether an attack is imminent or not—but also to long-range strategic plans. If one or the other side has in fact adopted a diplomatic rather that a military course of action in its basic orientation to the conflict, convincing communication of this change can serve to lower tensions generally—and perhaps allow diplomacy to work under more favorable conditions.

But better communication will moderate the conflict only if the perceived hostile intent is, indeed, a misperception. When closer acquaintance shows that the hostile intent is real, and goes beyond prudent defense against possible attack, then first-order CBMs that address perceptions have little to contribute. It is wholly rational for a state to maintain and develop its military option in the presence of convincing evidence that an adversary is contemplating the use of force. In this case, only second-order CBMs, aimed at substantive intentions and policy positions, are likely to be of much value.

Applying these thoughts to a study of Israeli domestic opinion, the question becomes: What kind of confidence building, on both the perceptual and substantive levels, will work best in the Israel context, both in terms of steps likely to have the greatest impact on Israeli thinking and in terms of the most feasible Israeli gestures toward Arab parties? More specifically, what can Arab states and actors do that would change (1) Israeli misperceptions of immediate or long-range Arab intentions (first-order CBMs) and (2) the basic definition of Israeli aims on issues to be resolved (second-order CBMs)? What kind of Israeli steps designed to moderate Arab perceptions and policies would be most acceptable politically within the constraints of the Israeli political system?

The thesis argued here is that both first-order and second-order CBMs are necessary and important, but that absence of progress with the second will—at least in the Arab-Israeli context—severely limit the possibilities of the first. In fact, as indicated above, most of the potential first-order CBMs may already be in place. We may have to focus, therefore, on the more difficult issue of CBMs that address substantive elements of the conflict. The problem is that any proposal in the Arab-Israeli arena is immediately scrutinized in terms of how it is likely to prejudice the final outcome of the conflict (the “endpoint"). Since there is no agreement on the endpoint, this leaves much less room for lesser steps, desirable as they might be in their own right. Unless they are demonstrably neutral regarding the opposed endpoints pursued by the parties (which is seldom the case) one or both will reject them as dangerous precedents. Proposals and actions that attempt to shirk the issue of their impact on the endpoint have a poor history in Arab-Israeli affairs; even the most seemingly innocent and humanitarian gesture is ignored, belittled, or rejected. Any discussion of possible CBMs must cope with this reality.

In answering the above question, there are also a number of issues regarding Israeli opinion that must be taken into account:

To what extent is Israeli thinking on the occupied territories based on a priori claims and considerations, and to what extent does it reflect pragmatic security concerns? In a broader sense, this is a question of how much of Israeli opinion is self-generated and how much is reactive. Views on future territorial and political arrangements may derive from ideological and emotional roots, remaining fairly impervious to new inputs from the environment, or they may be extremely sensitive to developments that alter political and strategic realities.

How does Israeli political culture influence receptivity to outside measures? Any political culture will have elements that make it either more or less amenable to new departures in response to new inputs. At first glance, it would appear that Israeli thinking has some elements pushing it in each direction. The noted distrust of the outside world and stress on self-reliance would presumably induce skepticism toward measures based on mutual cooperation, while the sensitivity to losses and a high regard for symbolic actions and gestures seem to increase receptivity (consider the dramatic shift in Israeli opinion following Anwar Sadat’s 1977 visit to Jerusalem). Key to this analysis is an understanding of what “security” means; as Avner Yaniv has pointed out, in the Israeli context it is important to distinguish between basic security (the ability to defeat an enemy in all-out war) and current security (day-to-day safety from subwar violence).² That the latter is a particular Israeli focus is clear from the vociferous public reaction to terrorist incidents on any scale, which may have implications for the importance of antiterror measures in even the early stages of confidence building.

How responsive is Israeli thinking to developments and actions on the other side? One sign of progress in conflict resolution is recognition of an adversary’s political pluralism, rather than perception of a monolithic (and uniformly hostile) entity. Connected to this is awareness of how one’s own actions and behavior might influence the internal political dynamics of the other side (and vice versa). Under this heading also come “domestic” events such as the rise of Islamic fundamentalism and its impact on Israeli attitudes. To what extent, for example, are the relations of Arab governments with “rejectionist” movements within their borders a matter of concern to Israelis, and a possible subject for steps intended to instill confidence?

What kind of events cause what kind of responses? The degree of confidence inspired by any particular measure will depend in part on such factors as the publicity or secrecy surrounding it and the perceived stability of the party behind it. Israelis may be particularly sensitive to the importance of openness, given the frequent willingness of some Arab regimes to deal with Israel only in secret. The unwillingness to go public is interpreted as an index of the political unacceptability of open agreements with Israel and thus of continuing basic hostility, undercutting any efforts to increase mutual trust. Related to this is the low level of confidence that Israelis may feel regarding any moves by any government or organization whose grasp on power seems shaky, which raises the question of whether democratization in the Middle East context (in Jordan, Egypt, or even the occupied territories, for example) might not make confidence building more complicated.

How sensitive is Israeli public opinion to its won leadership? In any democratic system, influence flows in both directions: public opinion limits the realistic options available to policymakers, but strong leaders can also shape or even drastically alter public opinion. How much room for maneuvering have Israeli governments generally enjoyed, and how malleable has public opinion been to determined direction from above?

Obviously all of these issues need to be studied over time in order to appreciate the dynamics of Israeli political attitudes. Following a discussion of Israeli opinion, we will return to the issue of possible confidence and security building measures in the Israeli context.

The General Structure of Israeli Opinion

The basic division in Israeli politics on “the Arab question” dates from the 1930s: a debate between the advocates of partition (or “territorial compromise” in contemporary language) who favor a relatively homogeneous Jewish state in part of historic Eretz-Yisrael, and the proponents of an undivided Palestine who offer various ideas (most of them a form of “functional compromise") for coping with the heterogeneity of a unitary state. Initially the second school of though included both variants on the left, pushing proletarian internationalism or a binational state, and solutions on the right that offered Arabs rights as individuals but not collectively as a nation (the forerunners of today’s autonomy proposals).

This debate was dormant during the first twenty years of statehood, when de facto partition seemed destined to serve as the framework for ultimate resolution of the Arab-Israel conflict. It was revived by the results of the 1967 war, which left Israel in control of the mandatory Palestine. The issue of (renewed) partition or (continued) Israeli control of palestine in its entirety—framed as a debate over “the future of the occupied territories"—became the dominant issue of Israeli politics. Previously, Israeli parties had organized themselves along the three axes: the usual left-right socioeconomic continuum; a spectrum of dovish or hawkish security positions only partly correlated with the first axis; and a religious-secular division basically independent of the other dimensions. After 1967 the first two axes coalesced into a left-right division dominated by territorial/security issues, and religious parties became increasingly identifies with the hawkish end of this spectrum.

The Israeli political system has always been distinguished by a high level of participation, measured by voting or by other activities, and by high levels of political awareness and knowledge (expressed, for example, in the almost universal viewership of the regular evening news on national television). Not surprisingly, the level of ideological commitment has also been high, consistent with the high level of personal involvement. Voting patterns have been fairly stable on the whole: before 1977, parties of the left gained about 50 percent of the vote, parties of the right about 25 percent, and religious parties around 15 percent; in the 1977 watershed election and since, the proportions have been roughly 40–40–15.³ This stability in overall division of the votes could be taken as an indication that ideological commitment kept voters from switching their allegiances, but as will be seen below this is actually not the case.

Public opinion on the critical issue of the occupied territories has not been so static. One of the major survey research institutes in Israel has tracked Israeli opinion on the territories since 1967, asking what territorial concessions respondents would be willing to make “in order to arrive at a peace agreement with Arab countries.” The use of the same questions and same methodology over time provides a solid basis for the identification of historical trends and changes in attitudes on this question.⁴ The answers, for the territories as a whole and for the four different areas separately, are summarized in an important study by Russell Stone.⁵ A close look at Stone’s presentation of this data underlines some of the basic features of Israeli opinion both on this issue and in general, and contradicts some of the conventional wisdom on both levels.

In the first place, there was strong initial opposition to Israeli territorial concessions. Opposition to Israeli withdrawal from the West Bank and Gaza did not grow slowly over time, as often perceived, but appeared in full strength almost immediately; overwhelming majorities opposed territorial concession in these areas or on the Golan Heights (though not in the Sinai peninsula). Thus the general long-term trend on this question has actually been toward greater willingness to make territorial concessions.

Secondly, opposition to withdrawal differed greatly according to the area in question. The greatest opposition, initially, was to giving up the Golan Heights or the Gaza Strip, which would suggest the dominance of security considerations over ideological motivations in determining public attitudes. Though the West Bank was the focus of ideological aspirations and also had considerable strategic significance, there was greater reticence to leave the Golan or Gaza where the strategic loss was even greater, as most Israelis saw it (and possibly because the states that would benefit, Syria and Egypt, were considered Israel’s most dangerous enemies militarily).

Thirdly, the surveys show great sensitivity to external events. Dramatic events such as the Yom Kippur War in 1973 or the Sadàt initiative in 1977 caused significant shifts in Israeli opinion toward concessions on the territories (and other polls have shown even sharper changes in the second case). It would appear that sudden jolts, whether positive or negative from Israel’s perspective, have had the effect of increasing willingness to withdraw, while long periods of relative quiescence increased opposition to such withdrawal, perhaps by making the status quo appear both more livable and more inevitable. Shifts in opinion on this issue are also consistent with great fluidity, if not volatility, generally in Israeli opinion and voting patterns. Much of this fluidity has apparently been masked by the fact that shifts have taken place in both directions, leaving the appearance of stability in the overall patterns, but much recent research has demonstrated how illusory this stability actually is. Katz and Levinsohn, for example, found that on the veiy eve of the 1988 election 40 percent of those polled claimed to be undecided, and that fully 40 percent of these respondents were undecided not just between parties within the same bloc, but between the blocs themselves.⁶

A fourth point is that poll results in Israel, as elsewhere, show great sensitivity to the wording of the question. This is nowhere more apparent than in questions on the complicated and fateful issue of the occupied territories where Israelis choices, in Avner Yaniv’s words, “range from the unfeasible to the unthinkable."⁷ The wording of the question asked in the surveys reported by Stone pushes respondents toward more hawkish responses, in describing withdrawal as a “concession you would be willing to make” and in leaving the possibility open that this concession might not result in a satisfactory peace agreement (at a time when Arab states and the PLO rejected the concept of a peace treaty with Israel). When the return of territory was made explicitly conditional on the conclusion of a satisfactory peace, responses changed; for example, in a 1975 poll commissioned by the daily newspaper Haaretz, almost 50 percent of the respondents said they would be willing to return to the pre-1967 lines, with only minor adjustments, in the context of a final peace treaty.⁸ This contrasts with the fewer than 20 percent willing to concede “all” of the territories in the (Guttman) Israel Institute of Applied Social Research (IIASR) data.

The new unitary view differed in important respects, however, from earlier opposition to partition. In the first place, it was now identified primarily with the political right, and the Israeli public was divided more clearly into two major camps on these issues. Secondly, it drew more on security concerns and less on ideology than before. This is reflected in the fact that when opinion surveys posited territorial withdrawal as part of a final peace settlement, opposition to it lessened significantly. Much of the opposition to territorial compromise was clearly based on disbelief in the possibility of a peace treaty with adequate security arrangements rather than on ideological principle.

The impact of such events as the Yom Kippur War, the Sadat trip to Jerusalem, and the Egypt-Israel Peace Treaty—reinforced by evidence of moderating trends in Arab and Palestinian positions generally—produced a long-term dovish trend in Israeli opinion. By the mid-1980s opposition to withdrawal from the occupied territories among Jewish Israelis had dropped in the 50–60 percent range, depending on the wording of questions.⁹ It was in this context that the December, 1987, outbreak of Palestinian unrest in the occupied territories—posed a further challenge to Israel assumptions and attitudes on solutions to the Arab-Israeli impasse.

The Impact of the Intifada

The onset of the intifada in December, 1987, clearly had a major impact on Israeli opinion, though the exact nature of the change is arguable. Some polls recorded no significant change in support for, or opposition to, withdrawal. But this apparently masks a high degree of volatility of views in response to events. With striking consistency, about half of the respondents in different polls claimed that the intifada had made them either more hawkish or more dovish, but the proportion pushed in each direction was roughly similar, resulting in a very small “net” change for the sample as a whole. Thus remarkable pattern is illustrated in the three polls reported in Table 3.1.

Thus, three different polls confirm, with an unusual level of agreement, that the intifada changed the minds of about half of the Israeli public in an important way, but that changed in dovish and hawkish directions offset each other in large part. This is confirmed by other surveys in which 51–64 percent (according to party) reported either greater or lesser confidence in their own party as a result of the intifada, and most reported changes of views on such issues as the resilience of the state (64 percent), the likelihood of a Palestinian state (58 percent), and the continued building of Jewish settlements in occupied territories (53 percent). Again, most of these shifts of view took place in both directions, leaving a relatively small net change, except that adherents of rightist parties claimed by three-to-one margins that recent events had strengthened their belief in their parties.¹⁰

As this latter point indicates, much of the reported changed opinion in the wake of the intifada was simply increased polarization of existing views. Many who already identified with the left or the right simply moved further in the direction to which they already inclined. In a July 1990 survey, 42 percent of those on the far right (to the right of Likud) reported that recent events had moved them further to the right, while only 4.6 percent had moved to the left, while of those on the far left (to the left of Labor) 32 percent had moved further left and only 6 percent to the right.¹¹

But if much of the impact of the intifada was masked by contradictory movements in both dovish and hawkish directions, and by increased polarization, there was a slight “net” change in most data—including that above—toward more hawkish views. This was based, however, on the self-definition of the respondents, who were asked to characterize their own attitudes as “dovish” or “hawkish.” Was this self-perception confirmed by polls on particular issues and by trends in party support as registered in both polls and elections?

Table 3.1 Volatility of Israeli Opinion: The Intifada (In Percentage)

Arian et al. October 1988
Peres January 1990
Goldberg et al. May 1990

Intifada did not change opinion
49.9
51
50.2

Became more dovish
20.8
21
17.6

Became more hawkish
29.4
28
32.2

Source: Asher Arian, Michal Shamir, and Raphael Ventura, “Public Opinion and Political Change: Israel and the Intifada,” Comparative Politics, 24 (April 1992), p. 323 (survey conducted by Dahaf Research Institute); Yochanan Peres, “Tolerance—Two Years Later,” Israeli Democracy (Winter 1990); p. 17 (survey conducted by Dahaf Research Institute); Giora Goldberg, Gad Barzilai, and Efraim Inbar, The Impact of Intercommunal Conflict: The Intifada and Israeli Public Opinion (Policy Studies No. 43, The Leonard Davis Institute for International Relations, 1991), p. 9 (survey conducted by Modi’in Ezrahi).

The answer is that the perception of a slight “net” shift in a hawkish direction, in response to the intifada, was true only in certain respects. It did hold for party identification and support for the period through 1990, as seen in the election and poll results shown in Table 3.2.

As Table 3.2 shows, Labor dropped slightly in the first elections after the onset of the intifada, and polls by late 1990 projected an even sharper drop for the left and a corresponding jump in support for the Likud and other hawkish parties. This trend was dramatically reversed, however, by the time of the June, 1992, elections—a point to which we shall return later. This does not mean that the perception of greater hawkishness in the early period of the intifada was illusory; apart from the data on party support, this mood was also apparent on other “short-term” issues in which emotions aroused by the intifada were most likely to be evident. On issues related to law and order, for example, there was a clear hardening of public responses; throughout 1989 and 1990 over half thought that the army was “too soft” in dealing with the intifada, while only about 10 percent thought it was “too hard."¹² It is not too hard to see that respondents who favored stronger military action in the occupied territories, and who might be identifying with more rightist parties, would perceive themselves as “more hawkish” in response to the intifada.

Table 3.2 Impact of the Intifada: Party Support (Knesset Seats)

July 1984 Elections
November 1988 Elections
September 1990 Poll
June 1992 Elections

Labor and allies
53
49
43
56

Likud and allies
47
47
55
43

Religious parties
13
18
16
16

Arab parties
6
6
6
5

Source: September 1990 poll: Modi’in Ezrachi (supplied to author).

But at the same time, and despite the seeming contradiction; there was a discernible trend in a dovish direction on “long-term” questions such as preferred solutions to the conflict. Within a year or so after the onset of the intifada, surveys recorded a dovish shift of about 10 percent on the basic question of territorial compromise. Some of these results are shown in Table 3.3.

Thus even in response to a question tending to evoke relatively hawkish responses (see above), the percentage to those opposing any territorial withdrawal had fallen to 45 percent on the eve of the intifada (it was 50–60 percent in the late 1970s) and by another 10 percent shortly thereafter. More recent surveys have remained within the same range.

The dovish trend on basic issues can also been seen in regard to the controversial question of Israeli negotiations with the PLO. When the same question regarding conditional agreement on talking with the PLO was asked over time by the same research organization—the Smith Research Center—support increased by 10–15 percent after the intifada, as seen in Table 3.4

Support for talking with the PLO if it recognized Israel and renounced terrorism—important provisos in Israeli opinion given the PLO’s formal commitment to Israel’s destruction and the great sensitivity to acts of violence—thus moved from a minority to a majority opinion, held by 50–60 percent of the public, after the intifada. This was confirmed by another poll conducted by the Israel Institute of Applied Social Research in January, 1989, which in response to an almost identically worded question showed 53 percent conditionally willing to negotiate with the PLO. The same poll demonstrated, however, that Yasser Arafat’s statement a month earlier in December 1988, which presumably accepted the existence of Israel and renounced terrorism, was not regarded by most Israelis as sufficient: only 11 percent of the respondents felt that the statement fulfilled the stated conditions for initiating direct talks.¹³

Table 3.3 Impact of Intifada: Territorial Concessions (in Percentage)
“What concessions would you make on the West Bank (Judea and Samaria) in order to reach a peace settlement with the Arab states?”

March
May
January

1987
1988
1989

Some, most or all of the territories
54
54
65

None of the territories
45
43
35

Source: The 1987 and 1989 data are from Continuing Survey of the Israel Institute of Applied Sodai Research, reported in Elihu Katz, Jerusalem Post International Edition, 27 August 1988, and Katz, “Majority hawkish, but dovish trend seen,” Jerusalem Post International Edition, 18 February 1989; 1988 data from a Dahaf Institute poll, with slightly different wording, reported in Dan Petreanu, “Poll says most favor return of territory,” Jerusalem Post International Edition, 2 July 1988.

Table 3.4 Impact of Intifada: Negotiations with the PLO (in Percentage)
“If the PLO recognizes Israel and renounces terrorism, Israel should negotiate with it”

June
September
March
March

1983
1986
1988
1989

Agree
48
43
53
58

Source: Smith Research Center, as reported in Jerusalem Post, 2 October 1986; Near East Repori, 25 July 25 1988; and New York Times, 25 April 1989.

But at the same time various surveys also showed growing support for immediate talks with the PLO without conditions, whether in response to positive changes within the PLO and/or willingness to drop the conditions. Previous to 1988, the percentage favoring-talks with the PLO as matters stood at the time had varied within the 10–20 percent range, but IIASR surveys showed this support increasing to 30 percent in January 1989, and 37 percent by April 1990.¹⁴ Other 1990 surveys showed strikingly similar results in polls reported by Asher Arian for March-October and by Giora Goldberg, Gad Barzilail, and Efraim Inbar for May; both polls had 40 percent support for unconditional talks with the PLO, while a Modi’in Ezrahi poll of June recorded 42 percent in favor.¹⁵

Support for an independent Palestinian state in the West Bank and Gaza, as a solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, also grew from roughly 10 percent at the end of the 1970s to 25–30 percent a decade later. The IIASR survey of April 1990, for example, showed 25 percent support for a Palestinian state, while the Arian survey of March-October recorded 28 percent in agreement with this solution—and 61 percent who thought that a Palestinian state would come whether they supported it or not (against 51 percent with this view before the intifada).¹⁶

Current Structure of Opinion

By 1990–91 the shifts triggered by the intifada stabilized, and subsequent surveys did not show significant changes. Even the Gulf War did not have a lasting impact; while there was a temporary drop in support for dealing with the PLO (due to Palestinian support of Iraq), opinions quickly reverted to previous levels. The picture that had emerged by this time, in relation to favored solutions to the conflict, is summarized in Table 3.5.

In this table, solutions are grouped according to the two basic approaches identified at the outset: territorial compromise based on partition of historic Palestine, and “functional” solutions that would leave all of Palestine under Israeli control in one form or another. Presenting a wide choice of options dearly reduces support for any one solution, such as Palestinian statehood; nevertheless, about half of the Israeli public seems to favor territorial compromise in some form, either as a Palestinian state or with Jordan assuming an important role in the territories. It is also notable that support for the status quo as a lasting solution is almost nonexistent, at around 2 percent (before the intifada this had attracted the support of 11 to 47 percent, depending on the wording of the question).¹⁷ Support for other functional solutions had also dropped: autonomy, supported by up to 58 percent previously, was not the first choice of only 20–25 percent, while advocacy of annexation, recorded at 23 percent in January 1986, was now around 15 percent (most of whom favored it only with the “transfer” of the Arab population).¹⁸

The picture of Israeli Jewish pubic opinion that emerges, therefore, is of an ideological right (15–20 percent) committed to territory over peace, balanced by an ideological left of 20–30 percent, on the other end of the spectrum, that is ready to accept a Palestinian state in the occupied territories. In the middle lie the 50–60 percent of Israelis whose orientation is determined primarily by pragmatic considerations, and above all by the security implications of the various solutions being promoted.¹⁹ At the present time this decisive swing group is itself divided roughly equally between those who favor territorial compromise involving Jordan in some way, and those favoring some version of autonomy.

Table 3.5 Solutions for the Territories: Public Support (in Percentage)

May, 1990
June, 1991

Territorial compromise
50.2
48.6

Palestinian state in all the territories
9.1
9.8

Palestinian state in Gaza only
8.9
7.5

Territorial compromise with Jordan
19.6
11.2

Territorial compromise, Pal.-Jordanian state
12.6
14.1

Israeli-Palestinian-Jordanian confederation
–
6.0

Functional solutions
36.3
39.6

Autonomy under Israel’s rule
18.5
16.7

Autonomy under Israeli-Jordanian rule
–
5.2

Status quo
2.4
2.1

Annexation with citizenship
3.4
2.6

Annexation without citizenship
1.7
1.8

Annexation and transfer of Arab population
10.3
11.2

No solution
6.4
5.5

Don’t know/other
7.1
6.3

Total
100
100

Source: Gad Barzilai, Giora Goldberg, and Efraim Inbar, “Israeli Leadership and Public Attitudes Toward Federal Solutions for the Arab-Israeli Conflict Before and After Desert Storm,” Publius: The Journal of Federalism, 21 (Summer 1991), p. 204; and Goldberg, Barzilai, and Inbar, p.21. This data has been reorganized in the table above.

Thus Israeli opinion on security issues can be roughly divided into four basic approaches, which correspond to commonsense categories often used by observers: ideological hawks on the far right and ideological doves on the far left, with pragmatic hawks and pragmatic doves occupying the near right and near left respectively. And while the division between hawks (ideological or pragmatic) and doves (ideological or pragmatic) has been fairly even, there is evidence that the intifada and other events of the last few years may have shifted the balance in favor of the latter.

Further evidence for this can be found in a remarkable survey conducted for Na’amat, the women’s organization within the Israeli Labor Federation (Histadrut), in October 1991. The survey was by far the largest ever conducted in Israel, with face-to-face interviews of 80,766 people selected scientifically to represent age, religion, ethnicity, socioeconomic status and other demographic variables accurately, giving a margin of error of less than one-half of 1 percent. Offered a choice of six options regarding the future of the occupied territories, 74.2 percent of the Jewish respondents chose one of the three options involving the return of some, most, or all of the territory. Only 9.5 percent took the ideologically hawkish position that none of the territories should be returned because “they are an integral part of Eretz Israel,” and only 11.9 percent took the pragmatic hawkish position of not returning territories because of security considerations. Some of the dovishness in these results can be explained by the way in which the options were presented; the “middle” option of returning “some” territories included recognition that the territories “are important for the security of Israel,” and attracted the support of 34 percent, while only 40.2 percent favored the two more dovish options of returning most or all the territories.²⁰ Nevertheless, it appears from this and other evidence that ideological and pragmatic doves together may now have a potential base of well over half the population, perhaps even in the 60–70 percent range.

But how did the political system in the late 1980s process the anomaly of increased dovishness on territorial issues—the dominant issues of Israeli politico—but continued or increased hawkishness in party identification? On this basis it could be predicted that the Likud’s electorate would incorporate a significant group of voters at odds with its hawkish platform—and indeed, surveys of likud supporters in the 1988 elections showed this to be the case. In an IIASR survey on the eve of the election, 20 percent of those intending to vote for the Likud indicated a willingness to yield territory in a peace settlement.²¹ Polls following the election showed even higher percentages of “Likud doves"—41 percent in May 1990, and 35 percent in June 1991. While this is offset to some extent by the presence of “Labor hawks” (30 percent in the first case and 24 percent in the second), the overall conclusion is that the electorate was voting somewhat to the right of its opinions on security issues.²² A number of reasons for this anomaly can be suggested: the influence of other issues that favored Likud, continuing Sephardi alienation from the Labor establishment, and not least, the appeal of Likud as tougher bargainers who would better defend Israeli interests in any negotiations that took place (Likud electoral slogans and other moves to establish its credentials as a serious peace negotiator lent additional credence to this interpretation). Whatever the causes of this inconsistency, the phenomenon of an electorate voting to the right of its opinions on substantive issues provided an ironic contrast to the earlier pattern, in the 1960s and 1970s, of an electorate that voted to the left of its fundamental beliefs in a number of respects.²³

But just as the 1977 election erased the earlier inconsistency between political opinions and voting behavior, so the elections of June 1992 at least reduced the gap in the other direction that had existed in the 1980s. As noted in Table 3.2 parties explicitly favoring territorial compromise won over the vote (gaining 61 of 120 Knesset seats), while the hawkish parties (Likud and the far right) received 35 percent and religious parties (predominantly, but not entirely, hawkish) gained 13 percent. The division of Knesset seats was now in more logical alignment with public views on security issues as recorded in survey data.

The gap has also been closing in another way, as both major parties have moved very gradually in a dovish direction over the last two decades, in apparent response to shifting public opinion (and, on a deeper level to changes in the Arab world). This movement has been so subtle as to pass largely unnoticed, and in fact conventional wisdom tends to deny that it has even taken place. But as documented by Efraim Inbar and Giora Goldberg, comparison of party positions then and now leaves little doubt that both Labor and Likud have become more dovish.²⁴ In Labor, the Allon Plan (for the return of most of the West Bank to Jordan), once championed by those on the left in the party, is now pushed by those on the right, and the original permissive attitude toward Jewish settlements in the territories associated with such figures as Moshe Dayan and Yisrael Galili has been replaced by a more negative view. The focus for resolving the conflict has shifted from Jordan to the Palestinians. Since 1973, Labor electoral platforms have been based on territorial compromise, and since 1981 they have included some version of the “Yariv-Shemtov” formula for negotiation with the PLO under specified conditions. The Likud has dropped its earlier call for outright annexation (present in its 1969 and 1973 platforms), moving to advocacy of various autonomy schemes, and has also accepted UN Resolutions 242 and 338, which it originally rejected. During its long tenure of power, it also accepted the previous international border with Egypt and legitimized the role of Arab states as parties to negotiation over the future of the West Bank (in the Camp David accords). Even where the substance of its positions has remained hawkish, Likud arguments over the years have become notably less ideological and more oriented to security issues.

If both survey data and study of party platforms indicate that Israeli thinking has moved toward territorial compromise, why are appearances so often to the contrary? Without presuming to provide a complete answer, some reasons can be suggested. The nature of political debate in Israel, given the preoccupation with security, may put a premium on hawkish rhetoric and gestures even as substantive positions soften. In addition, both parties may have incentives to present a more hawkish image precisely in order to cover their dovish moves; Labor must (as the 1992 election showed) play to the center of the spectrum in order to succeed, and Likud must cover its flank to the right against parties appealing to its natural constituency and criticizing its “compromises.” Another factor has been the link between religion and nationalism, leading to the emergence of a small but highly visible and vocal ideological minority dedicated to the goal of Eretz Yisrael Hashlema (an undivided Land of Israel). Finally, there is the cumulative nature of Jewish settlement in the occupied territories. The number of settlers has increased slowly, to 120,000 after twenty-five years (a figure matched by two or three years of natural Arab population growth within the same area). This is large enough, however, to constitute an important constituency in Israeli politics, and to contribute to development of the impression (promoted by its advocates) that the Jewish presence in the territories has become irreversible.

Implications for Confidence Building

While there do not appear to be any surveys of Israeli public opinion on confidence building measures as such, the general picture as delineated has a number of implications for possible measures to build trust between the parties.

In the first place, it seems clear that attention must be directed toward second-order CBMs. While the absence of hostile intentions on either side should continue to be conveyed by any available means where relevant and feasible, Israelis remain focused on the absence of an agreed framework with Arab interlocutors and the definition of the endpoint of the conflict. Since consensus among the parties on this endpoint is by no means guaranteed, the use of force remains an option. Only measures that help to build this substantive consensus will make a major difference in the overall level of tension.

Second, at this point pragmatic security concerns are the dominant variable in Israeli opinion. This opinion has shown itself to be remarkably sensitive to Arab works and (especially) actions; in fact, events and changes in the Arab world seem to provide the best explanation for the long-term moderation of Israeli thinking since 1967. Positions supposedly based on deeply held beliefs and convictions have shifted with startling rapidity in response to dramatic developments. Furthermore, the experience of the intifada demonstrates that changes can take place in contradictory directions simultaneously, and that the impact of violent or negative events in the short term does not necessarily undercut or reverse positive trends on the level of basic attitudes.

Third, there is clearly a potential to mobilize a majority of the Jewish Israeli public behind practical measures to moderate the conflict, even if those measures lead to territorial compromise. The status quo enjoys next to no support in principle from any segment of Israeli opinion; ideological doves and pragmatic doves, working together, could potentially dominate. The decisive consideration will be security, not ideology. What once sounded radical is becoming less so; negotiation with the PLO and the idea of a Palestinian state, once outside the mainstream of political debate, are now part of it. Furthermore, there is even a constituency within the Likud for a land-for-peace settlement, which could be targeted in any measures to build trust. It is not inconceivable that the pragmatic/ideological divide within the Likud could prove decisive at some future point, if centrifugal tendencies within the party increase.

Fourth, Israeli opinion has shown itself to be especially responsive to two types of stimulus: evidence regarding the ultimate intentions of Arab or Palestinian leaders, and violent actions of the kind that threaten the Israeli sense of “current” security. The standards of evidence required in the first case are high, and words alone are not usually sufficient; Sadat’s dramatic gesture in 1977 had a revolutionary impact on Israeli thinking, while Arafat’s statement of December 1988 made little impact at all. The forceful Israeli reaction to terrorism or other hostile acts is a fact of life that cannot be explored in depth here, but which can be seen in the intense pressure to react after such acts, as well as the instinctive support for harsher army action against the intifada. In both cases, the identification of particular sensitivities can help pinpoint particular measures that could work in the opposite direction.

Fifth, it seems clear that any measures likely to have a significant impact on Israeli thinking must be made publicly. The willingness of Arab parties to proceed openly in any steps to reduce tension has become, in the Israeli mind, an index of the seriousness of their intentions. The desire to keep dealings with Israel secret is seen, correctly or incorrectly, as proof that any agreements reached by this route would not withstand exposure to the opposition of domestic constituencies or their Arab parties.

Sixth, it would appear that Israeli leaders actually have considerable latitude in considering new measures to reduce tensions. Public opinion has been quite responsive to direction on such issues in the past, and has even reacted with enthusiasm to peaceful initiatives. Surveys indicate that sometimes the public has been ahead of its leaders.

What kinds of measures does this suggest, in terms of second-order CBMs that can contribute to reaching an agreed endpoint in the conflict? As far as measures aimed at Israel are concerned, steps that demonstrated the commitment of the Palestinians to independence alongside the Jewish state, and not in place of it, are absolutely central. Statements by a single leader, later qualified by that leader and repudiated by others, are not persuasive; changing the PLO covenant or making a Sadat-type gesture might be. Of almost equal importance is the demonstration that the Palestinians can govern themselves and, most crucially, control the extremists within their own ranks. To do this, of course, requires that they have sufficient powers of self-government for the demonstration.

In the other direction, perhaps the most positive Israeli step would be demonstrating that, for the majority of Israelis, territory is important mainly in its implications for security and not as an end in itself. This would suggest, among other things, continuation and expansion of the current limited freeze on expansion of Jewish settlements on the West Bank—in itself hardly a novel idea. Survey results indicate a solid and increasing majority willing to stop or even reverse settlement activity.²⁵ However, such agreement is usually linked to a larger agreement dealing with the future of the territories, which again demonstrates the importance of an agreed-upon framework.

Palestinians are inclined to accept “interim” measures only if they are linked fairly explicitly to eventual statehood; Israelis will accept such measures only if there is no such link. The absence of an agreed endpoint stymies even slight progress in building a basis for peace. From the Palestinian viewpoint, in particular, there is reluctance to move into a transition phase without some assurance that the transition will not itself become the endpoint.

Since agreement on the final goal is not yet possible, perhaps the concept that can best guide the building of trust is that of a conditional endpoint. Such an approach would involve positing a demilitarized Palestinian state, in West Bank and Gaza, as the final goal, conditional on the demonstration of peaceful intentions and capacity for self-government through a series of interim stages. A proposal along these lines has in fact been advanced by the Israeli Peace in Stages Council, which proposed a simultaneous end to the state of war and the intifada, liberalization of Israeli occupation, elections on the West Bank and Gaza in three years, and a demilitarized Palestinian state in five years. When the prospect of a Palestinian state was presented to respondents in this framework, support for the idea rose to 60 percent in a 1989–90 survey (including 51 percent of those identifyed as Likud supporters).²⁶

There is, therefore, significant room for confidence and security building measures, both perceptual and substantive, in Israeli thinking on Arab-Israeli tensions. But progress is more likely if fundamental differences are dealt with creatively and not left for a later stage.

Postscript

The general picture of trends in Israeli opinion presented in this article has been generally confirmed by events and new data made available since mid-1992. First of all, in the Israeli elections of June 1992, parties of the left received 49 percent of the votes cast, as against 45 percent in 1988. This slight but significant shift enabled the Labor party to form a government for the first time since 1977. Polls on opinion regarding the West Bank also showed a continuation of the dovish trend through early 1973: for example, a survey conducted by Asher Arian in January 1993 showed a 60 percent majority agreeing to return the territories if Israel’s security interests were provided for.²⁷

But clearly, the most dramatic testimony regarding a mobilizable majority for territorial compromise was embodied in the support accorded to mutual recognition between Israel and the PLO, and the signing of a joint statement of principles, in September 1993. A poll carried out immediately after the signing, by the Guttman Institute for Applied Social Research, found a majority of 62 percent in support of the plan, and other surveys produced similar results.²⁸

Notes

1. See Gabriel Ben-Dor and David B. Dewitt, “Confidence Building Measures in the Middle East,” introductory chapter of this volume.

2. Avner Yaniv, Deterrence without the Bomb: The Politics of Israeli Strategy (Lexington: D.C. Heath and Company, 1987), pp. 99, 140, 143, 147.

3. Elihu Katz and Hannah Levinsohn, “Too Good To Be True: Notes on the Israel Elections of 1988,” International Journal of Public Opinion Research, 1 (no. 2), p. 113–114. Remaining votes have gone mostly to Arab parties and to non-Zionist Left, which are often the same. The 1992 election marked a shift of about 5 percent from the Right to the Left, but it is not clear whether this is a lasting structural change or simply a temporary fluctuation.

4. The institute involved, the Israel Institute of Applied Social Research (IIASR, now known as the Guttman Israel Institute of Applied Social Research), carried out 204 surveys in the period covered here: three each year in 1967–73 and on a biweekly basis after 1973. Public opinion polling is quite developed in Israel, with four major organizations carrying out polls using sophisticated survey methods and producing results similar enough to instill a fairly high level of confidence. All use stratified sampling techniques and a sample size (generally around 1,200) that gives a 3 to 4 percent margin of error. Most polling, and all the polls reported here, cover only the adult Jewish population within Israel proper (i.e., not the Israeli-Arab population nor the Jewish settlers in the occupied territories).

5. Continuing Survey of Israel Institute of Applied Social Research, as reported by Russell Stone, Social Change in Israel: Attitudes and Events, 1967–79 (New York: Praeger, 1982), especially p.41.

6. Katz and Levinsohn, “Too Good To Be True,” p. 117.

7. Avner Yaniv, “Israeli Security in the 1980s: The Crisis of Overload,” in Israel After Begin, Gregory S. Mahler, ed. (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1990), p. 107.

8. Haaretz, 27 June 1975; reported, with a comment on the “dovish” push in this particular question’s wording, by Rael Jean Isaac, Israel Divided: Ideological Politics in the Jewish State (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1976), pp. 150, 202–203. In recent years poll results reported by Modi’in Ezrahi have consistently been about 10 percent more hawkish than other polls on questions related to the territories, a difference that seems related at least in part to the wording of questions. For example, Modi’in Ezrahi polls have offered respondents the option of tsiruf ("joining together") rather than the more blatant sipuah ("annexation") to describe proposals for permanent incorporation for the territories into Israel.

9. For example, in a September 1986, poll by the Smith Research Center, 54 percent disagreed with the statement that “in peace negotiations with the Arabs, Israel should suggest territorial compromise against suitable security guarantees.” Reported in Jerusalem Post, 2 October 1986.

10. Elihu Katz, “Easier to change votes than minds (but that’s not easy either),” Jerusalem Post, 26 August 1988; Katz, “Intifada boosts the right,” Jerusalem Post International Edition, 27 August 1988.

11. Modi’in Ezrahi, 13 August 1990 (supplied to author)

12. The figures for “too soft” were 60 percent in June 1989, and 56 percent in July 1990; Modi’in Ezrahi, 13 August 1990 (supplied to author). Two earlier polls by the Smith Research Center in 1988 also showed majorities of 60 percent (in March) and 70 percent (in June) for applying more pressure by the army to suppress the uprising (Near East Report, 25 July 1988).

13. Eliha Katz, “Majority Hawkish, but Dovish Trend Seen,” Jerusalem Post International Edition, 18 February 1989.

14. Ibid; Elihu Katz, Majid Al-Haj, and Hannah Levinsohn, “80 Percent of the Public Do Not Trust the Country’s Leadership,” Yediot Ahronot, 1 June 1990 (Hebrew).

15. Asher Arian, “Security and Political Attitudes in Israel: 1986–91,” Public Opinion Quarterly, 56 (Spring, 1992), p. 124 (poll conducted by Dahaf Research Institute); Giora Goldberg, Gad Barzilai, and Efraim Inbar, “The Impact of Intercommunal Conflict’” p.19 (poll conducted by Modi’in Ezrahi); Modi’in Ezrahi, 21 June 1990 (supplied to author).

16. Katz, Al-Haj and Levinsohn, “80 Percent of the Public Do Not Trust the Country’s Leadership"; Arian, “Security and Political Attitudes,” p. 125.

17. Goldberg, Barzilai, and Inbar, p. 12.

18. Ibid., p. 22. Moledet, the only party in the Knesset that explicitly advocates “transfer” of Arabs from the territories, avows that such emigration would be voluntary. Results similar to the above table can also be obtained from the longitudinal surveys carried out by Modi’in Ezrahi offering seven possible solutions (data supplied to author); see summary in ibid., p. 12.

19. The centrality of security in Israeli public opinion is confirmed and analyzed in the important study by Asher Arian, Dan Talmud, and Tamar Hermann, National Security and Public Opinion in brad, JCSS Study No. 9 (published for the Jaffee Center for Strategic Studies, University of Tel Aviv, by the Jerusalem Post and Westview Press, 1988). The study emphasizes the existence of a broad consensus on basic security concepts, with differences on the means of realizing them; see in particular pp. 83–86 on the “religion of security."

20. Avi Degani, A People’s Sample: Israels Largest Survey on National, Social and Economic Issues (Tel Aviv: Institute for Spatial Analysis for Na’amat, November, 1991), p. 7.

21. Elihu Katz, “Uncomfortable finds for Labor hawks and Likud doves,” Jerusalem Post, 7 October 1988.

22. Goldberg, Barzilai, and Inbar, pp. 48–49, 53, 56; Barzilai, Goldberg, and Inbar, p. 206. In the first of these two studies (p.49), the authors even delineate a profile of Likud doves, who are generally older, more educated, less religious, and with higher incomes than the average Likud supporter.

23. For an analysis of the gap between elite (Labor) opinion and the general public during this period see Asher Arian, Ideological Change in Israel (Cleveland: Case Western Reserve University Press, 1968), pp. 36, 43, 52–53.

24. Efraim Inbar and Giora Goldberg, Is Israel’s political elite becoming more hawkish?", International Journal, 45 (Summer 1990), pp. 631–660.

25. A Modi’in Ezrahi survey at the end of 1989 (supplied to author) showed 59.3 percent willing to freeze and/or evacuate settlements. More recent surveys have recorded even larger majorities.

26. Peace in Stages (Peace in Stages Council, n.d.). The proposal also drew the support of 60 percent of Israeli Arabs surveyed (p. 8; polling was carried out by the Dahaf Research Institute).

27. Asher Arian, Israel and the Peace Process: Security and Political Attitudes in 1993, JCSS Memorandum No. 39 (faffee Center for Strategic Studies, February 1993), p.8. See also the important and definitive study by Jacob Shimir and Michal Shamir, The Dynamics of Public Opinion on Peace and the Territories (Tami Steinmetz Center for Peace Research, Tel Aviv University, 1992).

28. The Jerusalem Post International Edition, September 25, 1993.

4
Confidence Building Measures and Israeli Security Concerns

Mark A. Heller

Israel was born in war and has been subjected throughout its history to frequent attacks and constant threat by its Arab neighbors. It is therefore not surprising that the issue of security often intrudes into the private agenda of Israel’s citizens and dominates its foreign policy. Security concerns impinge even on such mundane matters of social and economic policy as settlement patterns and construction standards; they virtually overwhelm foreign policy debates, including the central foreign policy issue: Israel’s relations with the Arab world. Most evidence indicates, for example, that questions about security, rather than nationalist or religious impulses, determine the attitudes of the majority of Israelis regarding the possible disposition of the territories conquered in the 1967 Six Day War. Thus, “much of the opposition to territorial compromise was clearly based on disbelief in the possibility of a peace treaty with adequate security arrangements.”¹

The corollary, of course, is that attitudes may change in response to shifting perceptions of the security implications of territorial concessions. Measures to increase Israeli confidence that national security will be preserved and even enhanced after a peace settlement should also increase public receptivity to the territorial concessions which are a necessary, if not sufficient, condition for any settlement. In other words, confidence-building measures (CBMs) play a potentially vital role in shaping Israeli attitudes on the substantive core of Arab-Israeli relations, to the point where they are almost certainly a precondition for progress in the resolution of the Arab-Israeli conflict.

This reality explains the growing interest in exploring the possibility of applying elements of the Helsinki/Stockholm model of confidence and security building to the Arab-Israeli context. Indeed, the elaboration of proposals for Arab-Israeli CBMs has become something of a cottage industry in recent years. Unfortunately, most efforts in this field have produced little more than annotated laundry lists of measures taken from the East-West record. If there is any consensus among analysts, it is that it will be exceedingly difficult to adopt and implement any but the most modest CBMs in the absence of significant progress toward resolution of the political conflict between Arabs and Israelis.² This difficulty is usually attributed to the structure of the conflict itself, or, more precisely, to the differences between this conflict and the one which characterized East-West relations during the almost two decades of Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE) and Conventional Forces in Europe (CFE) negotiations which generated the ideas and agreements on CBMs that inform much of the speculation about prospects for similar measures in the Middle East.

Most importantly, neither the fundamental legitimacy nor the existing boundaries of the protagonists in the East-West conflict was subject to serious question, and the governments involved were therefore willing to maintain diplomatic relations and the practice of direct communications even in the darkest days of the Cold War. There are, of course, other salient differences.³ While opposition to the adversary’s policies was persistent and suspicion about his military intentions pervasive, neither of the parties concerned insisted that it was in a state of war with the other or reserved the right to use force for other than defensive purposes. In other words, neither rejected the status quo so intensely that it would refuse in principle to adopt measures that inherently favored the political/territorial status quo by effectively constraining offensive military capabilities. Consequently, East-West relations increasingly tended to focus on an epiphenomenon—the threat-driven military postures of the protagonists—rather than on the essence of conflict, such as ideological or territorial issues. So after the Berlin crisis and the Cuban missile crisis, arms control came to dominate the agenda of the superpowers; indeed, from the 1960s onward, Soviet-American relations were increasingly about arms control. This development reflected converging concerns—the mutual fear of misperception, uncertainty, and uncontrolled escalation—and a converging interest in assuaging these concerns. Since declared policy abjured the offensive use of military force in pursuit of national objectives, there was no fundamental obstacle to the elaboration of a series of artificially contrived measures intended to enhance confidence that operational intentions really conformed with that policy.

By contrast, Arab-Israeli relations lack most of the enabling conditions of the Helsinki/Stockholm model. Most Arabs are intensely dissatisfied with the status quo. They reject Israel’s current boundaries and in many cases the legitimacy of its very existence, and they still regard the threat and use of force as a legitimate means to protect their vital interests and advance their political objectives.⁴ With the exception of Egypt, they remain in a formal state of war with Israel and withhold diplomatic recognition, and most refuse routine direct contacts; even after the initiation of peace negotiations at Madrid in October 1991, Syrian representatives communicate with Israelis only in the conference room during formal sessions. Israel, for its part, has no specific grievance that leads it to reject the status quo, but it refused for a long time to accept the legitimacy of the Palestinians as a separate entity in the conflict or to recognise the PLO as a valid interlocutor. Thus, the Arab-Israeli conflict remains about substantive, even existential issues, rather than about the military postures which are a manifestation of it. In such circumstances, when basic questions of identity and legitimacy are still unresolved and even the right to security has not yet been universally acknowledged, the kind of political relationship which appears to have been a precondition in the European context for productive discussions about CBMs is absent, and focusing on CBMs before a political settlement is achieved is frequently seen as putting the cart before (or at least beside) the horse. President Hafez al-Asad, for example, expressed himself in the following terms:

Many people say that confidence-building measures can be adopted among different countries and achieve results like what took place between East and West. But, there were no wars between the East and West, neither was there occupation of other countries … In such cases, CBMs might be useful for proceeding toward a better understanding. In our case … one party occupies the land of the other parties … What measure can build confidence among us here in the region other than straightening out matters?⁵

Asymmetrical attitudes towards CBMs logically flow from this political asymmetry with respect to the status quo. The Arab approach should be reserved and unenthusiastic, and this, generally speaking, has indeed been the case. Israel, by contrast, should be more receptive, not only because CBMs would reduce the likelihood of an effective Arab military initiative, but also because the very process of their negotiation (at least in the case of explicit, formal measures) would entail a degree of Arab legitimation of Israel’s existence.

However, neither the empirical record nor the prospective posture of the protagonists is as unambiguous as this simple taxonomy would suggest. Despite their inhibitions, Arab states have, at various times, assumed a variety of obligations or assented to third-party measures that effectively constrained the Arab capability to initiate military operations against Israel. Indeed, the history of the Arab-Israeli conflict is replete with arrangements, particularly limited forces and demilitarized zones, that certainly appear to qualify as confidence building measures.⁶ For its part, Israel has occasionally proposed such measures or responded positively to proposals by others, but its approach has often been ambivalent and a more enthusiastic attitude in the future is by no means assured.

The purpose of this analysis is to examine the future prospects for CBMs from the Israeli perspective, especially with respect to Syria. This issue is explored through the prism of national security policy, which at the highest level of generality should be very receptive to CBMs, and operational military policy (doctrine), which may be constrained by CBMs. Our working hypothesis is that the prospects for CBMs as currently understood are indeed limited, that if the measures commonly proposed are nevertheless implemented, they will have only a limited impact on the structure of Syrian-Israeli relations, and that this less-than-sanguine prognosis is explained not only by Syrian reservations but also by tensions and inconsistencies between the two levels of Israeli policy. There is, however, one specific measure—the “political-military CBM"—which does promise substantial effect, and it is explored in greater detail.

Before proceeding, it is necessary to state the following clarification: in this analysis, we deal only with military CBMs, particularly with technical-military measures, i.e., with artificially contrived limitations on the deployment and training of military forces (sometimes referred to as operational arms control) and with political-military CBMs, i.e., declarations of intent concerning the planned use of forces and/or weapons. We make only limited reference in our discussion to the rest of the universe of CBMs, which includes a variety of diplomatic, economic, cultural and humanitarian initiatives implied in unilateral concessions and “goodwill” gestures. These types of measures (for example, freezing Israeli settlement activity or permitting the emigration of Syrian Jews) are also extremely important in altering the psychological context of negotiations and conflict resolution, because they consciously encourage the other side to accept a more benign view of one’s own long-term intentions. Indeed, some historical studies place conciliatory diplomacy at the very center of the confidence building process.⁷ But while the perception of the adversary’s ultimate intentions is a critical element of national security in the broadest sense, measures intended to influence general perceptions and affective views have no necessary and immediate impact on the uses one may or may not make of military forces.⁸

Israel’s Threat Perceptions

The emphasis here on near-term military considerations reflects Israel’s worldview, which is a function of perceived Arab intentions, the regional and international political environment, and its own geomilitary circumstances, i.e., Arab and Israeli capabilities and resources. Israel’s worldview incorporates a constant sense of threat and vulnerability which derives, in the first instance, from the posture attributed to the Arab world: irreconcilable hostility to Israel’s very existence and the determination to nullify it by all means, including military force. This assumption is grounded in a very large corpus of Arab declarations and actions built up over almost a century of conflict. There is, to be sure, also a countervailing body of empirical evidence—of ceasefires, prolonged truces, armistice agreements and simple passivity—and Israelis certainly acknowledge the possibility of de facto nonbelligerency. Nevertheless, there is still a widespread conviction that Arabs view such accommodations as temporary and tactical, grudgingly accepted because of force majeure, and Israelis often find it difficult to imagine that these types of arrangements can be converted, psychologically if not contractually, into a state of relations called, for want of a better term, “real peace.” Thus, when Arab interlocutors adopt a more conciliatory declarative policy, they are suspected, at least initially, of being either insincere or inauthentic. Even Egypt, which has signed a peace treaty and engages in most aspects of “normal relations” with Israel, is viewed with ongoing concern, if not with respect to the present regime then certainly with respect to possible alternatives that might more accurately incarnate Egypt’s “true” Arab and/or Islamic personality.⁹ In short, even Egypt’s long-term intentions or at least its aspirations vis-a-vis Israel are not felt to have undergone a complete and irrevocable transformation, and Egyptian involvement in a war against Israel has not become unthinkable.

Secondly, there is a firm conviction that Israel must ultimately deal with this threat on its own. The belief that Israel is “a nation that dwells alone,” already deeply rooted in Jewish consciousness, was solidified by the trauma of the Holocaust, when Nazi depredations, with a few notable exceptions, elicited either passivity or active collaboration by other nations. The experience of Arab-Israeli wars reinforces this sense of isolation, since the international community has shown itself unwilling to intervene to prevent these wars or to stop them unless the tide turns against the Arabs. Most foreigners are suspected, if not of complicity in, then at least of indifference to Arab intentions, and even massive American support over the years has not relieved Israelis’ fears that they would, in extremis, be left to their own fate. Of course, alliances have been sought and their benefits accepted, but Israelis nevertheless place little faith in the utility of outside guarantees or of effective and timely foreign assistance in case of real need, and they conclude that Israel can ultimately rely for its own security only on its own strength.

However, Israel’s efforts to guarantee its security unilaterally are complicated by the parameters of the Arab-Israeli relationship. While Israel enjoys an advantage in some areas, the distribution of resources from which military capabilities are generated generally favors the Arab states bordering Israel and, a fortiori, any broader Arab coalition. Israeli military doctrine therefore aims to exploit fully Israel’s own superiorities in order to neutralize the asymmetries which benefit the Arabs. The most important of these are demographic, economic and geographic. Arab force planners can draw on a huge and often underemployed manpower pool. This makes it possible for them to build large standing armies which can be permanently kept on a relatively high state of alert. It also permits commanders, for planning and operational purposes, to be relatively insensitive to casualties. At the same time, Arab leaders are potentially able to call on the financial reserves of the oil-producing countries to help pay for military procurement programs. Finally, the geographic expanse and dispersion of resources allows most Arab states to undertake at least minor withdrawals from the battlefront without risking vital assets.

Israel’s advantages, by contrast, are few and mostly in the qualitative realm. Its population is relatively skilled and technologically advanced but limited in numbers. Its economy is more modern and diversified, but it depends on the productive activity of the work force rather than on “free resources” provided by nature. And its compact size leaves it with virtually no territorial depth; most of its population and industrial concentrations and military complexes have, except in the south during the period 1967–82, always been in close proximity to its frontiers, and Israel has been vulnerable to a quick offensive thrust that could disrupt its ability to function militarily and perhaps even dismember the country. These constraints govern Israeli force posture and military doctrine. Adequate force ratios can be achieved, if at all, only by relying, at least with respect to ground forces, on reserves rather than standing forces. At the same time, the lack of strategic depth makes it impossible to sustain anything more than limited, tactical retreats in the event of Arab attack; there is little space to trade for time. The reserves must therefore be mobilized very quickly to ward off a potentially crippling blow by Arab standing forces. Once mobilized, however, they must also be demobilized quickly to prevent grievous damage to the economy.

The main objective of Israeli military doctrine is therefore to deter Arab attacks and actions short of war that require the prolonged mobilization of reserves. The secondary objective is to ensure that if war nevertheless breaks out, it is terminated quickly; failure to achieve an early and decisive outcome means a war of attrition in which Israel cannot demobilize reserves and pressure grows on additional states to join the Arab coalition. Both objectives—deterrence and early war termination—require Israeli escalation dominance, meaning the ability to take the fighting into enemy territory, either preemptively or very shortly after an Arab attack, and to inflict damage on Arab military and/or civilian assets sufficient to force Arab decision makers to end the fighting. In other words, Israel’s war-fighting doctrine, at the tactical-operational level, is offensively oriented.¹⁰

Implementation of this doctrine requires a powerful strike force of air and ground components able to exploit mobility and tactical surprise to gain at least local superiority in numbers and/or firepower. These capabilities, in turn, depend on a number of vital force multipliers: a qualitative edge in both material and human resources (technologically more advanced equipment, higher rates of serviceability, more effective battle management and leadership, highly skilled and motivated manpower), good tactical and strategic intelligence about enemy capabilities and intentions, and the ability to conceal from the enemy Israel’s own plans and capabilities. Since 1967, the list of force multipliers has also included the geomilitary assets that Israel acquired during the Six Day War, especially the modicum of strategic depth in the Golan Heights and the West Bank and, even more so, the commanding high ground that provides ideal basing platforms for observation, surveillance and intelligence-gathering facilities and air defense systems.

This doctrine has generally served Israel well. There have been, to be sure, some noted deterrence failures as well as some serious flaws in operational performance.¹¹ On the whole, however, Israel has been able to cope with the assessed threat at a tolerable cost, and it is reasonable to expect, even in the best of circumstances—meaning the absence of institutional inertia—that Israel’s defense establishment will resist deviations from, accretions to, or innovations in this doctrine unless it can be clearly demonstrated that such changes promise no net impairment in the ability to deal with the perceived threat, either because the threat itself has diminished or because a reduction in some capabilities has been compensated for by the enhancement of other.

The operating assumption of Israelis prepared to consider territorial concessions is that a comprehensive peace settlement with adequate security arrangements will meet both criteria. On the one hand, Israeli concessions are expected to reduce Arab dissatisfaction with the status quo, hence, the impetus to invest effort and resources in military action against Israel; indeed, a formal peace agreement is taken to be an indispensable act of Arab legitimization of Israel, hence, an indicator of a fundamental transformation in Arab attitudes and intentions with respect to Israel. On the other hand, security arrangements integrated into any agreement are expected to provide an acceptable margin of safety, particularly against the risk of surprise attack, in the event that the peace agreement is subsequently revealed to have been strategic deception or if Arab states later undergo a change of heart or change of regime.

Analysts have developed a rich menu of ideas and proposals for security arrangements to accompany an Arab-Israeli peace settlement. Most of these incorporate elements of structural arms control, i.e., limitations on types and levels of forces and equipment, as well as of operational arms control, especially limitations on the deployment of military forces. Another common feature of these proposals is some provision for third-party, especially American, compensation for the military capabilities and assets Israel might be required to give up; ideas include provision of improved early-warning and intelligence facilities or even the posting of American combat forces in areas to be evacuated by the IDF. The purpose of these proposed “side-payments” is to change the payoff structure of the negotiations. Virtually all such analyses incorporate, either implicitly or explicitly, the principle of asymmetries in the security arrangements to reflect the persistent demographic, economic and geographic asymmetries of the Arab-Israeli balance as well as the asymmetrical nature of the risks borne for the sake of a bargain once described by Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin with these words: “We give up tangibles and get words and pieces of paper in return.” It is not clear that even the most imaginative proposals can adequately deal with all the asymmetries; Israel faces a multiplicity of threats from a variety of sources, and some of these, such as the threat from long-range delivery systems and weapons of mass destruction, emanate from countries like Iran, Iraq and Libya which are not even part of the peace process and have virulently denounced it. What is clear, however, is that Arab interlocutors will agree to accommodate Israeli security concerns, to the extent that they are objectively able to do so, only in the context of a peace settlement that redresses at least their minimal grievances.

In any event, security arrangements incorporated into peace agreements are distinct from CBMs that precede peace and are actually intended, at least in part, to facilitate substantive progress toward peace agreements. In the Arab-Israeli context, the role of the former, if not their specific content, is universally assumed; the latter are still very problematic, conceptually as well as operationally.

The Need for CBMs

The immediate purpose of confidence building measures is to alter the psychological framework of a relationship marked by deep mutual mistrust and suspicion of the other’s elementary worldview. Psychological change is intended to promote two more concrete objectives: enhancing near-term security by reducing the danger that misperception and miscalculation may lead to uncontrolled escalation in situations of uncertainty or tension, and creating a security environment than can facilitate conflict resolution, which is hampered by lack of confidence in the durability of any agreement that might be reached.

The need for CBMs does not derive from the existence of disputes per se; states with a long history of routinized peaceful coexistence, such as Canada and the United States, may find themselves involved in conflict, even over fairly serious matters, without doubting the fundamentally pacific nature of the other’s policy. Instead, CBMs are necessary in a conflictual relationship (even when no specific dispute is in evidence), that is, a relationship marked by the mutual attribution of underlying hostility to one’s own basic values, interests, identity or very existence. Conflictual relationships of this sort may be structural, as in a bipolar international arena, because the power of the adversaries (e.g., Athens-Sparta, the Soviet Union-the United States) fills all the available space in a given international system; they may stem from a protracted, unresolved dispute over limited resources; or they may reflect primordial/atavistic animosity, the “reasons” for which are lost in the mists of time. But whatever the source, the parameters of the relationship are such that protagonists ascribe a malevolent frame of mind to each other and put the worst possible construction on the declarations and actions of the other side. In such circumstances, there is an axiomatic belief that security can be assured only through deterrence grounded in the buildup of military strength—of whose existence the enemy should be made aware though without revealing information which could enable him to counter it (hence, the obsession with technical and planning secrets)—and a demonstrated willingness to use it. By contrast, a policy of attempting to reassure the other side of one’s own benign intentions through openness, accommodation and conciliation is normally rejected on the grounds that it will be interpreted as weakness and simply invite further aggression; the particular potency in Israel of the “Munich metaphor” (and everything else associated with Nazi Germany) has practically transformed “appeasement” from inferior policy option into existential evil.

The result is the familiar “security dilemma,” in which the competitive search for security through unilateral efforts results in the increased insecurity of both sides.¹² The problem with this conflictual relationship is twofold:

It makes the resolution of discrete disputes extremely difficult and a transformation of the relationship virtually impossible, i.e., it is self-perpetuating; and,

It is highly intolerant of ambiguity, because even when there is no aggressive intent behind any particular action by the adversary, the relationship permits, indeed encourages misperception and miscalculation of the consequences of inaction, i.e., it puts a premium on maximum preparedness. Where the margin of error is felt to be particularly narrow—as it is in Israel’s case—preparedness is often construed to mean the need for anticipatory or preemptive measures, which further exacerbate tension and may produce inadvertent escalation.

Even in conflictual relationships, there are therefore occasions on which a cooperative search for greater mutual security through acts of reassurance may well be warranted. Unfortunately, these occasions are usually appreciated only in retrospect. There is no proven method for discerning the presence or absence of aggressive intent or of knowing a priori which method—reassurance (cooperative search for security) or deterrence (competitive search for security)—is most appropriate to a specific situation. Prudence therefore suggests some combination of both elements. In fact, in most cases the seeming contradiction between the two methods of reducing the danger of war is spurious; the greatest stabilization comes from reassurance of the validity of deterrence, within a specific payoff structure of incentives and disincentives, costs and benefits, and risks and opportunities. It is in this context that CBMs can play a potentially constructive role, provided that “confidence building” is understood to mean, simultaneously, both enhanced trust in the other side’s intentions (reassurance) and sustained faith in one’s own capacity to cope with the consequences of trust which may turn out to have been misplaced (deterrence).

To meet this two-fold requirement, CBMs must address specific insecurities, at both the declaratory and the operational levels of military policy. While the proliferation of mass destruction weapons and long-range delivery systems already hovers over the strategic landscape, the major Israeli insecurity is still the specter of a combined-arms surprise attack, especially by the Syrian army, which consists largely of standing forces deployed near the front and is therefore capable of launching an offensive with relative little warning. But in either case, the threat can be summarized as the first use of force by the Arab side, and the confidence that needs to be built is the confidence that this will not happen. In short, destabilizing expectations must be replaced by stabilizing expectations.

Mechanisms for Building Confidence

Any change of this sort must proceed from a change in declaratory posture regarding intentions. Explicit renunciation of the first use of force is clearly a necessary foundation for the process of confidence building. In and of itself, a declaration of this sort cannot really assuage fears, because the very existence of a conflictual relationship causes even the most solemn declarations to be initially discounted. In Israel’s case, scepticism is reinforced by recollections of violations of similar undertakings (i.e., cease-fire and armistice agreements) in the past. Nevertheless, the building of Israeli confidence in Arab intentions must begin from a declared commitment to pursue a peaceful settlement of the conflict through peaceful means, abjuring both the use and the threat of force.

Beyond that, confidence building means intensifying trust in the sincerity and credibility of the Arab commitment while retaining Israel’s self-confidence in its ability to deal with defection. Declaratory posture, if sustained and reiterated over time, can certainly contribute to that process. Jordan, for example, has so consistently emphasized its commitment to a peaceful settlement of the conflict that Israelis have come to take Jordan’s pacific long-term intentions almost for granted, so much so that when Jordanian statements or actions, e.g., hostile propaganda, border incidents, and even participation in Arab war coalitions, appear at variance with that commitment, Israeli analysts are quick to look for mitigating circumstances to explain Jordan’s “reluctant” or “involuntary” belligerency. This stance can be—and is—ascribed to the peculiar character and vulnerabilities of the regime, and there is concern (akin to the apprehensions about future political developments in Egypt) that the Hashemite monarchy and its posture vis-a-vis Israel do not represent Jordan’s “authentic” Arab/Muslim personality, which might emerge if the regime were overthrown. Nevertheless, these concerns do not negate the basic point that perceptions of the adversary’s intentions, even in a continuing state of war, can be influenced significantly by declaratory posture and other CBMs such as direct communications, especially if these measures are seen to conform with the declarer’s vital interests.

At the same time, even the most reassuring statements concerning intentions need to be reinforced by conscious, voluntary measures to constrain capabilities in the military sphere, because only concrete actions of the sort that effectively reduce attack options enhance both types of confidence:

Trust that the adversary intends to do (or not to do) what he says he intends to do (or not to do)—in this case, not to attack; and,

Belief in the ability to deal with the consequences of failure to conform with declared intentions, normally by ensuring preservation of the means to frustrate or at least punish severely any attempted attack.

Thus, Jordan before 1967 buttressed its general posture of nonbelligerency by refraining from stationing armored forces in the West Bank, and Israel was able to monitor compliance with that policy and detect any deviation from it early enough to take countermeasures. In other words, constraints on capabilities reduce the fear of surprise attack because they reduce the possibility of surprise attack, and explicit measures to limit attack options provide a material test, buttressing repetition, by which to evaluate the sincerity of reassuring declarations of nonaggressive intent.

There are, of course, many kinds of CBMs that can convey the earnestness of one’s intention to comply with declared intentions. The most obvious is to provide hostages to good behavior. Long before the term CBM was coined, rulers sent relatives or other high-ranking personages to reside in the court of potential adversaries as tokens of good faith; the expectation was that these emissaries would be killed if their master violated an undertaking to refrain from aggressive action, much the way that one who declares his desire to buy a used car must constrain his future behavior—meaning his ability change his mind frivolously—by leaving a valuable deposit which he forfeits if he fails to fulfill his obligation. It was this logic that led Israel to attach such importance to the reopening of the Suez Canal and the reconstruction of Canal-side cities by Egypt after 1973 and why, not incidentally, it views with such suspicion Syria’s refusal to repopulate Kuneitra after its restoration to Syrian control in 1974, notwithstanding the fact that the cease-fire itself has been scrupulously respected.

However, most discussions of CBMs, especially those inspired by the Helsinki/Stockholm model in Europe, now focus on measures specifically related to the equipment, organization and preparation of armed forces. And it is at this point that conceptual distinctions between arms control and military CBMs can be obscured. For in the sense that its purpose is to enhance stability by promoting the convergence of expectations of non-first use of force by the other side, arms control is confidence building. Yet this objective is pursued by two different routes and arms control is conventionally divided into two categories: structural and operational. The former refers to conscious limitations on the material attributes of a military force, especially the number and types of troops and weaponry, primarily in order to limit the incentive/compulsion to attack first. Most of the more dramatic East-West negotiations, especially in the nuclear sphere (SALT I, SALT II, INF, START), involved this type of arms control, and though the normal rationale was to stabilize mutual deterrence rather than mutual reassurance, the effect of greater confidence that the other side would not attack first (because of a reduced capacity to “get away with it") was precisely the effect sought by CBMs.

However, it was in the latter category that the first major breakthrough was achieved: the Hotline Agreement of 1963.¹³ Operational arms control relates to openness in what might be termed the operating systems and software of military forces: doctrine, operating procedures, intelligence/operational security, deployment, training, and planning. These elements can also be consciously fashioned to discourage worst-case assumptions by providing testable assurances of nonaggressive intentions, specifically, of the intention not to launch a surprise attack. In this case, the purpose is to reduce ambiguity or broaden the margin of tolerable ambiguity by consciously enhancing the adversary’s early warning and increasing the time available for him to prepare, thereby minimizing the prospect that surprise attack could succeed. Since both sides know that the other is better able to deal with an attack, either through defense or retaliation, the measures in question presumably build the confidence of both sides that a surprise attack will not occur.

This objective is pursued in a variety of ways.¹⁴ One assumption driving the case for confidence building through operational arms control is that while camouflage, deception and artifice are good for war fighting, they are bad for war preventing (provided, of course, that what is revealed cannot be exploited by the other side to increase his own offensive capabilities). Many of the practical proposals put forward in this realm therefore relate to transparency, i.e., enhancing each side’s knowledge of what the other is doing or planning to do by purposefully revealing what military forces traditionally try to conceal. Thus, CBMs call for such things as publication of data concerning orders of battle and procurement programs, and prior notification of the time, scale, nature and location of planned troop exercises and weapons tests. Of course, voluntary release of information cannot eliminate suspicions of intentional deception, i.e., suspicion that only reassuring information is being released while information about retained or improved offensive capabilities continues to be concealed, and transparency must also include facilitation of the adversary’s ability independently to verify the accuracy and comprehensiveness of information through physical and electronic observation and inspection. Some associated measures, such as military-to-military contacts, direct communications networks and joint work in crisis control centers, can also contribute to reassurance through socialization, presumably because the dedemonization of the adversary helps to diminish insecurities stemming from worst-case assumptions. Thirdly, reassurance can be given through adoption of certain rules or norms concerning the nonthreatening nature of normal military activities, such as limits on the size of military maneuvers or their proximity to borders and on the trajectories of aircraft training missions and missile tests.¹⁵ In addition, warning time can be increased by physical separation of opposing forces. Indeed, in what is taken to be the established record of CBMs in the Middle East, buffers and demilitarized or limited-forces zones are by far the most familiar and prominent element. Finally, political-military leadership may announce adoption of reassuring changes in military doctrine, although any actual reconfiguration of forces to conform with doctrinal changes will have to await decisions about structural arms control.¹⁶

Arab-Israeli Experience with Military CBMs

All of the above measures were adopted at one time or another during the Cold War between the Soviet Union and the United States. Even the principle of physical separation, seemingly absent in the confrontation between the two blocs in Europe, was implemented in at least one instance: the neutralization of Austria, which reduced the extent of “eyeball-to-eyeball” contact between opposing military forces.

However, except for physical separation (with or without the interposition of third parties), military and political-military CBMs have been less apparent in the Arab-Israeli relationship. From the Arab perspective, reservations about the desirability of CBMs are readily comprehensible. After all, there is a logical contradiction between intense dissatisfaction with the status quo, which has characterized the attitude of most Arabs for most of the period since 1948, and acceptance of measures whose express purpose is to reduce the risks of the status quo, i.e., to make it safer, more stable, and, by extension, more difficult to change. Military CBMs constrain the acquisition or maintenance of offensive military capabilities, political-military CBMs constrain the use of offensive capabilities, and most Arab states have been unwilling to endorse such constraints, however limited actual capabilities may have been and however unpromising the future prospects for acquiring a capability may have been at any given time. Pending the redress of Arab grievances, however defined, most Arabs were particularly determined to avoid explicit, directly negotiated, and publicly acknowledged CBMs, for the same reason that they avoided other forms of direct communication: the implied legitimization of Israel.

However, countervailing concerns have also had an effect on behavior. At any given time, some Arab actors not only wanted to undo what Israel had done in the past; they were also wary of what Israel might do in the future. Furthermore, short-term objectives which indicated acceptance of CBMs often prevailed over long-term aims which implied rejection of the same measures. Thus, the Arab states bordering Israel, notwithstanding their fundamental reluctance, have accepted a variety of military CBMs, particularly in the realm of physical separation. For example, acceptance of both the cease-fire agreements of 1949 (followed by the establishment of UN truce supervision organizations, mixed armistice commissions and several demilitarized zones and pockets of “no-man’s land") and the cease fire in 1956 (followed by creation of a United Nations peacekeeping force in Sinai—UNEF I) were necessitated by Arab fear that continued fighting would only result in even more Arab losses and, in the 1956 case, that refusal to accept the stabilization and confidence building implicit in the UN force would prevent retrieval of the territory overrun by Israeli forces. The same basic considerations came into play in the 1974 Egyptian-Israeli and Syrian-Israeli disengagement of forces agreements.¹⁷

Secondly, reluctance to renounce the war option, in principle, did not make Arab decision makers indifferent to the continuing risk that war might break out through misperception and miscalculation, that is, at a time and in circumstances not of their own choosing. This concern, perhaps reinforced by the more generalized fear of an Israel consistently portrayed as bent on aggression and expansionism, led to the acceptance of some norms that constrained Arab offensive capabilities and could be described as a limited, informal security regime. The Jordanian practice of not posting armored units to the West Bank before 1967 has already been mentioned as one example of a CBM; Syria’s adherence to an informal “red-line agreement” limiting the forms and extent of military intervention in Lebanon after 1976 might well be another.¹⁸

Logic and intuition suggest that Israel, for its part, should be more favorably disposed toward CBMs. After all, it does not see itself as a revisionist power but is intensely suspicious of Arab intentions to change the status quo by military means. Consequently, it should welcome any measures to stabilize military expectations, especially formal ones that imply a degree a political legitimation. In practice, however, Israel’s approach with respect to measures that might detract from its own military capabilities or limit its options—either in the field of structural arms control or of CBMs—can generally be described as guarded and sceptical.¹⁹ Israel has, of course, accepted the physical separation and third-party peacekeeping arrangements that often accompanied the termination of active hostilities, and it did subscribe to informal “rules of the game” in geographically restricted arenas (e.g., south Lebanon). However, most of the constraints described as CBMs in the Arab-Israeli experience actually involved unilateral Arab self-restraint and lacked a clear element of reciprocity. Nor has Israel been very enthusiastic about endorsing multilateral arms control agreements with aims similar to those of CBMs. For example, Israel has refused to sign the Nuclear Nonproliferation Treaty, and only after intensive American pressure was it persuaded, in 1990, to endorse the Missile Technology Control Regime.²⁰

This attitude can be attributed to the set of threat perceptions and responses described as Israel’s “worldview.” But beyond the general mind-set which proscribes self-restraint (lest that signal weakness to the adversary) and prescribes self-reliance in matters of security (because of the unreliability of international agencies), there are concrete, operational concerns with the methods of various CBMs.

There is, for example, some apprehension that measures promoting transparent will have a disproportionately constraining effect on Israel. Because of the secretive nature of regimes like that in Syria, verification will be more difficult than in a more open society like Israel’s, particularly if it depends on third parties. Such suspicions are merely reinforced by revelations about the shortcomings of International Atomic Energy Agency inspections in Iraq. Furthermore, because of asymmetries in force structures, certain types of transparency measures will have a differential impact on actual capabilities even if they are universally observed and verified. Thus, an obligation to provide prenotification of military maneuvers will not impinge on Syrian capabilities or materially affect the threat posed by Syrian standing forces; it is unlikely that advance notice of a large Syrian exercise on the Golan front would reduce Israeli uncertainty or eliminate the need for countermeasures that might further raise tensions and contain the seeds of an escalatory spiral. By contrast, the same obligation may have an adverse effect on Israeli capabilities, at least in the sense that maintaining the effectiveness of its reserve system requires short- or no-warning exercises. Moreover (and notwithstanding the seeming contradiction with the concern about the relative openness of Israeli society), Israeli planners may believe that their superior intelligence capabilities already provide more information about critical issues than Arab intelligence can secure about Israel (and more than all but the most far-ranging and intrusive CBMs would reveal), and that reciprocal transparency would therefore neutralize this advantage. These concerns about verifiability, enforcement and disproportionate impact on capabilities presumably also color attitudes toward rules and norms with respect to routine military activity.

Secondly, measures such as direct military-to-military contacts inspired by the purportedly reassuring impact of socialization are undoubtedly acceptable, indeed welcome, to Israelis eager for any indications of implicit legitimization. However, there is little reason to expect that such measures per se will have a really stabilizing effect. After all, there is already an extensive record of such contacts reaching back to the cease-fires and armistice agreements of the 1948 war; Syrian and Israeli officers maintained ongoing, direct contacts and even established personal friendships well into the 1950s without fundamentally alleviating the mutual hostility and suspicion between their two countries.²¹ Nor did the existence of far more profound personal connections and ideological compatibilities, such as those binding the ruling classes and officer corps in Europe before 1914, prevent the outbreak of a cataclysmic war.

As far as physical separation is concerned, disengagement arrangements have been endorsed on several occasions and the principle is certainly acceptable, particularly if much of the burden for redeployment is borne by the Arabs. In practice, however, attitudes are likely to be a function of the context in which such arrangements are implemented. On the whole, these have not served to build Israeli confidence. To a large extent, physical separation (often with UN or other third-party forces interposed between Israeli and Arab dispositions) has not been a conscious effort at mutual Arab-Israeli reassurance but rather a kind of consolation prize for Israel, given by third parties in the context of imposed cease-fires or territorial pullbacks, in exchange for the strategic gains vis-à-vis the Arabs that might have been secured by continuing the fighting or holding on to territory taken before the cease-fire. Subsequently, moreover, the consolation prize itself was often revealed to be inadequate. Thus, the withdrawal from southern Lebanon and the creation of UNIFIL following the Litani Operation in 1978 did not prevent the emergence of conditions which necessitated (at least in the view of the Likud government) a much larger incursion in 1982. And the withdrawal from Sinai following the Sinai Operation and the creation of UNEF in 1956 did not prevent the emergence of conditions which brought about the 1967 war. It could be argued, of course, that UNEF did not fail completely since it achieved at least one of the purposes of CBMs—using transparency to reduce the possibility of surprise attack. Egypt could not surprise Israel because Israel had to learn of unfolding developments, but what it learned hardly enhanced Israeli confidence. On the contrary, the failure of the mechanism to enforce physical separation and the introduction of Egyptian forces into Sinai, given Israel’s reliance on reserves for its preparedness, made the threat of those forces almost as dangerous as their use.

Finally, the notion of doctrinal reform, such as adoption of a “nonoffensive defense,” is very problematic. Current doctrine is very deeply entrenched, precisely because it is not viewed as one choice among a variety of possible alternatives. Instead, asymmetries in geostrategic data are believed to dictate the outcome. This does not mean doctrine is totally immutable; it might, for example, be altered in response to radical changes in the technological environment. It is, however, highly resistant to conscious change for the purpose of instilling confidence on the other side or even in response to the limited changes in threat perceptions that other limited military CBMs might make possible.

As a result of this complex of concerns, Israel’s attitude toward CBMs has been ambivalent, with approval reserved to very limited measures such as direct contacts that don’t really affect military capabilities at all. Otherwise, Israel (not surprisingly) has only been enthusiastic about constraints which would have the greatest impact in areas of relative Arab advantage. The same logic explains attitudes to specific arms control measures; the agreement which the Arabs have been most reluctant to endorse, the Chemical Weapons Convention, is precisely the one Israel has been most eager to embrace.

In short, risk aversion and caution have prompted Arab states, like the Soviet Union in its relationship with the United States, to exhibit a limited degree of cooperation, expressed in modest military CBMs, without renouncing longer-term aspirations, objectives or views of history compatible with those of the adversary.²² And despite a political posture more compatible with the idea of CBMs, Israel has had serious reservations about their operational implications, i.e., constraints on its own military capabilities. The limited degree of cooperation that emerged has had a decidedly mixed record in terms of advancing the ostensible objectives of CBMs. The institution of various measures did not prevent the outbreak of wars, such as the Six Day War in 1967 and the Syrian-Israeli combat in Lebanon in 1982, which stemmed, at least in part, from miscalculation and inadvertent escalation; nor has it resulted in a psychological environment more conducive to the resolution of the conflict. Indeed, if confidence building measures are defined by their objectives rather than by their technical specifications, there may be grounds for questioning whether the measures constituting the Arab-Israeli experience really qualify as CBMs at all.

It might be postulated that the shortcomings of these CBMs stem from their mechanical insufficiencies, i.e., that they have been too few and too modest. However, that explanation begs the prior question of why more numerous and ambitious measures were not undertaken. The answer to that question would seem to lie in the origin and context of decisions taken—particularly the close connection with active fighting that had taken or seemed on the verge of taking a highly undesirable turn for the Arabs. Most of the CBMs recalled in the Arab-Israeli experience were actually a function of very short-term calculations. Arabs accepted them (or simply did not object to their implementation by third parties) as the price to be paid in order to stop the fighting, and they maintained them for prudential reasons, i.e., as long as they were effectively deterred from defecting, rather than as part of a conscious effort to reassure Israel about nonbelligerent intentions over the longterm; Israel accepted them as partial compensation from third parties for its agreement to stop fighting, but in the face of essentially unchanged threat perceptions, it continued to rely for its security on military deterrence, which inevitably implied an element of threat to the Arabs. In these circumstances, the basic structure of the Arab-Israeli relationship also remained unchanged, and the limited CBMs that were instituted could hardly be anything but insufficient for the larger purposes which CBMs ostensibly serve.

Prospects for Syrian-Israeli CBMs

Until the Israeli-Palestinian and Israeli-Jordanian agreements in September 1993, the major exception to the pattern described above was the second Egyptian-Israeli Disengagement Agreement of 1975. Sinai II was qualitatively different from other CBMs in several ways. It was the only one which was not implemented simultaneously with or directly after the termination of active fighting for the short-term purpose of stabilizing a military standoff; instead, it was consciously formulated as part of a political process intended to culminate in long-term resolution of the conflict. As importantly, it was the only one which explicitly referred to the future intentions of the parties concerning the use of military force. In this sense, Sinai II was not just a military CBM, but a political-military CBM, and its significance lay not so much in the operational constraints on offensive options, especially surprise-attack capabilities (though these were far from inconsequential), but rather in the authoritative disavowals of intention to use force, which the operational constraints reinforced. Sinai II was neither a peace treaty nor a document of strategic surrender. But while it did not incorporate renunciations of further Egyptian claims against Israel, it did codify an Egyptian undertaking not to pursue those claims by military means. As explained by Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, the agreement committed both sides to a peaceful solution of the conflict and “to refrain from use or threat of force or of military blockade."²³

Of course, the undertaking itself could not produce total Israeli confidence that the commitment would be honored. However, the declaratory dimension was indispensable for making possible the ambitious military stabilization measures associated with it and for improving the psychological environment for conflict resolution, which is also a desideratum of CBMs in the kind of relationship obtaining between Israel and the Arabs. The significance of Sinai II is the recognition and explicit acknowledgement that “armed conflict was no longer an effective means of achieving political and strategic objectives."²⁴ This kind of security cooperation/reassurance still falls far short of convergence on political and strategic objectives, but it provides the psychological foundation for movement toward conflict resolution which was beyond the reach of the modest, incremental military CBMs adopted until then.

Sinai II involved a significant, if not entirely irreversible, gamble on the part of President Sadat: renouncing the military option without prior assurance that he would recover all of the territory lost in 1967. It can be argued, of course, that the military option alone was not realistic anyway, and that even as a lever for producing decisive political pressure on Israel it was no more promising than the combination of prods and incentives likely to ensue from what amounted to a declaration of nonbelligerency. Sadat’s action was therefore not a blind leap of faith but rather a calculated risk that conscious reassurance would produce the psychological transformation necessary for resolution of the conflict on minimally acceptable terms. With the benefit of hindsight, it is clear that this risk was fully justified. There is a tendency to view Sadat’s visit to Jerusalem as the dramatic breakthrough—the gestalt shift—in the building of Israeli confidence, and this may well be true in terms of public perceptions. But before the visit could take place, agreement in principle had to be reached at least on the general contours of a settlement. And both chronology and common sense indicate (though it cannot be conclusively proved) that the confidence engendered by the Sinai II political-military CBM was both a necessary and a sufficient condition for this agreement.

Insofar as the prospects for significant Syrian-Israeli CBMs are concerned, the major variable is the extent to which the Egyptian-Israeli pattern, mutatis mutandis, can be replicated. Given Syria’s reluctance to constrain its options or confer even indirect legitimacy before a settlement, and given Israel’s inhibitions stemming from its security doctrine, even a modest expansion of the existing military CBM regime will be very difficult to achieve. Perhaps the most that can be envisaged are extremely limited measures such as a direct military-to-military communications channel, for which there is already a historical precedent. The ability to exchange information might help forestall the emergence of crises from unanticipated directions—the issue of “incidents at sea” springs to mind in this connection—and it could even provide the basis for more-formalized, confidence building institutions, such as a crisis management center, at a later stage. But it would have only a very marginal effect on stabilizing a robust cease-fire that has already passed several severe tests. Furthermore, such measures would only address the problem of the unintended use of force. They would contribute little to the elimination of the insecurities concerning the intended use of force that constitute the most serious obstacles to a political settlement.

For CBMs to have a more profound impact, they must assume the character of a political-military CBM like Sinai II. And for that to be possible, Syria must endorse the conclusion reached by Egypt: that the military option is not viable over the near or long term. Syrian willingness to renounce the threat and use of force depends, to some extent, on its perception that reassurance, military stabilization and an embryonic posture of security cooperation will not be interpreted by Israel as strategic surrender. But it must also be convinced that the current stalemate is undesirable and that there is no reasonable prospect of changing it by any other means.

It is not yet clear that Syria is approaching this point, since the evidence that can be adduced is ambiguous. On the one hand, the Syrian government has entered into direct peace negotiations with Israel and, in contrast to previous practices, it has begun to prepare domestic opinion for the possibility of peace in ways that have been noticed by the Israeli analytical and policy-making communities, if not yet by the general public. From these actions, it is possible to infer that Asad has concluded that international developments such as the Gulf War and the collapse of the Soviet Union have rendered a military option nonviable, and that the need for a “peace dividend” has grown more urgent. On the other hand, Syria continues to host the most radical factions of the PLO, to tolerate if not encourage the activities of Hizbullah in Lebanon, to maintain close ties to Iran, and to pursue a major buildup of military forces; these actions can be explained by Syria’s traditional determination to maintain options as long as possible (especially, as in the case of Iran when there are few more attractive alternatives) and to maximize Syrian influence over other Arab actors, especially in Lebanon. But they may also reflect a calculation that the status quo is not unacceptably painful, as well as a lingering belief that the desire to avert war will still somehow affect Israeli policy with respect to the Golan Heights. Indeed, they may even stem from a hope that some deus ex machina, such as a coup in Moscow and the revival of the Cold War, will once again overturn the international constellation of forces and make possible a reversion to traditional Syrian militancy.

There are a variety of CBMs that Syria could undertake in order to reduce the ambiguity surrounding its policy. Some of these envisage the use of military and paramilitary forces for nonmilitary missions, e.g., cooperation in search-and-rescue or antismuggling operations. The significance of such measures is that they would signal Syria’s inclusion of Israel in the rubric of what Mikhail Gorbachev, in his elaboration of Soviet new political thinking, called “universal human concerns.” Of course, the obstacle to this sort of innovation is the familiar Syrian reluctance to legitimize Israel by ratifying any normalization of relations in advance of a comprehensive settlement.

The same calculus precludes the most rudimentary nonmilitary CBMs, such as the practice of direct communication with the adversary’s population (even for avowedly propagandistic purposes); although attempts to undermine domestic support for the adversary’s official posture have been a feature of almost every other conflictual relationship, especially of ones marked by extreme hostility, Syria’s boycott of Israel has been so absolute that Syrian governments have not even bothered to try misleading or demoralizing, much less reassuring Israeli public opinion. Like other measures potentially available, a Syrian effort to address directly the Israeli public, perhaps through the medium of an interview with Asad by an Israeli journalist invited to Damascus for that purpose, would not constrain Syrian military options, but it would have a perceptible impact on Israeli confidence, if only because of its very novelty. And this sort of initiative might be more feasible precisely because it would be less far reaching (though, for that reason, less potent) than the blanket Egyptian commitment to abstain from the first use of force undertaken by Sadat in 1975.

But even if Syria offered more unequivocal reassurance, in the form of a major political-military CBM similar to Sinai II, it is entirely possible that the impact on Israeli confidence levels would be insufficient to change the basic parameters of the relationship. There is a widespread feeling in Israel that “Syria is not Egypt” and, even more importantly, that “the Golan is not Sinai,” meaning that the geographical conditions are too confined to risk even the interim arrangements that could permit iterative testing and continuous confidence building through incremental learning. At the very least, this difference would therefore appear to dictate even greater gradualism, both in the transition from interim to final-status agreements and the implementation of a final-status agreement. This will be extremely problematic, since the terms of reference for the Israeli-Syrian negotiations begun at Madrid in 1991 essentially collapsed the chronology of the Israeli-Egyptian process; there was no provision for any open-ended interim agreement analogous to Sinai II, and the parties were committed for the outset to negotiate a full-blown peace agreement (albeit one that can be carried out in stages).

The complications posed by geography will also have to be accommodated by the security arrangements of the peace treaty itself. A full treatment of this issue is beyond the scope of the present analysis and it is sufficient for our purposes simply to recall possibilities frequently discussed that were not incorporated into the Israeli-Egyptian treaty: imposition of restraints on the military use, not just of territory evacuated by Israel, but also of additional territory (specifically, in this instance, the area between the Golan Heights and Damascus): and, the interposition of effective third-party (probably American) combat forces.

Despite these complications and qualifications, Sinai II still provides at least a crude road map by which to navigate through the conceptual morass of CBMs in the Syrian-Israeli relationship. It is unlikely that Syria can be coerced into undertaking a Sinai II-type commitment, but it might be induced to do sn, depending on the nature of its inhibitions. If the real obstacle to Syrian reassurance of Israel is either some atavistic cultural/ideological enmity or some diffuse insecurity as proclaimed in earlier stages of the conflict, i.e., the Arabs’ conviction that Israel’s very existence “represented a real threat to their intrinsic, vital interests and national values,” then it is difficult to imagine anything that could allay these concerns.²⁵ If, however, the obstacle is apprehension about concreted Israeli intentions of the political need, given Asad’s innate caution, to link any Syrian reassurances with similar Israeli measures, then it may be possible to surmount this barrier either by exploring through diplomatic channels the feasibility of simultaneous declarations of intent or, in the case of an especially modest Israeli commitment, even by unilateral action.²⁶

It is essential to determine whether or not a catalytic political-military CBM of this sort is possible, because it is clearly necessary. Without something resembling Sinai II, the prospect of altering the psychological framework of the Syrian-Israeli relationship and moving toward the more ambitious objective of a peace agreement involving far-reaching structural arms control and security cooperation seems very remote indeed. Syria and Israel might still be able to adopt some very modest military measures to constrain some options and reduce further the dangers of misperception and inadvertent war. But to expect anything more from such measures is to place a far heavier burden on CBMs than either history or logic permit them to bear.

Notes

1. Alan Dowty, “Confidence and Security Building: The Israeli Domestic Dimension,” in this volume.

2. For example, Mark A. Heller, “Middle East Security and Arms Control,” in The Arab-Isradi Search for Peace, Steven L. Spiegel, ed. (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1992), p. 134.

3. For example, East-West decision making in the Cold War was essentially bilateral, though there was bargaining within the two blocs, while the Arab-Israel conflict involves multilateral relationships and decision-making centers; Israel has faced a multiplicity of serious threats while the United States really only had to deal with one. For more on these differences, see John Marks, “A Helsinki-Type Process in the Middle East,” in Spiegel, The Arab-Israeli Search for Peace, pp. 71–72.

4. M.Z. Diab, “A Proposed Security Regime for an Arab-Israeli Settlement,” in Spiegel, The Arab-Israeli Search for Peace, p. 165.

5. Interview with CNN, rebroadcast by SANA, cited in BBC, Survey of World Broadcasts, ME/1215 (29 October 1991), p. A/2.

6. Indeed, this empirical record has led at least one analyst to suggest, perhaps perversely, that there are elements of the Middle East experience from which Europe could learn. David Barton, “The Sinai Peacekeeping Experience: A Verification Paradigm for Europe,” World Armaments and Disarmament: SIPRI Yearbook 1985 (London: Taylor and Francis, 1985), pp. 541–562.

7. See, for example, Kevin N. Lewis and Mark A. Lorell, “Confidence-Building Measures and Crisis Resolution: Historical Perspectives,” Orbis, 28, no. 2 (summer 1984), pp. 281–306.

8. Hence, nonmilitary CBMs on their own neither enhance nor diminish confidence in the likelihood of an attack by the adversary. Perhaps the most dramatic nonmilitary CBM in the Arab-Israeli context was the visit to Israel by Egyptian President Sadat in November 1977. But at least one high-level Israeli official—the IDF chief of staff—insisted that the impending visit was actually a trick aimed at lulling Israel into a false sense of confidence and urged a higher state of military alert. Anwar el-Sadat, In Search of Identity (New York: Harper & Row, 1978), p. 309.

9. Israel’s fears in this regard exactly mirror the hopes of domestic, Arab and Islamic enemies of Egyptian policy since the 1970s.

10. For a much more elaborate analysis on which this discussion draws, see Ariel Levite, Offense and Defense in Israeli Military Doctrine, JCSS Study No. 12 (Tel Aviv: Jaffee Center for Strategic Studies, 1989).

11. Emanuel Wald, Kilelat Ha-Kelim Ha-Shvurim [The Curse of the Broken Vessels] (Tel Aviv: Schocken, 1987).

12. For a good elaboration of Israel’s version of the security dilemma, see Michael Mandelbaum, The Fate of Nations (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 254–266.

13. For an account of the road to the agreement, see William L. Ury, Beyond the Hotline: How Crisis Control Can Prevent Nuclear War (New York: Penguin Books, 1986).

14. The variety of possible measures is described in greater detail by Thomas Hirschfeld, “Mutual Security Short of Arms Control,” and Yair Evron, “Confidence Building in the Middle East,” in Arms Control in the Middle East, JCSS Study No. 15, Dore Gold, ed. (Tel Aviv: Jaffee Center for Strategic Studies, 1990).

15. For some suggested missile-related CBMs, see Mark A. Heller, “Coping with Missile Proliferation in the Middle East,” Orbis, 35, no. 1 (winter 1991), pp. 26–28.

16. For a detailed discussion of the Soviet doctrine of “nonoffensive” or “defensive defense,” see Stephen M. Meyer, “The Sources and Prospects of Gorbachev’s New Political Thinking,” International Security, 13, no. 2 (fall 1988), pp. 124–163.

17. These measures are reviewed in Indar Jit Rikhye, “The Future of Peacekeeping,” in Conflict Management in the Middle East, Gabriel Ben-Dor and David B. Dewitt, eds. (Lexington: Lexington Books, 1987), pp. 261–268.

18. For more on Syrian-Israeli relations with respect to Lebanon, see, Itamar Rabinovich, “Controlled Conflict in the Middle East: The Syrian-Israeli Rivalry in Lebanon,” in Ben-Dor and Dewitt, Conflict Management, pp. 97—111; and, Zvi Lanir, The Israeli Involvement in Lebanon—Precedent for an “Open Game” with Syria?, CSS Study No. 10 (Tel Aviv: Center for Strategic Studies, September 1980) [Hebrew].

19. On Israeli attitudes toward arms control, see Ariel Levite, “Israel’s Security Conception and its Attitude Toward Arms Control,” in Gold, Arms Control, pp. 124–131.

20. Even then, the military censor tried to prevent publication of Israel’s decision. Alum Ben, “Even-Pina Le-Vni’at Imun [A Comer Stone in Confidence Building],” Ha-Aretz (26 January 1993), p. B2.

21. Arye Shalev, Shituf Pe’ulah B’Tzel Imut [Cooperation Under the Shadow of Conflict] (Tel Aviv: Ma’arachot, 1989).

22. For an elaboration of this minimalist interpretation of cooperation between the superpowers, see Joseph S. Nye, Jr., “Nuclear Learning and U.S.-Soviet Security Regimes,” International Organization, 41, no. 3 (summer 1987), pp. 376–378.

23. The Quest for Peace: Principal United States Public Statements and Related Documents on the Arab-Israeli Peace Process 1967–1983 (United States Department of State, 1984), p. 62.

24. Brian S. Mandell, “Anatomy of a Confidence-Building Regime: Egyptian-Israeli Security Cooperation,” International Journal, 45, no. 2 (spring 1990), p. 203.

25. Diab, “A Proposed Security Regime,” p. 160.

26. At the risk of reductionism, the problem may be described as building Syrian confidence in the advisability of undertaking a more ambitious political-military CBM. To pave the way for a Sinai II type of agreement, Israel might propose some kind of intermediate measure. One possibility, which implies reciprocity while avoiding the tricky (for Syria) issue of equivalent legitimacy, might be a commitment by both sides not to use Lebanese territory for military attacks against the territory of the other.

5
The Role of Extremist Political Groups in the Context of Confidence Building Between the Israelis and Palestinians

Noemi Gal-Or

There they stood, on the fringes of the Middle East peace conference today, an Israeli and a Palestinian, with nothing but history and a television camera between them.

"You are not a threat to me,” the Israeli said.

"If I’m not a threat to you,” said the Palestinian, “why are you abusing me? I want you to respect my identity as a Palestinian. I have a right to dignity."

The Israeli answered, ‘I accept your right to define yourself as you want. And I demand the right to define myself anyway I want to."

And so it went, with neither man saying what the other wanted to hear.¹

The Theoretical Framework ²

Confidence building measures (CBMs) are primarily designed to avoid disruptive behavior and occurrences, particularly in the context of a conflictual relationship. By focusing on the prevention of tension, CBMs function, as trust builders, their importance lying in the preparation of conditions necessary to effect change in the status quo. Thus, they are progressive as opposed to conservative. Confidence building consists in the receiving and giving of trust. It requires a commitment to trust with the unavoidable corollary of a commitment to take risks.³ This, consequently, implies the importance of sufficient control over the factors which would otherwise be expected to generate undesirable outcomes. In some cases, this task is compromised by uncertainty, generated by little familiarity with the adversary. The present chapter, however, will address the difficulties involved in establishing such control in an environment where the actors are already well acquainted with each other: the opponents to the peace process between the Israelis and the Palestinians.

Although confidence building stands as a category in itself separate and distinct from conflict resolution, it cannot be overlooked that the opponents to resolution are by definition also putting obstacles on the road to mutual trust. Moreover, the purpose of preventing a resolution impels antagonists not to spare any effort in undermining even the feeblest chance for confidence to form. Consequently, escalation of the conflict becomes the ultimate aim of the rejectionists.

Three important dimensions consisting of conditions for success in confidence building have been discussed in chapter 1 of this collection and belong to the realm of political culture: the cognitive dimension consisting of the knowledge of the other as well as of self-knowledge (referred to as confidence in oneself); the affective dimension which is very closely linked to prejudice, and involves beliefs and attitudes about the self and the other (individual and collective); and, the evaluative dimension consisting of two main components: intentions and capacities. This refers to the evaluation of the will and the intentions of the other, and to estimates regarding the other’s capability to deliver and fulfill agreements faithfully.

Although necessary, the three dimensions alone are insufficient to secure success in confidence building. Structural conditions relating to social interaction are also important on the macrosocial level, and in the majority of contemporary political systems, trust and confidence must expand beyond the inter-elite dynamics. Establishing and then preserving confidence relies on elite as well as mass relations. It must prevail in inter-elite, inter-mass, and elite-mass relations (though with varying degrees of importance regarding the domestic and international levels). Still, while inter-elite trust is not enough, in itself, to build confidence, it will nevertheless constitute the foundation for establishing confidence in the inter-mass as well as elite-mass frameworks. Seen from the pluralist perspective, different kinds of groups maintain a different rapport for confidence building. The state, which is ambivalent in nature—a repressive apparatus to ensure internal order and to control external boundaries—understands confidence in terms other than those employed by social movements which possess singular methods to ensure compliance.⁴ At the microsocial level, confidence building depends on the interaction between individuals and the group. The distrust of a single individual amidst a group of a trusting majority could produce detrimental and contagious effects and generate insecurity and doubt about the confidence established.

The challenge confronting Israelis and Palestinians in the course of confidence building lies precisely in the intricacy of such relationships and in the complexity of the conditions for success. This establishes a “double test” which consists of mutually supplementary elements, one of which is the creation of inter-elite and elite-mass confidence. The other element concerns the overriding of drawbacks originating from emotional reactions and overreactions, and the subduing of them into rationality. In other words, the knowledge of the self and of others (i.e., of the limitations of power and opportunities of both Israeli and Palestinians, and realistic appraisals of future developments and political zones of action), must override prejudice-based xenophobia and intolerant communitarian solidarity. Prejudice, to be sure, is the backbone of the rejectionist thrust in extremist activity. Overcoming it, therefore, is necessary to enable the elites to disseminate whatever mutual confidence they have established and to have it permeate the elite-mass and inter-mass relations.

Although necessary for CBMs to shape, social-structural as well as cognitive, affective and evaluative conditions do not address the problem in full. We must also look at the range of topics which determine the substance of the conflict and the time dimension which affects their nature. It has been argued that the Arab-Israeli conflict (the Palestinian-Israeli conflict included) can no longer be referred to as a zero-sum game. While correct with regard to the Egyptian-Israeli and Jordanian-Israeli conflicts, and even to a considerable extent with regard to some Palestinian-Israeli mutual perceptions, such observation is inaccurate and does not apply to those actors on each side who keep rejecting any “normalization” in the relations between both people. The profundity of distrust embedded in nationalist ideologies and in religious convictions implies that any CBM will have to address separate, constituent issues. Also, CBMs must allow for a protracted time span during which confidence will have to be built. Consequently, technical-structural constraints which relate to the strategy of confidence building and depend on the passage of time are of equal and critical importance. Calculating and deciding at each stage whether to opt for small or big steps⁵ is one such challenge. Another is assessing the ensuing impact on various target publics. To be sure, misjudging or ignoring a certain target population could easily render well-wishing efforts into counterproductive disasters.⁶

Clearly, the above list of conditions of CBMs is conceivable only at a theoretical level. In order to practically analyze CBMs however, a multivariable and multidimensional approach is imperative. The nature of trust and confidence building is one in which the constituent factors (cultural, social-structural, time and range, and technical-structural) are too closely intertwined to be addressed separately.⁷ Consequently, while the role of those engaged in CBMs is extremely complicated, the role performed by the extremists is comparatively simple and clear, even if extremely crucial.

The study of the role of extremist political groups in CBMs must deviate from the traditional conceptual format. The conventional discourse on CBMs was developed in the unique political context of super-power rivalry. Confidence had to be established among adversaries represented by their legitimate governments and CBMs therefore highlighted the formal, official and, in particular, institutional levels of interaction. Similarly, hostility was monolithic and homogeneous since it took place between states which were equal parties to a conflict.⁸

Extremists within rejectionist political groups among Israelis and Palestinians in Israel, the West Bank and Gaza constitute a special category within the conventions of the conceptual framework of CBMs and CSBMs (confidence and security building measures) as developed in the East-West context. First, in the broader context the relationship, it can hardly be qualified as one of equality. Although it is a conflict between two peoples, the discrepancy in the level of institutionalization of the respective political systems reveals a substantial asymmetry of a state versus a national liberation movement.⁹ Second, discussing the extremist groups within each of these communities moves the discussion further down the scale of analysis. Unlike the actors in the familiar CBMs discourse, some of the extremists in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict are neither formally institutionalized within their societies nor do they represent the majority of the public to which they belong. As activists within political movements and organizations (pressure groups, interest groups) they do not form part of a general consensus, even if legitimized by and speaking for certain sectors within society. Notwithstanding, they are frequently tolerated by sectors of society not represented by them (e.g., tolerating Muslim fundamentalists within Palestinian society, and Jewish nationalist settlers within Israeli society).

Furthermore, and despite the fact that the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is characterized by intense hostility between the two communities,¹⁰ protracted interaction between both peoples (particularly since the Six Day War) has produced cracks within the monolithic wall of hostility. In a certain sense, it is possible to talk of a “pluralism in hostility” having been generated by the frequency and heterogeneity of contacts between the Israelis and Palestinians. Following the same line of argument, the state of mutual confidence which has been fluctuating on a continuum ranging from absolute distrust to reserved confidence can be described as “fragmented confidence.” Thus, what would appear as fertile ground for confidence to build on, is nevertheless extremely fragile and challenged by extremist resistance of rejectionist actors who refuse to bend to the imperatives of official and formal (as well as informal) policies. Unlike “traditional” CBMs and CSBMs in which attention focuses on the main actors and promotes confidence either by action or inaction, in the Israeli-Palestinian case efforts will have to focus as well on prevention of actions and the neutralization of secondary actors whose actions are deliberately designed to sabotage trust.

Both the anticipated and the unexpected behaviors of extremists are looming to discredit any fragile confidence already established among sectors of the public either through official policy or as individual endeavours. CBMs will have to be applied internally as well as to various external publics. In this sense, “conventional” CBMs and CSBMs such as those worked out in Helsinki and Stockholm,¹¹ and in the superpower relations in matters of disarmament and arms control (focusing on verification, transparency, early notification, information measures, constraining inspection, movements and maneuvers) as well as general rapprochement in security affairs seem a separate arena altogether. Since there is no question of large armies escalating into war,¹² the impediments to Palestinian-Israeli confidence building lie in the incremental psychological effect rather than in physical damage. The task of CBMs will hence involve preemptive and reactive approaches consisting of a variety of actions, tangible and intangible, targeting the subtle psychological fabric of society.

Who Are the Extremists?

Any discussion of extremism is necessarily an exercise in relativism: what seems extreme to one party is considered trivial by the other. Any discussion of political extremism imposes the normative labeling of ideologies and a judgment of the means to be applied to make the ideology come true. At times, the values promoted by the political ideology conflict with those relating to the means. In such cases, it is the political context within which the acts are carried out that renders them either commonplace or extreme.

The political and security context of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict provides such an example. The asymmetry between the two peoples in political organization (i.e., sovereign state versus movement of national self-determination), in sociopolitical and economic relations (i.e., occupier versus occupied, and minority within majority in Israel), and the degree of civic tradition experienced within each of the communities (i.e., a parliamentary democracy in Israel, a parliament in exile and contending political centers of power within the Palestinian community in Israel, the territories and the diaspora) make it impossible to distinguish a common denominator for “extremism.” Theories of political development, revolution, radicalism and the transitional period before consolidation of power, and decolonization may suggest guidelines for explanation. Still, as the following discussion will show, attaching the label of extremism to political groups remains to a large extent a matter of choice rather than academic rigor.

A process of rapprochement has been evolving, based on almost routine meetings between Israelis and Palestinians with the purpose of narrowing the political gap separating them and overcoming mutual intransigence. While meetings between high-ranking officials have not yet become public, the multitude of conferences and conventions (usually taking place in Europe, but also in Israel) between Israeli and Palestinian members of social and political movements have become a matter of routine. Throughout the years, these encounters have evolved from a forum of mutual nonrecognition and vocal and angiy exchanges, into mild and well-wishing meetings where a myriad of issues were resolved by agreement. Confidence in a certain routine (perhaps agreed-upon rules of the game) has been established between a sector within the Israeli elite (left wing, intellectuals and professionals) and the Palestinian elite (of similar social background), and apart from heavily loaded, ideological disagreements (such as the future of Jerusalem, the Right of Return and paragraphs within the Palestinian Covenant), many participants have suggested that if it depended only on them, an agreement in principle could easily be within reach. It has thus been realized for some time (and explicitly stated so by the Israeli Left¹³) that rather than the outside enemy, it is the rejectionists from within who undermine rapproachment. Unfortunately, the key to arriving at a compromise, let alone confidence building, does not lie with the unofficial peace activists on either side. It is the political leadership which must carry the flag and draw the rest of society into the circle of trust.

Various expressions of mutual denial (Arabs not recognizing Israel’s existence as well as it right to exist; Israel not recognizing the existence of a Palestinian people nor the Palestine Liberation Organization as their legitimate representative¹⁴) have comprised a permanent feature of the conflict, making Israeli and Palestinians willingness to engage in a peace process—not the familiar reaccentuated rejectionism—a new phenomenon.¹⁵ Rejection has always enjoyed some attractiveness upon which rejectionists could rely when they needed to mobilize support.¹⁶ Such was the case under the rule of the Likud government, and particularly during the early years of the intifada, as more Israelis grew hostile to Palestinians. A similar attitude characterized Palestinian society roughly until 1973, and resurged during the uprising when the majority of Palestinians became increasingly disillusioned with their Arab brethren.¹⁷ The rejection of the peace process has not been confined to marginal sectors within the population. It has been shared by a considerable number of the public represented by respectable public figures holding influential positions of power.

Rejectionism, of course, is an important impediment to confidence building once leaders have declared their readiness to undertake such an endeavor. The crucial obstacle, however, does not lie in rejectionism itself as much as in its mode of expression—the specific methods which are applied by rejectionists in order to advance their interests. In the Israeli-Palestinian conflict they consist of illegal (some would qualify also semilegal) behavior ranging from vigilante activity by Jewish settlers against Palestinians, Palestinian guerrilla activities and terrorism, and Jewish terrorism, to Palestinian solipsistic violence.¹⁸

On the Israeli side, rejectionist political groups sanctioning extremism (implicitly and explicitly) comprise the settlement movement including parts of Gush Emunim (the Bloc of the Faithful); Moetzet Yesha (the Council of the Settlements in Judea, Samaria and Gaza—a quasi-representative body of Gush Emunim); Amana (meaning covenant, which is the settlement-building organization of Gush Emunim); the Koch movement, and other small, radical and messianic (some of them ad hoc) organizations such as Hashmonaim, Maccabitn, Medinat Yehuda, etc. The convergence of the political movements with political parties and some overlappings in membership made it difficult at times to identify where public and popular activity ends and governmental policy starts. Rejectionism has not been an extraparliamentary attitude only, and the history of the nonestablishment organizations clearly reflects this.

Gush Emunim, the most vocal rejectionist movement which has also produced the most extremist activists, has its origins in the small group of disciples of Rabbi Zvi Yehuda Kook, former head of the Jerusalem Merkaz Harav Yeshiva. The events of the Six Day War, particularly the conquest of the old city of Jerusalem and the return to the Wailing Wall, were interpreted by the group as a divine revelation. It thus formed the core of a powerful messianic, fundamentalist-nationalist movement, which first organized within the religious-political establishment, spearheaded by the National Religious Party (Mafdal) to be followed by Labor Movement activists setting up the Land of Israel Movement (Hatenua Lemaan Eretz Yisrael Hashlema). Right-wing political parties forming in subsequent years added leverage and support. The Kadi movement, founded and led by Rabbi Meir Kahane (later a political party represented in the Knesset), had its roots in Kahane’s Jewish Defense League (JDL), an American Jewish radical group.¹⁹

The Shock Committees, the Black Panther, and the Hamas (the Islamic Resistance Movement), the Islamic Jihad (Islamic Holy War) and the Fateh run Troups of the Islamic Jihad who surged as important actors during the intifada and have been operating mainly within the territories; but also traditional Leftist rejectionist organizations like the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP) and the Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine (DFLP), form the rejectionist groups professing extremist activity within the Palestinian camp.

The Hamas has its origins in the Muslim Brotherhood organization in Gaza which until 1967 was administered from its Egyptian headquarters but became affiliated after the war with the organization’s headquarters in Jordan. Known since 1977 as the Islamic Association (Al-Mujama)—a legally registered nonprofit organization active in Gaza—it became the Hamas in 1987, the year marking the beginning of the intifada. It thus originates in a larger, well-founded and well-known movement operating throughout the Arab world since 1920. The Muslim Brotherhood took an active part in the Arab-Israeli conflict already prior to the founding of the state of Israel and voluntary recruits from various national branches participated in the invasion of Israel which launched the 1948 war (Yasser Arafat was one of those fighters). The organization was also responsible for the assassination of Egyptian President Anwar Sadat.

Representing a significantly smaller public and hence weaker in terms of legitimacy and popular support is the rival organization called Islamic Jihad which was founded in 1980 by two Palestinian intellectuals from Gaza, one of them starting his political activity within the Muslim Brotherhood. Set up as a militant group right from its initiation, the armed struggle has figured as an integral part of the organizations’ strategy. Its mobilization potential was particularly high among prisoner activists incarcerated in Israeli jails. In the past the Islamic Jihad used to cooperate with the Fateh in paramilitary and terrorist activities.²⁰ Similarly, but less important and powerful were the Shock Committees and the Black Panther which consisted of small paramilitary cells, passing episodes of the intifada which had their raison d’être in enforcing and imposing public adherence to the “rules’” of the uprising. While foremostly serving as role models for harassing the Israeli forces through violence, these groups should be understood as actors opposed to Israeli occupation rather than to a peace settlement.

The organizations listed above, are on both Israeli and Palestinian sides, distinguished from other political groups involved in the conflict in their rejection of the peace process and their opting for violence as a means of protest. So far, peace activists on the Israeli side have not underlined their position through recourse to violence against opposing groups, and the Israeli allegations against Palestinian moderates about incitement to violence have remained unsubstantiated.

The Goals of the Extremists and the Objectives of Violence

Both Israeli and Palestinian extremists have pursued exclusionist ideologies which deny the right of national self-determination within the territory stretching from the Mediterranean Sea to the Jordan river.²¹ They are hence engaged in a zero-sum game.

Israeli Extremism

Confronted with a revitalized peace process, the hard core within the Jewish settler population (composed of fundamentalist messianic and nationalist activists and zealously supported by radical right-wingers—secular as well as religious orthodox), is intent to undermine any efforts designed to institutionalize Palestinian authority within the territories.²² Israeli extremists have been motivated by their desire to preserve the status quo, or possibly, to alter it so that full Israeli sovereignty be extended over the territories. This would lead to the partial materialization of Jewish revival within the Greater Land of Israel. Furthermore, and in addition to ideological motivation, economic reasoning has operated as a substantial driving force. Over the past twenty-five years, a great number of Israelis have accumulated considerable possessions and an impressive battery of economic privileges (the control of which has been translated into political power). Preserving these resources has become a concern to a vast pool of followers who could be mobilized politically in due time.

Israeli rejection has been articulated on two levels: (1) the process of political debate and declarations, and (2) violent activity. This separation has been at times merely theoretical (even artificial) since verbal threats and declarations of intention were often used to set the stage for more radical action. Accordingly, even governmental policies, when permissively interpreted by the extremists, have formed part of the preparation, or incitement, to extremist behavior. Such a course of events has indeed characterized the regime of the Likud government for quite a long time. From the Israeli extremists’ point of view, violence has traditionally served two purposes. Through vigilantism and terrorism, extremist Israeli political groups have attempted to pressure the government to give in to their political demands as well as to consolidate their political leverage within political institutions. Their activities have also been oriented towards their in-group, designed to create an atmosphere which invite hesitant elements to follow suit. Finally, violence has been directed against the neighboring Palestinian population to serve as a means of punishment and deterrence.

Setting the stage for an escalation from harassment to overt violence was the often unspoken, though explicit laissez-faire attitude towards the extreme Right in the territories. It fell on fertile ground and the opportunities were seized immediately. The aggressive settlement policy has provided the clearest example, particularly if considering that the act of settlement itself has been perceived by Palestinians as an act of violence that has often resulted in the physical removal or political subjugation of Palestinians collectivity. Radical nationalist settlers felt encouraged to require freedom of action as well as the privilege of a unique interpretation of the law, claiming it to be their right and consequently, the obligation of the authorities. This claim was highlighted by the establishment of new settlements on spots where settlers sacrificed their lives in the course of their struggle for the common ideal. Undoubtedly, the messages signaled by the authorities did encourage extremism. Illegalism in form of raiding Palestinian homes, setting up road barricades for the purpose of searches, shooting in the casbah of Hebron and elsewhere, and vandalism in Palestinian villages; Jewish terrorism and the hasty pardoning of the terrorists by a sympathizing government—all have turned the territories into a “Wild West” arena. In this sense, official connivance and lack of intervention to either prevent or stop such activities, have been tantamount to declaring the field as free game. In terms of confidence building, the last decade (and beyond) has witnessed a reality that definitely runs counter to the generation of trust.

The protracted process of undermining confidence benefited from elite cooperation on a broad scale. Government and public figures from the Right, from the Likud and the further-Right political parties have coalesced with sectors from the Center—the Labor party, religious parties, the religious establishment (the rabbis), and (to a certain extent, during a particular period) the army.²³ It would be redundant to describe how profoundly this jeopardized confidence building among Israelis and Palestinians²⁴ and how, in contrast, confidence reigned in the relations among the Israeli elites, as well as between the settler movement and the majority of the right-wing constituency. The rest of the public—the silent majority—remained either alienated, or indifferent.²⁵

The long-lasting cohesion of self-confidence must be explained by the constant and profound distrust felt towards the opponent, the Palestinian enemy. Each Palestinian terrorist attack, whether sporadic or systematic, has heightened tension and inflamed emotions. Hatred and xenophobia have escalated and raced to reach record highs. While the burning of the body of the Palestinian terrorist who commited the assault in Beit-She’an in the mid 1970s represented an exception and was deplored by politicians and the public alike, only ten years later, the clear regression in tolerance was expressed in vandalism, vigilantism, and terrorism which became the order of the day. Exalted by Kahane’s agitation during the mid-1980s and by repetitive motions in the Knesset which called to amend the law regarding capital punishment for terrorists, the public has slowly freed itself from the need for provocateurs. The recent Bat-Yam riot (1992) which followed the stabbing death of a school girl set forth one more example of this process.

Assisted by Palestinian rejectionism and encouraged through extremism which was characterized by protracted periods of intensive terrorist activity, Israeli distrust has been nurtured actively, deliberately, and consistently. This has resulted in enhancing a primordial sense of confidence in the in-group, leading to an increased tolerance of radicalism against the enemy. Efforts undertaken mainly by the Left, “equipped"’ with cognitive knowledge of the Palestinian situation, have so far failed to sooth the emotional aftershocks resurging and radiating with every new attack. Old stereotypes and beliefs succeeded in overriding rational arguments. Not surprising, the next step consisted in rearriving at the conclusion that the Palestinians were neither willing to nor capable of delivering.

An important outcome of the last elections was the erosion in the symbiotic relationship among the Israeli elites and the undermining of confidence between the elites and the extreme Right.²⁶ The Right’s privilege of spearheading and setting the direction for the government to follow has now been removed. A patronizing attitude towards the army would therefore have to be limited if not abandoned altogether. Driven into dire straights, rejectionists have soon found themselves pressured to cater to public opinion by trying to reconstruct the image of internal cohesion. Success will depend on their ability to avoid alienating the public but they could achieve it by combining propaganda and political bargaining with violence against Palestinians.

Distrust of the Palestinians is a major pillar in the strategy of Israel’s rejectionists (including the extremists). Threatened by the setting in motion of the peace process as early as shortly after the Gulf War, they (Tehiya, Tsomet, Moledet, and Mafdal parties and Kach, Gush Emunim movements and Moetzet Yesha and Amana) immediately declared war on the Palestinian autonomy plan. The strategy has consisted of a combination of political parliamentary and extraparliamentary activities, both within the confines of the law and outside of it, as illegal violent activity. Based on a generally deep distrust against Palestinians, activists have counted on widespread public endorsement. Such self-confidence explains why Benny Katsover, a prominent settler, felt safe to publicly declare and threaten that if Palestinians were to be granted autonomy in housing matters, he along with his supporters would retaliate by demolishing their houses.²⁷ In practice, however, such activity will have to draw into conflict precisely those bodies with which the extremists would like to avoid clashing. Challenged in its duty to secure law and order, the government would face a situation where the alternative could be either the protection of Palestinians and prosecution of Jewish extremists, or permission to the extremist to create chaos within the territories. Clearly, CBMs designed to soothe the settler community and the Israeli public on the one hand, and CBMs targeting the Palestinian community on the other, would cancel each other out.

Palestinian Extremism

Unlike their Israeli counterparts the Palestinian extremists have been driven by a desire to change the status quo and return all of Palestine to the Palestinians. The Islamic wing among the extremists has professed the further-reaching goal of integrating the future Palestine within an overall Middle Eastern Islamic regime. According to the Hamas (which has been leading the opposition to the peace process and enjoying the support from satellites among the Israeli Islamic Movement²⁸) Palestine belongs exclusively to the Muslim community, therefore an Islamic government must be restored within all the territories it used to rule in the past from the Indian Ocean to Spain.²⁹

The secular Palestinian rejectionists (DFLP, PFLP) have emphasized the exclusivity of Palestine as the national home of the Palestinians only, denying the right of Israel to exist. Their support has been nurtured by the political and economic deprivation and exploitation of Palestinians residing in the territories and in the Arab diaspora. (To a lesser extent, they have also been backed by nationalists from within the Israeli sector of the Palestinian society.)

Palestinians are accustomed to pointing out what they perceive as striking similarities between the Israelis and themselves. This is undoubtedly correct with regard to mutual lack of confidence. Palestinians cast doubt on Israel’s sincerity and ability to accommodate some of the basic concerns of Palestinians, such as national self-determination and equality—their ultimate sine qua non for reaching a peace settlement. Disbelief in Israel’s earnestness has been deeply ingrained across the various sectors of the Palestinian society. It has counterweighed the impact of the divisive factors revolving around ideological controversies as well as the debate concerning the strategy and tactics to be applied in the struggle for Palestinian self-determination.

To be sure, as in the cases of other peoples who have struggled for national liberation, the PLO has suffered from problems in ensuring internal cohesion.³⁰ Consequently, self-confidence in the ability to convey the impression of a committed, rational actor capable of delivering has been lacking. And despite the fact that over the years a growing number of actors within the Palestinian movement have abandoned the rejectionist and extremist stance, this handicap still remains. In fact, movements loyal to their original rejectionist posture have succeeded in increasing mobilization and support. The Islamic fundamentalist groups, in particular the Hamas and the Islamic Jihad have been on the rise, their impact enhanced by the work of the PFLP and the DFLP. Categorically rejecting any compromise with Israel, they have naturally been rigorously opposed to the peace process.³¹

Violence carried out by extremist Palestinian groups has had both Israel-oriented³² as well as solipsistic purposes.³³ On the one hand, it was directed at disrupting Israeli day-to-day life and demonstrating that the continuation of the status quo would require an intolerable cost. On the other hand, it was sought to raise Palestinian morale by exhibiting constant activity (in contrast to past passivity) and the ability to inflict harm, not only absorb it, upon the vulnerable Israeli enemy. Violence has been used as a means to determine power relations within, and rule over, the local Palestinian community and diaspora by deterring and punishing deviation and noncompliance. And alongside organized extremist activity came individual terrorism carried out sporadically by individuals acting on their own, adding to the disruptive effect on confidence building. The unanticipated and uncontrollable nature of such behavior has been looming as a threat over Israeli-Palestinian relations, discouraging Israelis from developing confidence in Palestinians either as individuals or as a collectivity. The atmosphere has been deteriorating with the spillover of the struggle launched by Palestinian extremists to encourage Israeli-Palestinians ripe to engage in violence.³⁴ An extremely unusual attack was recently carried out when Jewish soldiers asleep in a military base were assassinated by Israeli-Palestinians.

Both Israeli and Palestinian extremists are out to sabotage the peace process. They have been engaged in a race against the clock trying to halt it, at least to restore the status quo if not to further escalate and deteriorate the conflict. In this context, extremism has become a warning not only to the in-group and the adversary, but also a clear signal to the mediating actors whether Arab (Egypt, Arab League) or foreign (United States, Europeans), and international organizations (United Nations, European Communities). In fact, acts by Israeli and Palestinian extremists have coincided as if to cooperate, for the same reasons and with similar strategy and tactics albeit guided by contradictory goals. The primary target is confidence; the primary method—violence. Being a rare commodity in the Palestinian-Israeli bargaining process, confidence—the main asset to build on—appears as the soft belly. Any act of violence creates psychological repercussions which proportionally far exceed the physical effect. Thus, despite the fact that numerous and powerful factors are at work to make a peace settlement come true, undermining confidence through extremism—in the right place, at the right time—might prove more powerful.

The Current Political and Security Context

The role played by the extremist groups must be measured against the political and security context in which they act and this context has recently changed radically: whatever drawbacks and reservations, the relations between Israelis and Palestinians are now characterized by mutual recognition and overt and direct diplomatic communication. The Israeli assent to directly negotiate with a (Jordanian/) Palestinian delegation in the framework of the peace process (a recognition following the Palestinian implied recognition of Israel in 1988) has set the ground for a change in the parameters of the conflict. Despite the de jure rejection and the nonrecognition, the Israeli government has been quite aware of its de facto consent to any contacts with the PLO. This reorientation did not inflict harm on internal confidence as proven in the overwhelmingly popular endorsement the Israeli government received from the public to go to the peace conference in Madrid and to continue its participation in the peace process thereafter. The impact of the recognition was reflected also in the boost to Palestinian self-esteem and self-confidence, finally being able to consider themselves independent from Arab tutelage and as equal parties to the peace process.

Such a turnabout could not have happened without the unfolding of a set of crucial international and domestic events. And the same events which have paved the way for the changes to materialize have also turned extremists’ activity more urgent. The first set of events relates to the new world order arising from the aftermath of the eastern revolutions and the demise of the Soviet Union. These occurrences had a triple impact on the Arab-Israeli conflict including the Israeli-Palestinian relations. First, Israel ceased being a precious card in the bipolar game and her strategic value for the United States has consequently been diminishing. Despite occasional election interruptions this new situation seems to reflect a long-lasting trend. Still, while losing the special “ally” status characterizing Israel-American relations, Israel has been busy institutionalizing its status as an ordinary and accepted member within the family of states. This was underlined in the overtures on the part of the new East European and ex-Soviet states, as well as in the recognition granted by past unfriendly states such as China and India which have traditionally and exclusively sided with the Arab cause.

While the dwindling Israeli advantages in special treatment by the United States have represented an Arab net gain³⁵ the other developments could be interpreted as a net loss to the Arab countries including the PLO. With the closing of the chapter on a long-lasting special relationship with the anti-Israeli Communist and nonaligned states, some Arab states, and the Palestinians, have lost the Soviet Union as a powerful patron, whose importance lay in economic and military assistance as well as diplomatic support.

Another impact on the Arab-Israeli relations followed the mutations in the geopolitical setting within the Muslim world deriving from the challenge presented by the rising power of the new independent Muslim and former Soviet republics. In the ensuing remodelled race for domination within the Muslim world, Iran has made itself present on all fronts, including the Islamic front of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict within the territories (not only in Lebanon).³⁶ The strengthening of the Islamic actors and the intensifying of the religious aspect of the conflict signal to both Israel and the secular-nationalist Palestinians an imminent regression into unbridgeable differences. Arriving at a minimum of understanding and tolerance (if not cooperation) has become a vital common interest for Israel and the PLO, and although motivated by utilitarian considerations, it offers a broad spectrum for CBMs. To be sure, just as Jewish and Palestinian extremists have been forced by external factors to coalesce in strategy and tactics, so do the forces working toward a peaceful settlement.

Finally, by way of demonstration, the new international reality has offered a wide range of issues to draw on for the purpose of developing CBMs. The mushrooming nationalist endeavors to statebuilding in Eastern Europe could offer guidance by suggesting opportunities as well as risks. The fulfilment of the right for national self-determination must have an instructive impact on the Israeli leadership and public for it has reaffirmed the legitimacy of the Palestinian national struggle worldwide. At the same time, the brutal civil war in the former Yugoslavia as well as the Moldovian, Armenian, Kurd, and other similar experiences have sent a clear warning signal to the parties in the Middle East. This could provide ample material to satisfy the informative and evaluative dimensions of CBMs. It should serve to highlight the dangers inherent in the activities of the extremists so as to minimize their affective impact.

The second set of events affecting the Palestinian-Israeli conflict relates to the Gulf War against Iraq. Generally, the war reflected the changing power relations both on the world arena and within the Middle East, by serving a “pilot test” for the aftermath of the bipolar world. On the one hand, it tested Israel’s power of deterrence and its prominence in American-Middle Eastern politics. On the other hand, it tempted the Palestinian leadership and people to engage in illusive politics which resulted in severe damage to their foreign relations and economic infrastructure. Whereas Palestinians were seized by wishful thinking and illusion, terrorized Israelis exposed restraint in their reaction to the Iraqi threat. Thus, the Palestinian posture served only to reassure Israelis in their basic anxieties and lack of confidence towards the adversary, permitting the rejectionists to feel free to rest and watch their work done by others—even by the peace activists.³⁷ For a limited while this generated a growing endorsement of the government’s intransigent position. And similarly, there was little room for Palestinian confidence towards Israel to develop: the discriminatory distribution of gas masks has provided a vivid reason for suspicion as did the prolonged curfews during and after the war.

Interestingly, the immediate negative impact of the war came soon to be offset by the realization shared by Israel and the majority of Palestinians, namely that any further escalation of hostility would only do them disservice. Moreover, it became evident that both communities could not escape being trapped in the same vicious circle if they continue to let external parties manipulate their relations. Forced to agree that securing physical survival must take priority, they have also had to admit that they were left with a significantly reduced selection of alternatives. Not surprisingly while the ensuing institutionalization of a dialogue has reflected a logical consequence, it has simultaneously served as a stimulus for action by the rejectionists, especially the extremists among them. Making their dissension clear has consisted chiefly in trying to prove that short-term dangers were even more imminent than the medium-range risk: terrorism on the streets and the erosion of security in daily routine should embody the true danger to survival for Palestinians and Israelis alike. In other words, the threat to individual survival could not be alleviated by preempting the threat to the security of the collectivity, and any settlement of the conflict responding to external factors would fail to overcome internal strife. This should leave no room for the development of hope and confidence about an improvement in the quality of life for both Palestinians and Israelis.

Demography has for long been at the core of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, and a sense of demographic competition has always dominated the respective attitudes and policies. It therefore represents the third set of factors relevant to confidence building and to the disruptive activity of extremists.

Settlement of land and demographic growth have traditionally been considered as mutually supplementary factors in deciding the eventual outcome of the Israeli-Palestinian rivalry. The fear of being overwhelmed by a growing Palestinian population and of becoming a minority within their own state has figured as a crucial element in the foundations and operation of the Israeli democracy (e.g., the Law of Return, recruitment to the army, distribution of land, exclusion of Arab partners from the government coalition, etc.). Similarly, the expansion of Israeli settlements either within the “green” borderlines or within the territories has been of constant concern to Palestinians worried about a gradual overpopulation by the Jews, along with an increasing Palestinian demographic impoverishment due to emigration. Given this situation, Jewish immigration from the former Soviet Union and from Ethiopia, coupled with the Palestinian refugee flows generated by the Gulf War have exerted an overwhelming impact on Israelis and Palestinians alike.

The demographic changes have generated a vehement controversy between Israeli peace promoters and rejectionists. The combined collective sensation of empowerment, i.e., of growing quantitatively as well as qualitatively due to immigrants arriving from industrialized countries, and the overwhelming task of absorbing the immigrants resulted in an internal debate affecting the perceptions about alternatives to accommodate Palestinian demands. Turning from a disquieting threat into an advantage, the new demographic situation reversed perspectives so as to devalue (for the first time in Israeli history) the inflated political and security significance of territory. The rejectionists, however, interpreted demographic strengthening as further reassurance of their intransigent stance concerning territorial concessions.

Tipping the demographic scales has led Palestinians to realize that time might be working against them. In addition, Palestinian refugees overcrowding Jordan, and Palestinian impoverishment due to loss of jobs and financial assistance in the course as well as the aftermath of the Gulf War, have represented not only a humanitarian problem requiring a prompt answer, but also a political challenge threatening to destabilize the PLO leadership.

Consequently, both Palestinian and Jewish extremists have found, in the changing mood as well as in the incertitudes and volatility of the immigration situation, an important asset in their propaganda campaigns. Dissatisfaction among the have-nots and those feeling threatened by immigration has thus become a fertile ground to cultivate hatred and distrust.

The fourth set of events affecting Palestinian-Israeli relations consisted in the political and sociopsychological outcomes and by-products of the intifada. While divided on the assessment of the role of the intifada, experts have nonetheless been united in recognizing the effect generated by the uprising: namely, that it has shaken off and put in question old and fossilized mutual stereotypes as well as self-perceptions.³⁸ Mutations affecting Palestinian internal cohesion and tactical operational shifts compounded the evaluation of intentions and capability of the leadership. The contradictions of the intifada have thus compromised the sprouting of Israeli confidence in the Palestinian leadership. At times, knowledge and appreciation of the new local and political leadership (emerging to play a quasi-independent role) became overshadowed by evidence of internal struggles. The disregard exhibited by the Shock Committees, the Black Panthers, Muslim fundamentalists and other extremists violently dominating and terrorizing the Palestinian streets (occasionally difficult to distinguish from common criminals) contributed to undermine the authority of the semiofficial leadership.

Stereotypes about the national character of the Palestinians have undergone change as well. To be sure, while the schism between Palestinians and Israelis was widening during the intifada, and as Palestinian confrontation with Israeli security forces became daily routine, the image of a more potent enemy, more courageous and daring than previously believed, was slowly gaining hold in Israeli consciousness. Still, at the same time, the sporadically violent nature of the intifada, which gradually evolved into an armed struggle, has continued to reaffirm the conviction held by Israeli sceptics about violence being an endemic feature of Palestinian behavior and not an ephemeral factor as proposed by others. The sending of children and women to the “front” (for political purposes terminological coding was used to confuse civil disorder and riots with conventional and low-intensity warfare) added ammunition to reinforce the stereotype of the heartlessness of Palestinians. Shaken Israeli self-confidence, as a new type of Palestinian was unfolding, added fuel to the spiral of violence and counterviolence. This has been observed with regard to both vigilante and individual terrorism by Israelis as well as the reckless reactions of the security forces. Israeli Palestinians who have previously found it safer to stay apart from the Palestinian/Arab-Israeli conflict found themselves drawn into the vicious circle. Counter-intifada policies resulted in inflicting harm on the delicate fabric of Israeli Palestinian and Jewish relations, as the artificial line separating Israeli Palestinians from territory Palestinians was clearly vaporizing. Escalation of governmental counterpolicies through the coercive control of the intifada, as well as the reaction of a frustrated and insecure Israeli mob, combined also to erode the minutely cultivated understanding prevailing between Palestinians and Jews within Israel.

Despite internal power struggles, seen from the Palestinian perspective, the intifada has played a crucially important cohesive role in providing proof that collective Palestinian effort and action were indeed possible. This resulted in an unprecedented surge of local Palestinian self-esteem, but also affected the mutual image of Israelis and Palestinians. With Palestinian self-confidence increased, a sense of maturity, equality and independence developed which could no longer be undermined even by occasional drawbacks during of the uprising. And this new Palestinian consciousness was matched by a corresponding diminution in the exaggerated image of the powerful Israel, coupled with an Israeli sense of vulnerability. Such realization has introduced more balance into the relations. It could, if properly seized by the respective leaderships, provide a basis for CBMs.³⁹

Extremists have attempted to tip the new and delicate balance, to undermine the disillusionment generated by the intifada and continue to build upon old and primordial emotions. Vigilante and terrorist violence by settlers (including the so-called ‘Jewish intifada"), and both organized armed assaults and sporadic non-firearm attacks by Palestinians, have combined to intensify mutual fear, terror and hatred thus creating a deep emotional gap that is extremely hard to bridge by objective knowledge. But unlike the peace promoters, extremist rejectionists have enjoyed an additional advantage in benefiting from the products of a rhetoric so many years devotedly applied by the political elite.

Long before the intifada, stereotypes have been incessantly hammered by the ruling elite into the minds of the public on both sides. The Palestinian national-liberation movement has been portrayed as representing solely terrorism, violence, intransigence and treacherousness. Among the most conspicuous examples of self-delusion, which did not by-pass the leadership itself, are Menachem Begin’s dehumanizing depiction of PLO leader Yasser Arafat as a “two-legged animal,” and the IDF’s then Chief of Staff Rafael Eytan’s condescending reference to the Palestinians as “junky cockroaches.” The security forces, including the army, were not spared the misleading perception about the Palestinians as an accidentally scattered aggregation of people devoid of any sense of community and nationhood.⁴⁰ Deeply convinced of the negative qualities of Palestinians in general, it was only natural that with every Palestinian terrorist assault a further layer of popular suspicion and dislike would be built by leadership rhetoric. The extremely strong support accorded by mainstream elite (ruling party and government coalition members, leading rabbis, some military officers and other leading figures) to the terrorists of the Jewish underground during the 1980s, and the early forgiveness accorded even by the president of the state, only served to reinforce the hostile black-and-white attitude towards Palestinians.⁴¹ Similarly, Palestinian perceptions have been immersed in the traditional images of the foreign Jewish intruder and invader, reinforced by the portrayal of the brutal and monstrous Israeli occupier and exploiter.⁴²

Since the intifada, violent attacks have served to increase suspicion highlighting ethnic and cultural divergency, but above all underlining and reaffirming a long-lasting imagery of stereotypes. Thus, extremists succeeded in redividing post-1967 reunited Jerusalem which for Israelis has symbolized the validity of Jewish and Palestinian coexistence based on mutual trust in a safe daily routine. They have further managed to redraw the old “green line” delineating pre-1967 Israel from the territories, and consequently to disrupt the few social contacts (not merely trade and labor) which have been evolving between Jews and Palestinians over the last twenty years. Yet, however strong, physical and socioeconomic separation and segregation could not effect an absolute disentanglement of the hybrid of sociocultural reality which emerged from the intense post-1967 Israeli-Palestinian interaction. Consequently, in the absence of real foundations, stereotypical perceptions were blurring the distinction between friend and foe and reinforcing mutual fear.⁴³ Hatred has often been unleashed against the wrong target as perpetrators and violent mobs were confusing Palestinians for Israeli Jews and Israeli Palestinians for territory Palestinians.⁴⁴ The use of death squads by the Israeli military forces to persecute wanted Palestinians by means of Jewish soldiers disguised as Palestinians only played into the hands of the extremists in amplifying the confusion. Clearly, terrorizing the Palestinian population and the ensuing unintended killing of Palestinians and Israeli soldiers have further undermined trust. And since a prerequisite for confidence is a minimum ability to distinguish between categories, the circumstantial collaboration of army and extremists has ended up in producing precisely the opposite reaction to what peace-promoting politics were designed to obtain.

Despite all hurdles, confidence is the key element in the new relationship developing between Israelis and Palestinians. It applies to mutual confidence, but significantly more so to confidence within each community as the prerequisite for legitimizing the leadership’s commitment to the peace process. In the absence of internal support the process will eventually stall. This condition has not escaped the rejectionists who under pressure of the changed situation have come to consider the political flux as their last “window of opportunity.” Undermining confidence has become their prime objective, extremism being a tool chosen by rejectionists (not all) to halt the peace process. Thus, symbolic violence and harassment are directed at sharpening communal exclusionism and provoking emotional reactions so as to counter pragmatism in exposing both fragility and futility of any confidence.

Future Scenarios

It has already been mentioned that the range of issues characterizing a conflict plays a decisive role in determining the leeway for CBMs. Traditionally, the Palestinian-Israeli conflict has been perceived by both sides in existential terms. However, since the mid-1970s the course of events has followed a trend whereby the absoluteness of the conflict and its intrinsic zero-sum nature were increasingly eroding. For the rejectionists, particularly the extremists among them, such developments were hard to accept and violence was applied to preserve the absoluteness of the conflict and to put its existential nature in relief. Extremists and rejectionists have been intensely devoted to extending the unfavorable emotional impact of violence (fear) by attributing it to the ethnic character of the conflict.

Unlike the East-West context, the unequal nature of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict suggested a wide range of opportunities for extremists to build on and to intensify emotional involvement. In the superpower relationship, equality and symmetry defined the nature of the conflict as a race for superiority in ideological, technological, and social—yet not ethnocultural—terms. In this context, the challenge of CBMs has been chiefly confined to increasing rationality by adding tangible elements of “reliability” to the mutual image. Different, however, is the Israeli-Palestinian story which consists to a large extent in a rivalry between rationality and emotionality.

Throughout the years, the Israeli leadership has consistently played the affective chords insisting on the following paradox: that while the Israeli public must learn to live with violence as part of their normal routine, extremist violence nevertheless can be completely eroded. The Palestinian leadership has continuously maintained that the armed struggle must figure among the tools (at times the chief one) necessary to achieve statehood. Consequently, both Israeli and Palestinian communities have consequently become used to a perception in which violence dominated their relationship, intensifying as years go by and sharpening the mutual inhumane stereotypes.

If truly devoted to a peaceful settlement of the conflict, the leadership of both communities will have to alter the habit of addressing violence as the main feature of the people’s relationship. An attempt to learn from the only past experience of CBMs between Israel and its enemies which culminated in a peace agreement (i.e. the peace process between Israel and Egypt) is of little assistance. The parameters of the bilateral state relations (institutionalized domestic and foreign affairs) stand for an entirely different scenario. Violence in the Egyptian-Israeli context was perceived as organized and controlled by governmental monopoly. It also constituted a legitimate rule of the game. The interests involved in the conflict were not incompatible, and it did not have—despite the pan-Arab undertone and the religious connotation—the communitarian ingredient so dominant in the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. It was therefore more amenable to the construction of confidence on rational and normative grounds, and less vulnerable to emotional fluctuations.

So far, both extremist rejectionists and nonextremist rejectionists have benefited from the primacy of violence in the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. It is therefore clear that from a policy perspective the extremists must be considered as a constant variable.⁴⁵ To be sure, extremism can play either a catalytic or delaying role since it effects can be manipulated by all parties involved. Given creative statesmanship, rejectionist radicalism may be exploited precisely for confidence building so as to benefit the peace process and to avert confidence destroying.

Two conditions must be met to enable CBMs in the Palestinian-Israeli context. First, a degree of self-confidence within both sides’ leaderships is required to allow standing up and deviating from previous practices of “celebrating” violence and terror for populist purposes. Second, the leadership must dispel the perception that extremist violence consists of an existential threat to Israelis, on the one hand, and that it constitutes the primary ingredient of Palestinian power, on the other hand. Both Israeli and Palestinian leaderships will have to drastically alter old patterns of behavior, and harness the media to the effort. Conditioned by the mood prevailing long since, the media itself would have to undergo crucial transformations with regard to reporting extremist and violent activity as well as analyzing government and leadership reactions.

The distinction between free and controlled media appears to be less unequivocal than usually taken for granted. Operating within a parliamentary democratic system devoted to pluralism, the government has frequently manipulated the Israeli media to match its political scheme.⁴⁶ Modern telecommunications, however, have reduced the degree by which the electronic and other media could be controlled. The Media’s transcendence of geopolitical boundaries has nourished Israelis and Palestinians within Israel, the territories, Jordan, Lebanon and Egypt with a variety of information (often contradictory) emanating from democratic and autocratic political sources alike. One case in point was the imposing of restrictions on the broadcasting of violent depictions from the intifada in which Israeli soldiers were either behaving brutally or falling victims to violent attacks, and another—the determined disbelief expressed by Jordanian Palestinians who refused to admit the Iraqi defeat in the Gulf War. The media is hence not a weapon lying on the street awaiting to be seized by either side. Confidence builders must be aware of the fact that sociopsychological dynamics affecting media consumers may produce unanticipated results, at times even contradicting the very interests of the operators of the media.

Undoing the intransigence and distrust accumulated by both Israeli and Palestinian leaderships requires a sharp reversal in attitude, indeed the remodelling of the ideational basis of legitimacy. This task can not bear fruits immediately. In contrast to that, extremists and rejectionists follow their experienced course of violence. They thus control time more effectively, and their mode of operation is less constrained by structural parameters. An assault once a week, even only once in a couple of months, can be easily carried out, and depending on the level of sophistication it might require no special planning and organization. By comparison, overcoming the conditioned temptation to abuse the effect exerted by extremist activity almost demands that the leadership undergo metamorphosis. If accomplished, however, such transformation could imply tacit cooperation between the Palestinian and Israeli leaderships which would in itself be a CBM.

While time and creative statesmanship are closely interrelated, courage is an indispensable commodity that can render the combination effective. The personal risks taken by leaders are very high since extremists possess and profess the potential of disrupting CBMs by threatening to harm the private lives of leaders and their families. Some reports have alluded at such attempts targeting Israeli politicians (most notably Yitzhak Shamir by Palestinians in the late 1980s), but the situation has been considerably riskier regarding Palestinians. Internal executions and political assassinations have loomed as a real menace, at times impeding ingenuity and courage on the part of this leadership. The list of assailed politicians who dared to communicate with Israelis is instructive.⁴⁷ Clearly, such attempts convey a magnified symbolic message about the vulnerability of the heart of the system—its authority, control and center of legitimacy.

In a situation of conflict whether ethnic, ideological, religious or socioeconomic—the leadership must set the tone for the construction of confidence. As a general rule, only in the context of peace (French-German) or pursuant to the settlement of a conflict (e.g., the Egyptian-Israeli “cold” peace) does the public acquire similar importance and leverage in the role of confidence promoting (e.g., student exchanges, tourism, trade, electronic communication, etc.). The Israeli-Palestinian context, however, offers a unique exception to the rule. Their communities being physically intertwined, Israeli and Palestinians do—despite conflict and violence—maintain some of the relations typical of a peaceful situation. To be sure, confidence does prevail at a certain level (interaction of individuals), even if it is utterly fragile. This weakness has been targeted by extremists. On the one hand, in order to prevent the collapse of trust, the guidance and role modeling of a trustworthy leadership is vital. On the other hand, confidence gained at the lower level of simple citizens’ contacts should serve as a fortunate reserve for the elite to draw upon in times of crisis as well as a basis to establish collective confidence.

In conclusion,⁴⁸ there seem to be only two alternative scenarios with regard to the role played by extremist actors and their impact on CBMs, and they will depend on the course CBMs take on the other fronts of the Arab-Israeli conflict. Violence, however, figures as a constant variable in both scenarios:

The extremist groups are successful in jeopardizing the process. The greater the schism and violence in the relations between Israelis and Palestinians, the greater the probability of a halt to the overall peace process. This will enhance the power of the Islamic forces within the Palestinian and Arab camp at large, as well as reinforce the power of nationalist-fundamentalist elements in Israeli politics. It will increase the prospects of war engendered by rejectionist Arab countries and of low intensity war within Israel and the territories generated by Palestinian fundamentalists and provocative Israeli policy.

The extremist groups are unsuccessful. Their despair will translate into violent clashes within the Palestinian camp in contest over power positions and against Israel. Israeli society will witness confrontations which may escalate into political and intercommunal, and even intracommunal violence. A Palestinian success in achieving concrete progress on the road to self-determination may unleash either similar activities across the Middle East or conversely, governmental repression—both which may turn also into violent conflicts.

Notes

1. Alan Cowell, The New York Times, 1 November 1991.

2. Relevant literature includes Lewis Coser, The Functions of Social Conflict (New York: The Free Press, 1964); Gordon W. Allport, The Nature of Prejudice (New York: Addison-Wesley Publ., 1979); Christopher J. Lamb, “Toward Peace—Which Comes First, Arms Control or Trust?", How to Think about Arms Control, Disarmament, and Defense (New Jersey: Prentice Hall, 1988), pp. 189–210; David B. Dewitt, “Confidence and Security Building Measures in the Middle East: Is There a Role?” in Conflict Management in the Middle-East, Gabriel Ben-Dor and David B. Dewitt eds. (Lexington: Lexington Books, 1987), pp. 241–259; Theda Skocpol, States and Social Revolutions (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1990); Myron Weiner and Samuel P. Huntington, eds., Understanding Political Development (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1987); Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities (London: Verso, 1991); Eric J. Hobsbawn, Nations and Nationalism since 1780 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991); Raymod Aron, Power, Modernity and Sociology (Brookfield: Edward Elgar Publ., 1988); Johan Galtung, There are Alternatives! Four Roads to Peace and Security (Nottingham: Spokesman, 1984); Stefan Lehne, The Vienna Meeting of the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe, 1986–1989. A Turning Point in East-West Relations (Boulder: Westview Press, 1991); Giovanni Arrighi, Terence K. Hopkins and Immanuel Wallerstein, Antisystemic Movements (London: Verso, 1989); Radmila Nakarada and Oberg, eds., Surviving Together. The Olof Palme Lectures on Common Security 1988 (Hampshire: Dartmouth Publishing Company, 1989).

3. Peter Jarman, “Mutual Confidence and Common Security: The Psychology, Culture and Spirit of Trust Building” in Nakarada and Oberg, Surviving Together, p. 33.

4. Radmila Nakarada, “The Contribution of Social Movements to Common Security,” Surviving Together, pp. 203–204.

5. See Ephraim Sne’s list of big steps to change the mood prevailing in the West Bank and Gaza, Haaretz, 15 November 1992.

6. It would probably be premature to judge whether the deportation of the 418 Hamas activists was a move of this kind, motivated, among other things, by the wish to improve the political climate for the PLO activists involved in the peace process.

7. Due to format constraints, this paper accepts a concise version of what may require a more detailed discussion.

8. This is in terms of legal and political status, not in terms of power, which is irrelevant here. Examining the post-World War II experience of Franco-Allemand relations reveals a situation in which confidence was first established on the level of the elites and embedded in agreements binding the states (e.g., the European Coal and Steel Community, 1951). Only later was it succeeded by confidence slowly building between the publics via tourism, student exchanges, cross-border labor movement, transregional agreements, etc. Horizontal, or homogeneous distrust has been overcome starting at the top, by means of official gestures. France hoped to prevent Germany’s return to former modes of politics by tying it to a framework imposing cooperation, and eventually trust, on both sides. Distrust towards the enemy was homogeneous in the sense that it was sensed equally across all sectors and classes of society. While the Franco-German case may be characteristic of CBMs in a post conflict environment—and under conditions of peace—some of its elements may nonetheless be instructive with regard to the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. Such analysis, however, is beyond the objectives of this chapter.

9. Despite the proclamation of Palestinian statehood, formal Palestine still lacks almost all criteria necessary to be considered and able to function as a state.

10. Following are some relevant works discussing various aspects of this hostility: Yehoshafat Harkabi, Decisions [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1986); Noemi Gal-Or, The “Jewish Underground”: Our Terrorism [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, Kav Adom Series, 1990); Meron Benvenisti, Fatal Embrace [Hebrew] (Jerusalem: Maxwell-Macmillan-Keter Publishing, 1992); Eliezer Ben-Rafael, lsrad-Pdestine. A Guerrilla Conflict in International Politics (New York: Greenwood Press, 1987); Dan Horowitz and Moshe Lissak, Trouble in Utopia. The Overburdened Polity of Israel [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1990); John E. Mroz, Beyond Security: Private Perceptions among Arabs and Israelis (New York: International Peace Academy, 1980).

11. United Nations, Confidence-Building Measures within the CSCE Process: Paragraph-by-Paragraph Analysis of the Helsinki and Stockholm Régimes, Research Paper No. 3 (New York: United Nations Institute for Disarmament, 1989).

12. For the sake of the argument I am isolating the impact which the development of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict may exert on the Arab-Israeli conflict. A refinement of the notion of elite-mass relations consists in differentiating between types of publics targeted for the purpose of confidence building according to their political proximity to the conflict and their stakes in the conflict. Inter-elite and elite-mass interaction must take into consideration not only sectors within the domestic populations, sectors within the enemy population, but also sectors within the public of other parties indirectly involved in the conflict. In the Palestinian-Israeli context these include neighboring countries and members of the region, the Muslim world as a geopolitical factor (which ranges farther and beyond Middle Eastern boundaries), the mediating parties, such as the United States, and to a lesser extent Europe, die United Nations, and other international actors. These are, however, issues requiring a more exhaustive research than the present.

13. Haaretz, 13 July 1990.

14. An example of CBMs is the Knesset’s recent lifting of the ban on contacts with the PLO—a recognition of the de facto nature of the negotiations between the Government of Israel and the Palestinian delegation, and an implied recognition of the PLO.

15. This perspective deliberately excludes from the definition of rejectionism positions and activities undertaken by either the Israeli government or the official Palestinian institutions (i.e., PLO and the Palestinian delegation to the peace negotiations). These are discussed in other chapters of this collection.

16. Israel Harel, prominent Gush Emunim member, declares: “Ideological movements are at their best during struggle. In the past, the more we were pressured, the more did we grow in numbers and our activity intensified. It was this way in Sebastia, during Rabin’s first term as well as with the intifada during which we doubled quantitatively, and so will it be, I hope, also now” (translation, N. Gal-Or). Haaretz, 3 July 1992. Rafael Eytan, former agriculture minister, declared: “We do not need peace, we need deterrence” (translation, N. Gal-Or). Haaretz, 4 January, 1991.

17. Palestinians were again called upon to reject and protest against the peace negotiations in Washington, in a strike organized by the DFLP and PFLP which included a paramilitary protest march in the West Bank. Haaretz, 17 January 1992.

18. So far, in the context of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, all extremists have always also been exclusively rejectionists. Yet, rejectionists are by no means all violent radicals.

19. For a detailed analysis of these groups see, Ian Lustick, For the Land and the Lord: Jewish Fundamentalism in Israel (New York: Council of Foreign Relations, 1988); Noemi Gal-Or, The “Jewish Underground"; Danny Rubinstein, On the Lord’s Side: Gush Emunim [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 1982); Zvi Raanan, Gush Emunim [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Sifriat Poalim, 1980); Ehud Sprinzak, The Ascendance of Israels Radical Right (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991).

20. See Ze’ev Schiff and Ehud Ya’ari, Intifada [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Schocken, 1990); Shaul Mishal and Reuben Aharoni, Speaking Stones: The Words Behind the Palestinian Intifada [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 1989); Gad G. Gilber and Asher Susser, eds., At the Core of the Conflict: The Intifada [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, Kav Adom Serie, 1992); Ziad Abu-Amar, The Islamic Movement in the West Bank and Gaza Strip [Arabic] (Acre: Dar El-Aswar, 1989).

21. About the messianic zealotry of these organizations see, Emanuel Sivan, Haaretz, 10 October 1990.

22. About the organization of the Settlements’ rabbis (the spiritual authority of Gush Emunim) and their implicit threat to resist Palestinian autonomy also by violent methods see, Haaretz, 23 April 1992. According to Rabbi Shlomo Aviner, one of the leaders of the Forum of Yesha Rabbis, there is no difference between a Palestinian state and the autonomy plan—both are directed at destroying the state of Israel. Navon, rabbi of one of the settlements, interprets the autonomy plan as a violation of biblical law. In spite of the explicit denunciation of violence and regret at having supported the Jewish terrorists in the early 1980s, some rabbis still implicitly seem inclined to use radical methods. Perceiving their situation as paradoxical—requiring loyalty to the regime while at the same forced to protect their security—they do not rule out that circumstances might “invite’” the organizing of yet another underground, Haaretz., 24 January 1992. Yitzhaki, a military rabbi, recently praised the Jewish Underground during a lecture to soldiers, Haaretz, 21 July 1992; and Kach members and activist of the Committee for Safety on the Roads (i.e., against Palestinian attacks) and Medinat Yehuda have been reported as considering to resist the autonomy through violence against Palestinians, their leaders and the future autonomy institutions. Haaretz, 24 July 1992.

23. Noemi Gal-Or, The “Jewish Underground”; Haaretz, 29 January 1992. Recently, the settlers awarded the army commanders of the center and south commands with the “Dignitary of Yesha” award. Haaretz, 22 April 1992.

24. It has spilled over to disrupt confidence even in the old and close friendship prevailing between Israel and the United States. To Palestinians, Israeli extremism has been embodied also in human rights abuses by the government—be they physically violent or administrative. The recent (December 1992) deportation of the 418 Hamas activists certainly falls within this category.

25. Haaretz, 14 June 1992.

26. It is still too early to evaluate with certainty the reasons for the overturn of government. Moreover, it would be mistaken to interpret the recent change in the Israeli government as a sign for a growing Israeli confidence in the Palestinians. It should, however, be understood as a mandate from the public to proceed with the peace process. While implying confidence as to the rules of the game, internal disagreement about the goals to achieve may still jeopardize efforts to capitalize on the confidence just entrusted with, and in this sense may obstruct CBMs.

27. Haaretz, 3 July 1992.

28. The New York Times, 5 March 1992; Haaretz, 19 April 1991 and 13 June, 1992.

29. Interviews with Mahmud a-Zahar, acting leader of the Hamas since the imprisonment of Sheik Ahmad Yassin, Haaretz, 23 August 1991 and 21 February 1992.

30. The fragility of the Palestinian leadership was dramatically exposed at the occasion of Yasser Arafat’s plane crash in the Libyan desert, 1992.

31. Haaretz, 10 July 1992. Recently, extremists gained increasing support from outside actors such as the Iranian government and the Muslim Brotherhood in Jordan as well as American members of the organization in bolstering the efforts to stall negotiations.

32. Noemi Gal-Or, “Counter-Terrorism Policy in Israel,” in Controlling International Terrorism: A Comparative Study, David Charters ed. (New York: Greenwood Press, forthcoming).

33. Ian S. Lustick, “Changing Rationales for Political Violence in the Arab-Israeli Conflict, ’"Journal of Palestine Studies, no. 77, 1990, pp. 54–79.

34. Elie Rekhess, “The Israeli Arabs and the Intifada” in Gilber and Susser, eds., At the Core of the Conflict, p. 120.

35. This has included also the Palestinians—their status being partly rehabilitated after the blow suffered consequent to the Gulf War.

36. Haaretz, 10 July 1992.

37. Yossi Sarid, Knesset Member from the left-wing Citizen’s Rights Movement Party, provided the example par excellence in his famous article “They Should Look for Me” (translation, N. Gal-Or), Haaretz, 17 August 1990.

38. Don Perez, “The Intifadeh: The Palestinian Uprising,” Foreign Affairs, 66(5) (Summer 1988), pp. 964–980; Walid Khalidi, “Toward Peace in the Holy Land,” Foreign Affairs., 66(4) (Spring 1988), pp. 771–789.

39. Fragile as it is, the new Palestinian leadership which was institutionalizing itself in the territories (as a by-product of the intifada), has benefited from a conspicuous Westernized appeal. Its educational and cultural background (the majority of the new leaders have spent many years in the West) could be of advantage to CBMs in providing a common language with Israelis (among elites first) and in neutralizing the effect of the Middle Eastern ambiguous jargon.

40. Noemi Gal-Or, “The Israeli Defence Forces and Unconventional Warfare: The Palestinian Factor and Israeli National Security Doctrine,” The Journal of Terrorism and Political Violence, 2(2) (June 1990), pp. 212–226.

41. Noemi Gal-Or, “Tolerating Terrorism in Israel” in Tolerating Terrorism in the West, Noemi Gal-Or, ed. (London: Routledge, 1991), pp. 59–92.

42. About the Israeli army in Palestinian literature see, Haaretz, 15 June 1990.

43. Reflecting the success of extremists in Israeli-Palestinian mutual image building is the complaint by Ahmad Tibi, an Israeli Palestinian: despite his civic loyalty to the state of Israel, he feels he is treated as a “suspect object” (metaphor for anything which may contain an explosive hidden by terrorists in a public place) by his Jewish fellow citizens who continue to regard him as a fifth column. Haaretz, 5 June 1992.

44. Haaretz, 1 June 1990.

45. By addressing the affective dimension and evoking nationalist and religious symbols, they succeeded in inciting the public to support and legitimize their position also in cases of sporadic and nonsystematic violence. “Israel, in God thy faith” (Israel bashem betah) articulates in a nutshell what has become a slogan identified with Gush Emunim and been widely used as a sticker on cars. A linguistic study of Israeli politics with regard to the Palestinian problem would be extraordinarily revealing indeed. By the same token, the Islamic variations of interpretation of Jihad in the context of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict are equally significant. When asked about calling for Jihad in the mosques, Sheik Abdallah Nimer Darwish, leader of the Israeli Islamic Movement, explains: “The Jihad we are so afraid of is a struggle. Jihad has twelve levels or forms. For example, while sitting here and explaining my personal opinion—and to calm you—I am right now in Jihad according to its true interpretation. In letting my family pursue studies, have enough clothing, live a good life—I am in Jihad. If I am doing a good deed in my village—this is Jihad. The last twelfth stage of Jihad is military. When do I opt for military struggle? When all preceding eleven forms have failed. This is the last cure for injustice, against wrong.” And in response to the question whether the existence of Jews in Israel equals a wrong justifying Jihad, he answers: “Occupation is always unjust. The Arabs and Muslims, … bothered by the occupation are all referring to the post Six Day War occupation” (translation, N. Gal-Or). Haaretz, 10 May 1991.

46. An example has been the controversy about broadcasting Yasser Arafat’s face on Israeli television.

47. Similarly, alleged Israeli secret-service attacks on the lives of Palestinian leaders did not contribute to enhancing either Palestinian self-confidence or trust in Israeli intentions (which was among the objectives of such acts).

48. In a broader sense, the contest between peace promoters and extremist rejectionists can be seen as the confrontation between systemic and antisystemic forces. Arrighi, Hopkins and Wallerstein in Antisystemic Movements have observed that “one of the great strength’s of the world’s ruling strata throughout history—[has been] the noncontinuity of rebellion” (p. 29). This pattern of relations between conformists and nonconformists had exhausted itself with the advent of modern capitalism and the sociological innovation it generated in the form of antisystemic movements. One of the major movements has been nationalism.

Groups of persons involved in antisystemic activity began to create a new institution: the continuing organization with members, officers, and specific political objectives (both long-run and short-term) … If these movements were to change anything, they had to control a state apparatus, which pragmatically meant “their” state apparatus. Consequently, the primary objective had to be obtaining state power … And the objective of these organizations had to be the coming to power of the movement in that state … The parallel objectives-4)btaining state power—led to a parallel internal debate on the mode of obtaining state power, which might be defined in polar terms as the legal path of political persuasion versus the illegal path of insurrectionary force … To different degrees and in different ways, they showed how the shift of the confrontation between systemic and antisystemic forces onto non-conventional terrain was strengthening the latter and hampering/paralizing the former. [However,] more and more antisystemic movements will find their own cohesion and coherence forged and destroyed by the newest of the means of mediating social relations…(pp. 30, 31, 32, 36, 51).

Part Three
Regional Actors: Arab States

6
Reflections on Confidence Building in an Intricate Regional “Security Complex”—The Middle East

Gideon Gera

Introduction

These days, habitués of the volatile Middle East often find themselves smiling at the suddenly fashionable and anxious emphasis of both Western officialdom and academe on the difficulties of predicting the future. Events in Eastern Europe and the ex-USSR, the widespread eruption of primordial, “tribal,” ethnic and religious commotions and conflicts, may look to them like a “comeback” of the “traditional” Mid-Eastern political environment they know so well. Yet, in the same Middle East and as a part of the post-Gulf War vision of a new world order, the United States has initiated an effort to resolve the Arab-Israeli conflict through a structure of bilateral and multilateral meetings of the directly and indirectly involved parties. Essential to advancing this process of certainty building is the reduction of tension and the generation of at least some mutual trust and cooperation. Indeed, the parties involved have already begun to consider this issue in the multilateral talks, looking into the applicability of the lessons of confidence building in Europe.

During the era of East-West confrontation, one of the techniques devised by the superpowers to reduce risks, such as accidental hostilities, and uncertainties has been the development of confidence building measures (CBMs). CBMs have been intended to avoid outcomes unwanted by the parties, even when in a conflictual relationship, and to generate mutual trust through the establishment of direct channels of communication and of reciprocal monitoring.

The ways of adapting this approach to Third World regions of conflict have been little explored.¹ But these areas are the exact regions (if one may somewhat stretch the term to embrace recent conflicts in the Balkans and the ex-USSR) in which most violent conflicts now take place. Furthermore, as has amply been pointed out in recent literature, the reality of security in the Third World is incongruous with the premises of most scholarship in security studies, which is based on the historical experience of the West.²

In this essay I intend to describe the characteristics of the Middle East as a region of multiple and crosscutting conflicts which shape Arab intrastate and interstate security problems. These conflicts and problems obviously impact on the Arab-Israeli conflict. What are the present and potential interdependencies? What would be the necessary premises and feasible approaches to confidence building in the region? Are European-type CBMs applicable to these relationships? Prior, however, to addressing the complexities of the Middle East as an archetype of a Third World region of conflict³ some theoretical groundwork must be laid.

Security Dilemmas and Regional Complexes

The following definition of CBMs is well applicable to the context of the Third World: “Arrangements designed to enhance … assurance of mind and belief in the trustworthiness of… states and the facts they create."⁴ In other words, a perceived need of confidence building indicates the existence of a problem of security.

For present purposes, security/insecurity is defined in relation to vulnerabilities that threaten to, or have the potential to, bring down or significantly weaken state structures, both territorial and institutional, and regimes, in the short term. From an analytical point of view, at least, one differentiates between security of a state and that of its regime—the persons or elite that effectively command the state machinery, especially its coercive forces. There is no necessary congruence between the two; they may involve differing notions of threat and response. Yet, given the contrast between the formal inviolability of boundaries in the Third World (e.g., the global response to Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait in 1990), and their permeability to intervention, subversion and insurgency, most ruling elites in the Third World perceive the combined challenges of state making and of external constraints as major threats to themselves. Consequently, for most of them security equals survival.⁵

The primary metaphor used in the study of international relations to describe the security problematic of (Western) nation-states is the “security dilemma": an increase in one state’s security decreases the security of others, thus leading to decreased security to themselves. Henry Kissinger’s classic formulation was: “The desire of one power for absolute security means absolute insecurity for all the others."⁶ The security dilemma hinges on conditions of external threat.

The security problematic of Third World states seems, however, better characterized as an “insecurity dilemma.” Internal security contentions—individuals and groups acting against perceived threats—reduce the security of most of the population, effectively undermine the state’s/regime’s capacity and weaken its ability to meet external threats, though not necessarily making the state more vulnerable to encroachment or extinction (because of prevalent international norms). The insecurity dilemma thus hinges mainly on conditions of domestic threats. These metaphors do not necessarily describe empirical situations.⁷

Among the various security strategies adopted by Third World regimes, three general types should be noted:

Militarization. The buildup of substantial armed forces, including police and “special forces."

Repression and state terror. A subduing of the “enemy within."

Diversion. Finding external enemies and perpetuating their image as a constant threat to distract attention from the situation at home.

Some [Third World] regimes will exhibit all of [these] strategies: extraordinary militarization, a political-military partnership, sustained myths about the enemies of the state, and the conduct of wars against these enemies within and without. One is likely to find in such states leadership personality cults, extreme militarism, and heightened forms of nationalism in which the fate of the nation may be tied to religious atonement.⁸

One additional concept will further this analysis—the concept of a “regional security complex.” A regional security complex (RSC) “is broadly defined as a group of states whose primary security concerns are sufficiently closely linked that their national securities cannot realistically be considered apart from one another. Security complexes emphasize the interdependence both of rivalry and of shared interests. In principle a security complex could be defined by either positive or negative security interdependence.” RSCs “represent the way in which the spheres of concern that states have about their environment interact with the linkage between the intensity of military, political, and societal threats, and the shortness of the range over which they are perceived."⁹ It is likely that shared cultural characteristics would facilitate and legitimize security interdependence—even mutual interventions—among a group of states. A regional perspective further underlines the dose interrelationship between the external (interstate) and the domestic (intrastate) dimensions. Some researchers actually conceive both to constitute a single arena of politics.¹⁰ Accordingly, Third World states may well find themselves within both security and insecurity dilemma situations.¹¹

Boundaries between RSCs would be defined “by the relative indifference attending the security perceptions and interactions across them … Within a large, many-membered regional complex such as that in the Middle East, there may be subcomplexes of particularly high local security interdependence.” Yet boundaries between subcomplexes or RSCs may change or collapse with political changes.¹² This adds a dynamic element to the concept of RSCs, which is especially relevant in the context of the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction and long-range missiles.

The regional level of security dynamics is closely connected to the global one: “It is rare for any regional complex to be unpenetrated by great-power influence. The norm is for great-power penetration to follow the lines of amity and enmity set by the local complex… [But] external powers cannot easily moderate or control the local security dynamic because they depend on it for access to the region."¹³

Given the insecurity dilemma and negative security interdependence, what are the preconditions for the enhancement of assurance of mind and belief in the trustworthiness of states and the facts they create, or—in a well-worn cliche—for peaceful coexistence?

One major precondition is the existence of what lawyers term “precontractual norms,” of a presupposed determinate framework, a generally accepted legitimacy, which “means no more than an international agreement about the nature of workable arrangements and about the permissible aims and methods of foreign policy.” A much more difficult way to establish such a framework is through “identical interpretation of power-relationships."¹⁴ Differently put, confidence building is founded on a basic political decision to establish rules of the game, agreed-upon regulations of and limits to activities and means in a security relationship. Furthermore, it requires trust in the inviolable legitimacy of those rules of the game.

One has to bear in mind that the concept of CBMs, like that of deterrence—the stopping of unwanted actions before they occur—has been developed by status quo powers sharing an identical interpretation of power-relationships. These powers define security in terms of stability.¹⁵ They may consider CBMs as positive deterrence. The obvious irony is “that the formalization of the idea [of CBMs] came from the region that needed it least."¹⁶

But the feasibility of building confidence among powers not equally concerned with the status quo is problematic. In Kissinger’s terms, a "dissatisfied state,” which considers the international (or regional) order oppressive, may adopt revolutionary relations with other states. “The distinguishing feature of a revolutionary power is not that it feels threatened … but that nothing can reassure it." In revolutionary situations, arms races and war replace diplomacy, as “the contending systems are less concerned with the adjustment of differences than with the subversion of loyalties."¹⁷ For powers, states or systems one may, of course, read “regimes.” Again, the primary issue is political.

Given that Third World states and regimes within their RSCs find themselves in dilemmas of both security and insecurity (that is, of perceiving threats from both inside and outside) are the framework of trust and CBMs (as status quo measures) applicable at all? The first question would be: confidence between which parties? For instance, when a regime considers itself threatened by domestic opponents suspected to enjoy external support, no CBMs seem possible. Neither the status quo nor a change in this situation are trust enhancing for the parties concerned.

Furthermore, when the military are the effective wielders of power, rallying support through focusing on external enemies, any limitations imposed on them (through CBMs) could be seen as aiding the enemy or be exploited as such. “Reducing the role of the military instrument as an agent of change” seems very difficult.¹⁸

In such hostile circumstances CBMs among states, if at all feasible, could be seen as “arrangements for last-minute reassurance when confidence doesn’t exist.” Yet, they could well be exploited as means of deception, of delaying suspicions about a planned attack.¹⁹ This may have been Iraq’s intention before invading Kuwait.

This evokes the issue of security dilemma: reinforced security may reduce one’s perceived need for confidence building, while even with confidence justified by the true state of affairs one would still insist on security.²⁰

Only after settling these difficulties would it be purposeful to devise CBMs along their tactical/technical dimensions. Some of these dimensions are:

Scope. What parts of the security relationship will be addressed (i.e. to reduce the feasibility of surprise attacks)?

Category. Declaratory (very important here is attention to the cultural codes of the parties involved, including their political cultures, which might be conflicting) or material, involving verifiability, either intrusive or nonintrusive.

Time. Stages and continuity: If the UN monitoring of Iraq is considered a CBM (for the rest of the world), the importance of continuity over time is evident.

Observation and Verification. By the parties involved or by outsiders (third parties). This involves mutual transparency.

All these problems are pertinent to a consideration of confidence building in the Arab World.

The Arab World—Main Political Characteristics

Arabs describe their nation as extending from the Ocean (the Atlantic) to the Gulf (Persian or Arab). Yet, despite bonds of language (at least in its written version) and culture, and of social and political traits common to most of its inhabitants, the Arab world is exceedingly diverse. It is a mosaic not just of communities (ethnic and religious), but of socioeconomic and political systems as well. Volatile assymetries prevail and glaring inequalities of income add to the ferment of ongoing political, demographic, social, and economic development. “With the exception of the few relatively homogeneous societies such as Egypt and Tunisia, most Middle Eastern societies are still characterized by the persistence of tribal, ethnic, and sectarian ties as sources of identity and loyalty.” The states in the region are generally weak and owe their differential strengths to the divergent paths of their historical formation.²¹

Politics in the region have been nurtured on a mostly common political culture, which—in addition to its rather thin Western-modern layer—consists of three main elements: (1) tribal heritage; (2) Islam as a political religion: “since most Arabs do not in their minds separate their religious faith in Islam from their national identity, it is impossible for outsiders to determine how much of their behaviour is ‘Arabic’ and how much is ‘Islamic’";²² (3) the governmental traditions of Persia, the Mamluks and the Ottoman Empire. This political culture is patrimonial, authoritarian, military—and thus rather violent.²³

One Arab scholar calls Arab society a modernized patriarchy, a “neopatriarchy… incapable of performing as an integrated social or political system, as an economy, or as a military structure. Possessing all the external trappings of modernity, this society nevertheless lacks the inner force, organization, and consciousness, which characterize truly modern formations.” This type of society is dominated by “the Father (patriarch), the centre around which the national… family is organized.” Regardless of its legal and political forms and structures, the neopatriarchal state “is in many ways no more than a modernized version of the traditional patriarchal sultanate… The most advanced and functional aspect of the neopatriarchal state (in both conservative and ‘progressive’ regimes) is its internal security apparatus, the mukhabarat. A two-state system prevails in all patriarchal regimes, a military-bureaucratic structure alongside a secret police structure.” The latter serves “as the ultimate regulator of civil and political existence."²⁴

Multiple conflicts fragment this region on different levels, sometimes overlapping: on the international, interstate (or inter-Arab), and intrastate levels. Some of them spread across political boundaries: tribal and personal, ethnic, ideological (including religious), economic, etc. Thus, conflict in the Middle East is a web of multilevel, multilateral, multidimensional, interlocking and intersecting conflicts.²⁵ Among the principal conflicts are the following:

Between Pan-Arabism and state-nationalism ("stateness"). This conflict is primarily ideological. Included in it is the (mostly tacit) questioning of the legitimacy of states and their imperialist-imposed boundaries. Its practical-political manifestations come under the next headings;²⁶

Between Islamism (also termed radical or militant Muslim fundamentalism) and both state or Pan-Arab nationalism. Denying legitimacy to most Arab regimes by considering them to be in a corrupt state of “ignorance” (jahiliyyah), Muslim fundamentalists strive to transform them into Islamic communities. “Failure, weakness, division, all ills are dismissed as mere symptoms caused … by believing in the false gods of nationalism, secularism, socialism, liberalism. Islam is the message of salvation of not only Arabs but all the peoples of the world";²⁷

Among states, mingling or disguising interests with claims for Islamic, all-Arab or regional leadership (e.g., Nasserism; the competing ambitions of Saddam Hussein and the Islamic Republic of Iran; the Moroccan-Algerian confrontation over the ex-Spanish Sahara);

Between state-nationalism (or majority community) and minority communities (e.g., Iraq and the Kurds, Sudan);

Among a diversity of identity-communities (nationalist, religious, etc., sometimes represented in the same person, e.g. Kurds) not corresponding to state boundaries (the most tragic example is Lebanon), -²⁸

Among the divergent Arab attitudes toward Iran, both as a non-Arab power and an Islamist state;

Between the Arabs and Israelis. Beyond the obvious political dimensions of this conflict, some Arabs regard Israel as a multitiered threat, having a corrosive effect on Arab culture.²⁹

All this makes for a competition among crosscutting loyalties and identities, and for severe constraints on the stability of states in the region. It also means, moreover, that most of these conflicts are not disparate, they are related—in themselves and in their possible solutions.³⁰

For better understanding of the possibilities of confidence building in the region, it may be beneficial to dwell on some of the elements of of the impact the Gulf War and its aftermath:

Pan-Arabism and its advocates were severely set back by Iraq’s defeat, while the legitimacy of stateness and frontiers (mostly and arbitrarily delimited by Europeans) triumphed.

A new alignment of the Arab state system has emerged, after the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait upset long taken-for-granted standards and modalities of inter-Arab relations and security. This alignment also reflects the regional dominance of the United States.

On the other hand, Iraq’s defeat was traumatic for all Arabs, victors included. It was perceived as painful, embarrassing, and humiliating. Therefore one may doubt whether the war has substantially changed Arab outlook and attitudes. The divided opinions regarding the war persist, kindled by Iraq and Islamist groups and by what is perceived as further Western attempts to dominate the region.³¹

There is a persistent danger of Saddam’s defiant and vindictive regime in Iraq, which may decide to resume its nuclear projects at the earliest possible moment, on its own or with allies—if available. One example of its vindictiveness is the continuing depiction of the Saudi and Egyptian rulers as evil, as those who chiefly starved Iraq, and therefore “should have sleepless nights."³²

Iran is reemerging as a regional power, probably striving for a nuclear capability.

Turkey has renewed importance in many regional contexts, including the vital issue of water. This may cause it to enhance its military capabilities (e.g., missiles).

The impact of the emergence of five new Middle Eastern states—the Muslim republics of the former USSR—on the region and its conflicts. At the same time Russia has not abdicated its role in the Middle East, although at present its profile is relatively minor.

There is a continuing Arab-Israeli conflict, as the peacemaking process goes haltingly on.

The arms-race continues, sustained, despite pious protestations, by the great producers.

Lastly, there is “the apparent paradox of stable and enduring regimes in deeply disturbed societies."³³ In other words, instability is looming for most Arab regimes, including those of the Gulf, caused by both domestic and external forces. They now face an ongoing economic crisis compounded by exorbitant military budgets, high population growth and exposure to the contradictory impact of Western media and militant Islamism. Furthermore, the experienced leaders of the longevous regimes have grown older and less robust, while their states have hardly any binding constitutional rules of succession.

The Middle East—Security, Insecurity and Confidence Building

The above description of the Middle East with its interdependence both of rivalry and of shared interests do qualify it as a “regional security complex.” Until mid-1990 most of the states in the region, similar to other Third World polities, were mainly preoccupied with insecurity dilemmas; the Arab-Israeli conflict being external. These dilemmas—as noted above—hinge mainly on conditions of domestic threats and mutual permeability. Sometimes allegiances are fluid or at least in doubt, even within an ethnic or religious community. Thus, regimes feel constantly at risk from inside and outside (which exploits internal threats) and seem to struggle continuously for survival. Domestic support, especially of the military and security apparatus, is essential to them. As a result, not only are enormous resources allocated to the buildup of modern armed forces, but frequently security and special forces proliferate to “watch the watchers.” The “enemies of the state” within and without are relentlessly pursued.

But the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait shattered an accepted international notion—the inviolability of international boundaries, and with it many of the presupposed Arab norms.³⁴ As Iraq has assumed the position of Kissinger’s revolutionary power, elements of a classical security dilemma characterized the interstate relations between Iraq and the Gulf States and their allies.³⁵ Consequently, political tension has increased, the arms race has accelerated, and the deterrent presence of the United States has become more important.

These complex, multiple and crosscutting conflicts have emphasized the dynamic nature of the Middle Eastern RSC. The possibility of changes of regime and, subsequently, of policy orientations has always been present in it (this is well illustrated by the consequences of regime changes in the Sudan during the last decade). An important aspect of such changes is the potential impact of Islamism on policies (see below). Akin to that is the inconstancy of relationships among Arab states, even among those which are ideologically dose; tension may suddenly deteriorate and then dissipate, but suspicions, animosities and mutual subversion go on. Indeed, the latter is employed by almost all regimes in the region. The explicit questioning of the legitimacy of some regimes has already been mentioned. When a confrontation occurs between Arab states, it is primarily a conflict of state or regime interests, however clothed, engaged on most of the interrelated levels described above. Issues may be economic (Iraq-Kuwait), personal-ideological (Iraq-Syria), or territorial (Libya-Tunisia, Libya-Egypt, Algeria-Morocco), to name just a few; the opposing parties depict each other as corrupt, dictatorial, and even “Zionist.” Each side’s domestic enemies are aided and abetted by the other and clandestine warfare is often employed. And yet, open hostility may suddenly end, though basic animosity remains. Furthermore, yesterday’s allies may fall away because of some disappointment, and new ad hoc alliances may form.

A further dynamic is the changing boundaries of the RSC. North Africa has long been included in the region. Non-Arab Iran is more than ever an integral part of it, because of its conflict with Iraq, its interventionist Islamic policy (in Lebanon, Algeria, Sudan, etc.), its extreme animosity toward Israel, and its military buildup, including long-range weapons. Also included is Turkey, whose relations with neighboring Arab states include security aspects, such as the various aspects of the Kurdish problem, exploited against it by Syria in retaliation for Turkish “hydropolitics"³⁶ and by it, as after the Gulf War. And last but not least there is the dynamic of the ongoing arms race and the interdependencies it creates.

Is such an environment of lingering suspicion and endemic conflict conducive to confidence building; and if so how can it be achieved? It seems that a positive response can only be very conditional.

At first glance, the European experience in confidence building seems irrelevant. There, a gamut of CBMs was developed after a determinate framework based on the identical interpretation of power-relationships (i.e., the nuclear stalemate) had been articulated during lengthy negotiations. In the Middle East a full range of political, defense and economic agencies and institutions, including periodical summit conferences of heads of states, has been set up by the Arab League since its establishment in 1944. A paradox immediately suggests itself: the instrumentalities and paraphernalia for confidence building are in place, they are legitimate, communications and opportunities for contact are freely available; yet, as mentioned above, there is a basic lack of trust rooted in Arab political culture and the region’s recent history. Although most Arab leaders and scholars may deny it, the presupposed framework is faulty. Instead of promoting mutual confidence, the mutual knowledge and closeness of Arab regimes may have reaffirmed animosities. This may be one of the reasons for the centrality of mediation (and the already mentioned recurrence of subversion) in Arab politics on all levels. Mediators, trying to establish the possibility of confidence, generally precede direct communication between rivals.³⁷

That any straightforward application of Western-style conferences, legal treaties, and other well-intentioned paraphernalia to Arab realities may at best be naive and at worst dangerous, has again been demonstrated in the aftermath of the Gulf War.³⁸ It has since become more difficult to envisage any agreement between Arab entities alleviating a serious set of problems (such as agreements on confidence-building and mutual tension reduction, and arms control), if risks to the status-quo between states or to the survival of a regime are involved. Cooperation, even military and intimate, has occurred and will occur between Arab states and regimes; but it is mostly based on interests and on more or less temporary conjunctures ("live and let live scenarios").³⁹ The readiness, indeed the necessity, of the otherwise hostile regimes of Iraq and Syria to jointly face Turkey on the question of the Euphrates waters is an illustration of this. While such cooperation lasts, specific CBMs may be set up between partners, if found necessary (usually the technical infrastructure for direct communications etc., exists), but may as rapidly be discontinued.

This leads to another paradox of Middle Eastern complexities—the “paradox of enmity": while the Arab “brotherly” (to use an Arab word) relationship may comprise all relevant instrumentalities, it is often transgressed at will; but the relationship with the enemy, that is, with Israel, is clear and dependable. President Asad of Syria put it succinctly: “Syria … is an enemy to Israel just as Israel is an enemy to Syria."⁴⁰ One expects less from an enemy, but although there are limits there also exist respect and a certain trust (Syrian undertakings toward Israel have been strictly observed; furthermore, it is common knowledge that Israeli broadcasts are generally considered reliable in the Middle East). Possibly, hopefully, this paradoxical relationship may facilitate the building of confidence in the Arab-Israeli peace process.

Finally, the multilevel aspects of two components of the Arab insecurity dilemma have to be addressed. They are Islamism and the ongoing arms race.

Islamism increasingly endangers the security and stability of regimes (e.g., the North African states, Egypt), both when it is an opposition movement and when it is an instrument of state. Relations between Islamist states and others are full of suspicion and have deteriorated rapidly (e.g., the tension between Tunisia, Algeria and Egypt on the one side and Iran and the Sudan on the other). At the same time, Islamists emphasize the existential dimension of the Arab-Israeli conflict and are violently opposed to any peace settlement (whether out of genuine belief or external instigation).⁴¹ By appropriating accepted symbols of legitimacy (Islamic and nationalist), Islamists further their goal of unseating targeted regimes. Islamism has thus become a multilevel issue, the implications of which for domestic and regional confidence building are intertwined.

The post-Gulf War arms race in the Middle East has a particularly malignant quality—the accelerated quest for weapons of mass destruction (WMD—nuclear, chemical, and biological) and for the means to deliver them (missiles and long-range aircraft). A complicating factor is that the biggest supplier is the United States, despite official declarations to the contrary and despite its being the dominant power in the region and the patron of Arab-Israeli peacemaking. A basic principle in confidence building, intended to lead to arms control, is the mutual reassurance between states that they are not seeking military superiority. Thus, the introduction of destabilizing systems, especially WMD, would clearly erode any newly found confidence and potential stability. Even if presented as deterrents, as countermeasures against Israel, Arabs are aware that in practice, military capabilities for both the offensive and defensive and for deterrence may be very similar and that chemical weapons have repeatedly been used in their conflicts.⁴²

Given the indispensable domestic role of the military in most of the region’s regimes and the latters’ involvement in various conflicts which require a military posture, the difficulties of achieving the necessary reassurance stand out as do their overlapping, multilevel aspects. One may call this a paradox of fear,born of the Mid-Eastern insecurity dilemma: with more Western involvement in regional security and more arms supplied, regimes do not become more secure but more anxious for their survival. In these circumstances it is of special importance that confidence building in the arms control context somehow reconciles the domestic security problems of regimes, their regional security concerns (e.g., Gulf-Iraq, Egypt-Sudan, Iran and Turkey with both Arab and Central Asian states etc.), and the Arab-Israeli conflict. Those unsatisfied with a political settlement of the Arab-Israeli conflict would probably join those unwilling to accept limitations for any reason (such as perceiving them as unilateral, insulting tine prestige of the military, threatening the regime, etc.), limitations without which no settlement could be reached. Particularly sensitive in this context is the Arab and Iranian quest for nuclear arms, which Israel regards very negatively and “will address itself to thwart."⁴³ A regional vicious circle could thus be created.

Conclusion

A sobering conclusion of this analysis is that the setting up of CBMs in the Arab world, or rather, in the Middle Eastern RSC, faces multiple difficulties, very different from those encountered in Europe. There has been no Iron Curtain in the Arab world and it does not lack the instrumentalities and technical infrastructure necessary for confidence building. Yet this conflict-ridden region lacks a compelling, overriding, legitimizing principle, the presupposed determinate framework. In short, it is deficient in mutual trust and confidence.

Obviously, there exist palpable Arab security fears on the various levels discussed, primarily within regimes concerned with their survival. These fears have increased since the 1990 Iraqi invasion of Kuwait, which shattered many inter-Arab conventions and norms, and also since the proliferation of WMD.

No analysis of the feasibility and potential of CBMs in the Arab-Israeli peacemaking process can ignore the multidimensional web of animosities and conflicts in the region. Any possible Arab accommodation with Israel raises the issue of its legitimacy in the region. From an Israeli point of view, how can one establish confidence in neighbors who harbor designs on it, in dissatisfied states, without the latter giving them up? The same issue is frequently employed in inter-Arab disputes. Any Israeli buildup of relations, especially confidence building, with one or more Arab states can be (and have been) used in conflicts among Arabs. One recent example is the Islamist injunction against the peace process, which condemns participating Arabs. Israel’s diplomatic and other presence in Egypt has often fuelled arguments against Cairo: how can one trust a state entertaining relations with the enemy of the Arabs? Earlier, Israeli demands that its peace treaty with Egypt should take precedence over the letter’s obligations under the Arab common defense pact have been repeatedly used in Arab disputes with Egypt. A possible Israeli-Jordanian security regime could be used similarly.

Once, however, the complex but clear-cut animosity between Israel and the Arab states begins to change, it may develop into something more ambivalent and composite; it may assume some of the traits of the Egyptian-Israeli and Jordanian-Israeli relationships. This means that confidence building will have to take into account domestic political realities. Any routine military steps (such as tension reducing, arms control and limitation, intrusive inspections and other verifications) may have repercussions for the regimes involved. Factors such as the impact on the concerned regime’s relations with its armed forces, supporting and opposed publics, and hostile neighbors (e.g., Iran, Islamist and radical organizations), will have to be weighed against straightforward technical considerations. From an Israeli perspective, gradualism as well as attention to the others sensitivities may be advisable in order to overcome historically hostile barriers. After all, having come to some kind of settlement with an Arab state gives one a stake in the survival of its regime.

How does all of this affect theoretical considerations? The concept of CBMs should be reformulated. First, the primary goal should be defined—the establishment of confidence: what is it, what does it comprise, and how does it relate to the concept of “security"? Second, one should differentiate between the strategic dimensions, such as the partners’ political (and military) will and capability—their domestic readiness—to stick to the agreed policy of confidence building (this may include a assessment of the stability and longevity of the regimes involved), and the tactical and technical dimensions, such as the categories (verbal, material, etc.) of CBMs required, their scope, phasing, expected duration, and the modalities of monitoring (national, third-party, intrusiveness and the issue of transparency).

Furthermore, there is the major importance of the cultural bounds of CBMs. The West and Europe are different in their political culture from the Middle East, as is the Far East. Such cultural implications have to be specified and applied through research and analysis. For instance, one may find some resemblance between CBMs required in the emerging post-Soviet system of the Commonwealth of Nations and the Middle East.

Finally, while the setting-up of CBMs may contribute greatly to peace making between Arabs and Israelis, the only way to veritably reduce hostility in the Middle East would be some fundamental changes in Arab-Muslim political culture. In terms of the Arab-Israeli conflict this would entail the establishment of a compromise-based “new historic coexistence between the Arab and Jewish worlds."⁴⁴ Meanwhile, however, Israel will probably consider military strength the best guarantor of peace, as it heeds—as everyone dealing with the Middle East should—the late Raymond Aron’s warning: “Nothing guarantees the moderation of states [or regimes], but the politics of a personified ideology or of a messianic class excludes moderation and entails a struggle to death."⁴⁵

Postscript

Recent progress in the Arab-Israeli peace process, and in particular the mutual recognition and Agreement of Principles between Israel and the PLO and the direct negotiations before and after these, underline the importance of establishing a “new historic coexistence” through mutual confidence building. On the other hand, Arab and even Palestinian opposition to the agreement demonstrate the multi-level aspects of any Middle Eastern conflict.

Notes

1. David B. Dewitt, “CBMs in the Middle East—The Arab-Israeli Conflict,” in Confidence-Building Measures and International Security, R.B. Byers et al., eds. (New York: Institute for East-West Security Studies, 1987), pp. 87, 114.

2. Brian L. Job, “The Insecurity Dilemma: National, Regime, and State Securities in the Third World,” in The Insecurity Dilemma: National Securities of Third World States, Brian L. Job, ed. (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1992), pp. 12–13, 27.

3. Dewitt, “CBMs in the Middle East,” p. 114.

4. Holst quoted in ibid., p. 113.

5. Mohammed Ayoob, “The Security Predicament of the Third World State: Reflections on State Making in a Comparative Perspective.” in The Insecurity Dilemma, Brian L. Job, ed., pp. 65–67, 79; also, see Job “The Insecurity Dilemma,” pp. 15–17, 26–27 in the same volume; I purposely avoid here the debate on the meaning of “state,” although obviously not it but individuals and groups are “actors"; hence my emphasis on “regimes.” Cf. Yale H. Ferguson and Richard W. Mansbach, “Between Celebration and Despair: Suggestions for Future International Theory,” International Studies Quarterly 35 (1991), pp. 369–370.

6. Henry Kissinger, A World Restored (New York: Grosset & Dunlop, 1964), p. 2. The conventional reference is to Robert Jervis, “Cooperation Under the Security Dilemma,” World Politics 30 (1978), pp. 167–214; Barry Buzan, An Introduction to Strategic Studies (London: Macmillan, 1987), pp. 78, 87; Cf. Job, “The Insecurity Dilemma,” p.17.

7. Job, “The Insecurity Dilemma,” p. 18.

8. Ibid., pp. 28, 31.

9. Barry Buzan, “Third World Regional Security in Structural and Historical Perspective, ’ in Job, ed., The Insecurity Dilemma, pp. 168–169.

10. Ferguson and Mansbach, “Between Celebration and Despair,” pp. 373–374.

11. Job, ‘The Insecurity Dilemma,” pp. 17–19.

12. Buzan, “Third Wolrd Regional Security,” pp. 171–175.

13. Ibid, 176, 187.

14. Kissinger, A World Restored, pp. 1, 326.

15. Buzan, Introduction to Strtegic Studies, pp. 136–139.

16. Dewitt, “CBMs in the Middle East,” p. 113.

17. Emphasis in the original. Kissinger, A World Restored, pp. 2–3.

18. Dewitt, “CBMs in the Middle East,” p. 113.

19. Thomas C. Schelling, “Confidence in Crisis,” International Security 8 (1984), p. 66; Cf. Buzan, “Introduction to Strategic Studies,” pp. 273–274.

20. Schelling, “Confidence in Crisis,” p. 56.

21. Bassam Tibi, “The Simultaneity of the Unsimultaneous: Old Tribes and Imposed Nation-States in the Modern Middle East” Tribes and State Formation in the Middle East, in Philip S. Khoury and Joseph Kostiner, eds. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), p. 147 and Martin Kramer, “Arab Nationalism: Mistaken Identity,” Daedalus, No.3 (summer 1993), pp. 171–206. Among recent remarkable books from the voluminous literature on the Middle East: Albert Hourani, History of the Arab Peoples (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1991); Milton J. Esman and Itamar Rabinovich, eds., Ethnicity, Pluralism and the State in the Middle East (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1988); Giacomo Luciano, ed., The Arab State (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990). This is a selection culled from four important volumes on the Arab state-system; Alan Richards and John Waterbury, A Political Economy of the Middle East (Boulder: Westview, 1989). On “weak” states, the literature thereon, and the relationship between them and the insecurity dilemma, see Job, “The Insecurity Dilemma,” pp. 19–27.

22. David Aikman, “Perplexitas Arabica,” The National Interest, No. 25 (fall 1991), p. 77.

23. An analysis of Arab political culture is beyond the scope of the present essay. Cf. inter alia Gabriel Ben-Dor, State and Conflict in the Middle East: Emergence of the Postcolonial State (New York: Praeger, 1983); Ernest Gellner, Muslim Society (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983); E.I.J. Rosenthal, Political Thought in Medieval Islam (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1962); Myron Weiner and Samuel P. Huntington, eds., Understanding Political Development (Boston: Little Brown, 1987); Mustapha K. Al-Sayyid, “Slow Thaw in the Arab World,” World Policy Journal 8 (1991), pp. 711–738.

24. Hisham Sharabi, Neopatriarchy: A Theory of Distorted Change in Arab Society (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), pp. 4, 7, 59–60; for a poignant description of such a regime—Syria, see: Michel Seurat, L’Etat de Barbarie (Paris: Seuil, 1989), especially Part 1.

25. Richard W. Cottam. “Levels of Conflict in the Middle East” in The Atlantic Alliance and the Middle East, Joseph I. Coffey and Gianni Bonvicini, eds. (London: Macmillan, 1989), pp. 17–72; Cf. Anthony H. Cordesman, Weapons of Mass Destruction in the Middle East (London: Brassey’s, 1991), pp. 5–6; Dewitt, “CBMs in the Middle East,” 1987.

26. Cf. Ben-Dor, State and Conflict in the Middle East.

27. Sharabi, pp. 13, 139–143; quote on p. 142; Further works on Islamism: Emmanuel Sivan, Radical Islam (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985); Barbara F. Stowasser, ed., The Islamic Impulse (London: Croom Helm, 1987); Bruno Etienne, Ulslamism Radical (Paris: Hachette [Livre de poche], 1987).

28. For this and the preceding category—cf. Esman and Rabinovich, eds., Ethnicity, Pluralism and the State.

29. Bruce B. Lawrence, “Muslim Fundamentalist Movements: Reflections Toward a New Approach” in Barbara F. Stowasser, ed., The Islamic Impulse, p. 21; Ibrahim Abu-Lughod, “Studies on the Islamic Assertion: A Review Essay,” Arab Studies Quarterly 4 (1982), p. 162.

30. Cf. Ferguson and Mansbach, “Between Celebration and Despair,” pp. 370–379; Dewitt, “CBMs in the Middle East,” p. 111.

31. Thus it seems premature to argue as Fouad Ajami did in his “The End of Arab Nationalism,” The New Republic (12 August 1991).

32. For example, Saddam, Iraqi News Agency, 6 May 1992, Foreign Broadcasting Information Service, NES, Daily Report, 6 May 1992.

33. Hourani, History of the Arab Peoples, pp. 447–458 quote on p. 448.

34. Cf. Job, ‘The Insecurity Dilemma,” p. 26.

35. Barzan al-Takriti, Saddam’s half-brother, recently elaborated on redrawing Gulf borders, Al-Jumhuriyyah (Baghdad), 5 July 1992, Daily Report, 9 July 1992.

36. For example, The Economist, 25 July 1992, p. 52.

37. Cf. Dewitt, “CBMs in the Middle East,” pp. 112–113; Sharon A. Squassoni, Confidence- and Security-Building Measures: An Inventory of Approaches (McLean: Science Applications International Corporation, 1991), especially pp.21–29.

38. Cf. Aikman, “Perplexitas Arabica,” p. 78.

39. Dewitt, “CBMs in the Middle East,” pp. 117, 123–124.

40. Syrian Arab News Agency, 2 June 1992, Daily Report, 3 June 1992, p.35.

41. Cf. Yvonne Haddad, “Islamists and the ‘Problem of Israel’: The 1967 Awakening,” Middle East Journal 46, no.2 (spring 1992), pp. 266–285.

42. Buzan, Introduction to Strategic Studies, pp. 92, 252.

43. Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin’s Presentation Address, 13 July 1992.

44. Shimon Peres, “The Middle East in a New Era,” Mediterranean Quarterly 2, no.4 (fall 1991), p. 9; Dewitt, “CBMs in the Middle East,” p. 123.

45. Quoted in Stanley Hoffman, Janus and Minerva (Boulder: Westview, 1987), p. 63.

7
Israel and Syria: The Problem of Confidence

Gideon Gera

Introduction

Convening intermittently since late 1991 as part of the Madrid peace process, the Israeli-Syrian bilateral meetings unfailingly attract wide attention. They are uncommon encounters between the parties to the “most bitter of Israel’s bilateral conflicts with its Arab neighbours.”¹ The knotty political, strategic and territorial issues between Israel and Syria are compounded by the two countries’ vehement mutual distrust. President Hafiz Asad of Syria has succinctly defined the relationship between the two countries: “Syria … is an enemy to Israel just as Israel is an enemy to Syria.”² Can these two bridge the gap and conclude a real peace? The stakes are high for both. Because of Syria’s centrality in the Arab-Israeli conflict, no “comprehensive” peace is feasible without it. “Only Damascus can make the key decision of war and peace. The other parties are intimidated by Damascus and would not be able to sustain their accords with Israel.”³ But is Israel ready to pay the price demanded for such a peace? On the other hand, would the potential strategic and economic gains for Syria, if it agreed to full peace, outweigh possible domestic and regional political hurts to the regime?

A possible way toward narrowing this gap is confidence building (CB), which can be viewed as a slow educational process aimed at achieving a change in mutual perceptions. Initially, a state aims to fortify its confidence in its own security, but it may rapidly become entangled in a “security dilemma": An increase in one state’s security decreases the security of others, whose reactions could decrease its security.⁴ CB addresses this dilemma. “Facing a potentially hostile enemy,” opposing parties want “to be as confident as the true state of affairs justifies.” They want “grounds for confidence, evidence that confidence is justified.” This means “measures that make it actually less feasible to achieve surprise … [that] can reduce the likelihood of war.” Both sides know that “deceit is constructed on misplaced confidence.”⁵ CB involves mutual “transparency” and verification, in order to reciprocally increase over time information on the threats posed. Confidence building measures (CBMs) are “arrangements designed to enhance … assurance of mind and belief in the trustworthiness of… states and the facts they create.”⁶ Essential to the process of CB is a basic political decision to establish “rules of the game,” agreed-upon regulations and limits to activities and means in a security relationship.

Paradoxically, between Israel and Syria there exist some clear and durable understandings, written and unwritten. Hence, some “belief in the trustworthiness” of the other side must have been established in the past, however reluctantly. Thus, even if no settlement were to be achieved in the continuing negotiations between Israel and Syria and even if one were to conclude that Syria’s participation in the Madrid Conference did not indicate any fundamental change in Asad’s policy, an inquiry into the possibilities of mutual confidence building would not be gratuitous.

In this chapter I intend to look into the feasibility of confidence building measures (CBM) between Syria and Israel. What are the two states’ perceptions of the conflict and how do these impact on the process of CB? Without going into the tactical and technical details involved, which CBMs would be useful? What are the domestic and regional implications of CB?

The View from Syria

As the sole, major decision maker in Syria, Asad reflects Syria’s principal political and strategic concerns and objectives.⁷

The Arab-Israeli conflict is a “major theme of Asad’s life,” according to his very sympathetic biographer.⁸ “Asad is a man of 1967… For twenty years he has been trying to overturn the verdict of the Six Day War, which compel [led] the Arabs to live in the shadow of a small state artificially implanted, as he sees it, in the region by alien settlers … supported by an outdated Western imperialism.” Moreover, “the new [Israeli] imperialism was more dangerous than the old, indeed it was a threat to the Arab’s national existence.”⁹ In Asad’s own words: “Israel and Zionism want our Arab land from the Euphrates to the Nile. This is what their Torah says. Israel wants to extend wherever there are Jews, [even] beyond the Nile and the Euphrates.”¹⁰

The enmity between Israel and Syria has been seen as an outgrowth of Syrian reaction to the dismemberment of Greater Syria by the colonial powers, of which the creation of Israel was seen as the final step. Syria also insisted on the illegitimacy of the “colonialist” borders imposed on it to its disadvantage. In the North the district of Alexandretta was ceded to Turkey by the French; in the South the boundary weakened its hold over two important keys to the region’s scarce water resources—the Jordan River and the Lake of Tiberias.¹¹ Since 1974 the idea of Greater Syria has been reaffirmed as a centerpiece of Asad’s policy, “Palestine” being a principal part of southern Syria. Syria also proclaimed itself as the confrontation state and natural leader of the struggle against Israel, with which it competed for primacy in the Levant.¹²

From a security point of view, Syria is surrounded on all sides (excepting Lebanon) by potential and actual adversaries, including the strongest powers in the region, Israel and Turkey (and, until recently, Iraq). Syria’s strategic position in the conflict with Israel is extremely vulnerable. From its perspective, Israel’s continued military occupation of the Golan poses a tangible danger. The Golan Heights (and Southern Lebanon) provide Israel with strong forward positions for the launching of a two-pronged attack into the Syrian heartland. Damascus is only 40 km from the cease-fire line in the Golan, with no natural obstacles in between, and within range of Israel’s long-range artillery.¹³ From this perspective, Israel can be perceived as both a political and a security threat to Syria.

After 1974, acutely aware of its military inferiority to Israel, Syria based its strategy in the conflict on the achievement of “strategic parity” with Israel. The key to “parity” was wide-ranging Soviet support. But the evolving changes in the Soviet Union meant that such parity was no longer realizable. A reassessment of Syria’s policies ensued. Asad’s military response was a continuing and accelerated effort to improve Syria’s defensive capability (or in Soviet terms, its “reasonable defensive sufficiency”).¹⁴ To deter Israel or to exact a high price from it in case of war, surface-to-surface missiles (possibly with chemical warheads) have been allotted a central role, both as a counterforce and a countervalue weapon.¹⁵ Syria, however, is still almost entirely dependent on outside suppliers and has been experiencing difficulties in procuring first-rate technology. Asad’s political response was a gradual “tilt” toward the US, culminating in his participation in both the Gulf War and the Madrid peace process (which was indispensable to setting it in motion). To Asad, the main advantage of the process lay in furthering his relationship with the US Administration (which had previously aided him to tighten his hold over Lebanon).

Yet, these developments did not include a change in Asad’s negative perception of Israel. To gain his territorial objective—the Golan—and to ensure his regional status, Asad aimed from the outset at a “comprehensive” settlement based on an Israel held in check behind its pre-1967 borders by an Arab world of equal strength centerd on Damascus. In Asad’s words: “We want peace that returns the territory, restores rights, and establishes security in the region. Anything short of that means capitulation.”¹⁶ Once engaged in the process, Asad has objected to partial, piecemeal settlements as only confirming Israeli supremacy; this has served him well in improving his domestic and inter-Arab position and in keeping him out of vulnerable corners, such as a sudden Israeli agreement to full withdrawal for a full peace.

A central Syrian argument in this context was that a settlement in the Golan was not urgent. But with the evolving global and regional situation, time may now seem to Asad a more ambivalent factor: the new administration in the US, the spread of Islamic radicalism, and the possible proliferation of weapons of mass destruction (WMD) may confer some urgency on achieving a settlement with Israel. One option would be a partial settlement, hitherto rejected. It could be attractive to Asad both if his attitude toward peace with Israel was evolving and if he had not relinquished his basic attitude toward it. In the latter case, such a settlement could be considered as temporary, for the short range, yet it would benefit the regime: continuing hostility would justify public alertness and a high rate of military buildup; at the same time, Syria could probably obtain foreign aid for development, as an incentive for peace or at least for continued negotiations.

Whatever Asad’s decisions, one should not expect him to change his way of negotiating from a position of strength. In the past, and not only in the Israeli context, he has made maximal demands and attached a rising price tag on almost any move, depicting every “give” as a major concession—which is made only at the last possible moment. Force and violent psychological pressures are legitimate means of negotiating. In Asad’s view, “force in today’s world, just as in the past, is what determines right. Everyone speaks about rights and international norms, charters and resolutions. However you find that every international event is eventually settled by force. Everyone speaks about world public opinion … international norms and laws. We support these norms and laws. However, we must not give them more than they deserve.”¹⁷

To conclude: at present, with strategic parity being unachievable and the political process advantageous, the basic decision facing Asad is either to proceed with the negotiations (including the possibility of partial/interim agreements), or to leave the conflict as is for future generations, when the balance of forces may change.

The View from Israel

To Israeli eyes, Syria remains one of the main adversaries in the Arab-Israeli conflict. In this confrontation, Israel is a status quo state facing a “dissatisfied,” revisionist power which it can hardly reassure.¹⁸ More than most, it denies the legitimacy of Israel in the region. Decades of rabid “ideological” hostility combined with strategic factors, such as Syria’s military posture and the topography of the border, have exacerbated the acuity of the conflict. Its territorial focus is the Golan Heights, occupied by Israel in 1967. From there the Syrians had dominated the Israeli valley to the west and harassed its population since 1951. These years still evoke bitter memories in Israel. The pre-1967 situation was well described by Abba Eban, then Israel’s ambassador to the UN, to the UN Security Council in 1958 (after a severe shelling of settlements):

Israeli territory opposite the Syrian frontier extends westward for ten kilometres in open and low-lying ground …. On the other hand, Syrian territory east of the frontier is marked by an ascending gradient rising steeply for three kilometres and less sharply for a further distance. Syrian territory is, on the average, 1,500 feet higher than Israeli territory in the greater part of this region …. Geography thus accords great strategic advantage to the Syrians. Israel’s civilian targets are numerous, easily visible and well within range. Civilian activities … can be obstructed almost at will, without a great deal of military valour or immediate risk.¹⁹

Syria’s objectives, be they “minimal” (regaining the Golan) or maximal (the elimination of Israel) can mainly be achieved by military means. Although Syria has not achieved “strategic parity” with Israel, its military buildup continues. Its efforts to develop an improved surface-to-surface missile capability threaten the Israeli population. It has big, regular military forces, the main armored formations of which are well equipped and offensively trained, and—being no farther away than 60 km from vital Israeli objectives—could well surprise Israel as in 1973.

The widespread Israeli mistrust of Syrian intentions has not diminished in the post-Madrid era. Syria’s motives in the negotiations are widely suspected: could it intend to achieve there what was denied to it on the battlefield?²⁰ There is great public reluctance to a territorial settlement with it, a sentiment continuously fed by the opposition to the present government. In these circumstances, before making irrecoverable territorial concessions in exchange for a formal peace, Israel needs to establish a “comprehensive” new strategic relationship with Syria. A renewed Syrian military presence on the Heights overlooking the Hulah valley would be inconceivable. Further relevant issues are: the Syrian military posture, including WMD and missiles; the partial dependence of Israel’s water supply on the Banyas headwaters of the Jordan, originating in the Golan; Syria’s relationships with Lebanon, Iran (including Hizballah’s freedom of action in Lebanon), and radical movements.²¹

The complex and tough problems in the negotiations with Syria indicate that the process will be long. Israel would probably insist on keeping a deterrent posture and some tangible assets on the ground as long as confidence is still fragile. In the words of Israel’s first soldier: “As long as there are no … fundamental changes … around us, the Golan Heights have been and remain a first-rate security asset for Israel.”²² Possibly, this may point to the advantage of a gradual, partial approach to both sides.

Confidence Building

The Israeli-Syrian situation is very different from the circumstances which led to CB between the US and USSR and in Europe. There the point of departure was the nuclear stalemate between status quo powers. Here the problem is how to go about building confidence between a status quo state and a “dissatisfied” state wishing to change the existing situation. Israel and Syria differ in their “visions” and their views on the issues involved. Their deep mutual distrust has been reinforced by reciprocal perceptions of the other in negative, “demonic” stereotypes (e.g., Israel as a “high-tech crusader state"). Syria considers itself legitimately confronting an expansionist aggressor in order to regain the Golan (not to mention the Palestinian issue); in that confrontation it is not ready to give up the use of force. Israel, finding little “fundamental” grounds for confidence, has based its security on deterrence. Hence, their opposing views on the desirable balance of power. Syria deemed strategic parity essential to achieving the peace it wanted; to Israel, peace seemed achievable only if the Arabs (Syria, in this case) accepted they could not attain their aims by force. To the latter, this meant enduring and humiliating inferiority. In other words, the mutual feelings of hostility and frustration have been reinforced by the already evoked “security dilemma": more strength and security for Israel means less strength and security for Syria (and the Arabs), whose reactions could in turn reduce the security of Israel, for instance through the acquisition of weapons of mass destruction.

Given these conditions, can confidence between the two parties be built without a prior change in political perceptions, probably stemming from cultural bases? A major act of political will has to occur in Syria and in Israel, which the former may find more difficult to achieve. Yet, the case for CB could be based on the shared experience that in the past some arrangements between them have worked. But are they “ripe” for real CB?²³

Clearly, the building of confidence has to begin with a basic political decision on both sides, an agreement to establish and adhere to “rules of the game,” regulating and limiting activities and means in their security relationship. In the new global circumstances, this means that Syria has to accept that its “vision” cannot be realized militarily, that the only way for it to get some (or all) of the Golan back is political (possibly with the help of the US). It has to decide what price—what kind of peace, what sort of political accommodation—it is ready to pay for the territory. Israel will have to decide what would equitably compensate it for relinquishing wholly or partly a tangible security asset. Decisions of this magnitude may require time to “ripen"; furthermore, both sides have to be continually convinced that the other party has durable interests in a peace treaty. Israel has to be convinced that an agreement would be perceived by Syria as advantageous in the long run and under any circumstances, even after having regained the Golan (or that negating on it could deeply harm it). Syria has to be convinced that having gained peace, Israel will discontinue its alleged quest for Arab territory and reduce its arsenal.

In what may be considered as a preliminary statement of his attitude toward CB, Asad said early in the process:

In circumstances like ours, CBMs are not the best way to resolve the problem under discussion. If we really want peace, then we must implement these resolutions [Security Council Resolutions 242 and 338]. This implementation will take us directly… to confidence itself which goes beyond the CBMs. If we start going into CBMs—which in this case will be many measures and not only one—we will waste time … needed by the peace process as a whole. So why do we not walk on a straight line to the objective we want, if we really want peace?²⁴

Any elaboration of CBMs has to consider the different approaches of Syria and Israel, pointed out in the above statement. The former insists that confidence can only be achieved by agreeing on issues of substance; the latter stresses technical measures which would gradually increase its confidence. The substantial issues are: (1) territory (that is, no territorial compromise for peace); (2) comprehensiveness (no separate peace, although not necessarily concurrence); and (3) equity in security. Only the last point is relevant here.

These words underline some visible obstacles to CB between Israel and Syria, which will probably be a long process, in stages and gradually widening in scope, and primarily governed by political considerations.²⁵ Given the historical background, the elaboration of CBMs should be guided by meticulous specificity; avoiding ambiguities in agreed-upon measures, to the point of defining definitions, will be of major importance. Syria consistently has carried out its part of the 1974 cease-fire agreement in the Golan, but whatever has not been covered by it—such as hostile operations through Lebanon and third-party borders—gave the Syrians other outlets for actions against Israel. The Syrians have their own grievances against Israel on this point.

Two stages of CB are obvious: preceding a formal peace agreement and following it. In the present precursory phase one can consider the peace process, however haltingly it proceeds, as a CBM on its own: the bilateral meetings (Syria has not yet joined the multilateral forum) mean ongoing contacts and mutual learning, which may prove important in the setting down of the “rules of the game.” At this stage one would expect limited, low-level measures which do not prejudice any political outcome but would convey the possibility, the desirability even, of creating grounds for confidence. At this stage small declaratory steps are important, because they fortify the process. Thus, the publicity given by the Syrian media to Asad’s meeting with the Syrian delegation to the talks in November 1992 and his subsequent public references to Syria’s engagement in the process (even if not indefinitely and unconditionally) was seen as positive in Israel.²⁶ In its quest for confidence, Israel has argued for high-level contacts, but in Asad’s book such gestures carry a substantive price. A decisive moment will have come when both sides agree on the non-use of force in the conflict. Then more explicit CB may start. The scope would be mainly the Golan, but the inclusion of Lebanon (e.g., the prevention of armed operations in the Security Zone and through it, exchange of prisoners held by militias) would be mutually beneficial. So would direct communications between regional (or central) commands to reduce the risk of incidents, elaboration of “Red Lines” (limited restraints on military forces), and other less legalistic steps.²⁷

In the second phase, following a peace agreement, CB will focus on underpinning the agreement by constraining the offensive capabilities of the parties, preventing surprise attacks in the future, and instituting arms control (some may argue that these measures could be initiated before the conclusion of peace, but this seems unlikely at present). Its scope would include all strategic issues between the parties. At this stage the issue of equity in security—in gains and obligations—will assume prime importance. Syria insists on “equal footing” and on its sovereignty not being hurt. In Asad’s words, “peace is an issue of rights and commitments… commitments by all parties to peace and security, provided only that the security of one party is not at the expense of any other party.” He has also said, “we have agreed that there must be security arrangements acceptable to both sides.”²⁸ Israel, on its part, emphasizes the particular security needs of the parties, which are not necessarily symmetrical (e.g., the proximity of Damascus to the Israeli border). The divergence in views on the qualitative and quantitative aspects of each issue is apparent immediately.

To Syrian eyes, Israel’s offensive capabilities include its nuclear capability, its technological infrastructure and its strategic cooperation with the United States (e.g., the prepositioning of US equipment and other forms of operational cooperation which could reinforce it in case of conflict). To Israeli eyes, Syrian force structure (regular forces)—while its own defense is largely based on reserve forces—enhances Syrian offensive capabilities. Redeployment steps to prevent surprise attacks, especially in the narrow space of the Golan, may involve force limitations. The short distances between the front and the cantonments of some of the Syrian armored formations (which theoretically could mount an assault on the Golan within twelve hours), may possibly require the extension of deployment limitations into the Damascus region. Syria could consider this as encroaching on its sovereignty (especially as this could have a domestic impact). A symmetrical Israeli redeployment could lead to denuding most of the Upper Galilee of military forces, which would be politically unacceptable to Israel.

Reducing the feasibility of surprise attacks may include the establishment of buffer zones of various design. The Israeli-Syrian armistice agreement of 1949 established a few “demilitarized zones” (mainly in the area west of the cease-fire line). From the failure of these and similar arrangements arises the necessity to explicitly specify spatial (e.g., depth), temporal (how long), and qualitative and quantitative (prohibition of what arms and how many) limits and to establish ways and means of verification. Another possibility is the setting up of a Sinai-type buffer zone manned by third-party (possibly UN) forces, larger than the current United Nations Disengagement Observer Force (UNDOF). Israel would probably like to see US combat units in such a force and to extend the mandatory presence of such a force for decades. Such a force could assume verification tasks as well. Because of the political sensitivities involved, this presupposes an advanced measure of mutual confidence. The participation of both parties in verification tasks, which would establish mutual transparency, may contribute to that.

The divergence of views is especially large on the issue of arms control and limitation. Syria’s insistence on equity (or symmetry) is especially inclusive, reflecting its view on the balance of power and its anxiety about Israeli WMD. According to Asad,

the attainment of peace constitutes the objective proper condition for limiting arms. If they [Israel] want to achieve arms limitation before [that]… let us discuss the subject in a comprehensive and fair manner: Ether we, the Arabs, and Israel should have the full opportunity to manufacture or manufacturing should be banned for all… Arms reduction is the slogan raised to prevent missiles from reaching Syria … If the Arabs are denied the chance to import arms at a time when the Israelis are allowed to produce arms—then … the Arabs [will] become disarmed. If they want arms reduction … they should … close the Israeli plants that produce nuclear bombs and missiles, the electron [sic], the tank, artillery, the rifle, the gun, and all kinds of weapons small and large … Let them ban production and rather import their weapons.²⁹

Later he reiterated what he meant by arms control in the Middle East: “If they destroy what they have, and we destroy what we have, both of us will feel secure. Otherwise, neither of us will feel secure.”³⁰ (As mentioned, Syria has refused to participate in discussions of the issue in the multilateral talks, insisting on prior progress in its bilateral negotiations with Israel).

The asymmetries in outlook and capabilities (including the field of WMD), has led some observers to conclude that a military balance of power in the classical sense between Israel and Syria may not be possible.³¹ How to overcome such asymmetry and by what reciprocity is a matter of delicate negotiations and assumes more mutual confidence than reigns between the parties at present.

Domestic Considerations

No exploration in depth of the problems involved in CB between Israel and Syria can overlook the domestic and regional aspects of the process.

Foreign and defense issues are considered presidential prerogatives in Syria. In general, they are not publicly discussed nor have they been subjects of parliamentary discussion (or election campaigns).³² While there do not seem to be any economic constraints on Asad’s engagement in the peace process, obviously he has to mind domestic political considerations.

At present, no domestic threat to Asad’s regime is visible. But a “full” peace with Israel, which would include public manifestations of Israeli presence, may challenge the accepted opinions of the Syrian majority. These sensitivities would probably be exploited by the enemies of the regime, both domestic and foreign. For instance, Muslim fundamentalists could (and probably would) portray a peace treaty as “proving” the infidel nature of the ruling Alawi elite. On this background, some domestic implications of two already mentioned CBMs should be discussed.

Deployment limitations can easily be depicted as humiliating national honor and as moving forces to the borders of other Arab states—such as Iraq (although in fact they could easily be overcome by autoroutes, and a fleet of tank-transporters and helicopters).

Force structure is an even more complex issue: Asad’s regime is essentially military. It is buttressed by the loyalty of regular forces, military, security and police, and especially by the loyalty of their officers. To reduce regular units and to limit their constant reequipment could invite trouble. Their replacement by reserve units would not only be seen as responding to Israeli pressure (possibly with the aim of diminishing Syrian combat readiness), thus weakening the nation, but also as directly endangering the regime and the groups supporting it by arming potentially unreliable civilians.

These considerations may lead Asad to draw out negotiations (including on CBMs) by insisting on a measure of symmetry unacceptable to Israel.

From an Israeli point of view, the possible reappearance of Syrian troops on the Golan Heights, potentially menacing the population downhill, is already posing heavy constraints on the government. If no changes in the Syrian force structure is attainable, especially in the development of WMD, it is difficult to perceive whence Israel will gain the confidence essential for making territorial concessions.

Regional Considerations

Israel and Syria belong to a “regional security complex” (RSC): their “primary security concerns are sufficiently closely linked that their national securities cannot realistically be considered apart from one another … In principle a security complex could be defined by either positive or negative security interdependence.”³³ The Middle Eastern RSC is continuously in flux; its boundaries change, as do political relationships within it. Given this dynamic environment, the regional implications of CBMs between Israel and Syria are significant. Their different regional perspectives lead the two to diverging security requirements. To Israel the elucidation of Syria’s relations with Iran and other “rogue” states is essential, as well as the impact on its other negotiating partners.

The security of its border with Lebanon is vital to Israel. Yet Syria, which dominates Lebanon, is at present not interested in reducing the militias (especially Hizballah) which trouble Israel there. Says Asad: “Syria will not protect Israeli borders or Israeli security. No one can imagine that Syria will kill the Lebanese because they are defending their country [against Israeli occupation].”³⁴ From Syria’s point of view, Southern Lebanon is a possible avenue of approach to Damascus (as proven in 1982). Syria’s overall strategic interests in Lebanon are very great. Asad believes that “what is good for Lebanon is also good for Syria and what is good for Syria is good for Lebanon. Security… in one of the two countries should be reflected on the other.”³⁵ The Syrians still remember the implications of a free or even pro-Israeli government in Beirut. In this larger context, the presently useful Hizballah may later become a liability. At present, both parties adhere to an informal agreement on “Red Lines": Israel acquiesces in Syrian control of more distant areas while the Syrians stay away from regions essential to Israel’s security.³⁶ Thus, Lebanon will have to be included in Israeli-Syrian CB.

One may assume that Syria has no interest in seeing Israel integrated in other regional CBMs. A possible Israeli-Jordanian security regime, for instance, which would put permanent constraints on Jordan (and the Palestinians), could be seen by Syria as an Israeli attempt to establish military hegemony in the region and as an infringement on territories coveted by it. This also would have to be resolved by Israel and Syria directly.³⁷

Syria’s relationship with Iran also impacts on CB with Israel. Iran was an ally which enabled Syria to curb Iraq, its most serious Arab rival. During the Iran-Iraq war, Syria closely cooperated with Iran and was the principal of its few Arab allies. Their cooperation continues to this day, as symbolized by frequent exchanges of visits between leaders. In Lebanon this has meant some constraints on Syria, especially regarding Hizballah. To Israel, Iran—with its extreme anti-Israeli policy and its efforts to gain WMDs—poses a growing threat. Syrian strategic ties with Iran would be not be well regarded or seen by Israel as building confidence.

It stands to reason that within the process of CB between Israel and Syria a special framework to deal with regional issues is required. Obviously, a lot of more basic confidence building will precede that, but a common view or even tacit mutual understanding would do much to further the process.

Conclusion

Syria and Israel are in their second year of peace negotiations. Both sides have not yet overcome their mutual suspicions and hostility. But one may assume that Asad is now engaged in the process, though he may have entered it as a gambit in his relationship with the United States. Refusing to be drawn into unwanted corners, such as implied by a “full” peace which may make him vulnerable, Asad insists on the total recuperation of the Golan, on comprehensiveness in the negotiations and on equal footing in security arrangements. Israel, having to trade tangible for intangible assets, insists on prior technical and tactical CBMs before it will even consider reducing its deterrent power.

The hostility prevalent in the Israeli-Syrian conflict has psychological and cultural foundations. The divergent political cultures may have different ethics of compliance. In such an environment, to embark sincerely on confidence building the parties have to make fundamental political decisions establishing “rules of the game.” One essential measure of trust is accepting the legitimacy of Israel. Another is accepting that both sides have legitimate security needs, often in conflict. Yet, a process of CB has now begun, mainly on the nonbinding declaratory level; it will have to deal with renouncing the use of force, deployment limitations, buffer zones, changes in force structure, and arms control. It may not really progress unless political negotiations advance.

Beyond their obvious bilateral aspects, these issues have domestic and regional implications. These are exacerbated by new threats emerging in the region, such as the proliferation of WMD and the expansion of Islamic fundamentalism. All of these converge at the political level and have to be faced there, preferably on a joint Israeli-Arab level.

Given the complexities of confidence building between Israel and Syria, can the gap be narrowed, can a measure of trust leading to a settlement of the conflict, be established? There are grounds for cautious optimism. Israel is more ready than ever to make peace—despite the painful price to pay—especially if its security is assured. Syria, indeed the quintessential Arab state, committed to Arab nationalism and the Palestine question, has nonetheless been able to negotiate on a practical level, not on a level touching on values and symbols. Across the years Syria has maintained a streak of pragmatism³⁸ (one is tempted to call it enlightened egoism), which may now enable Asad to ascend to that latter level and take the decisive political plunge leading to confidence building and to at least a beginning of the end of the conflict.

Notes

1. Itamar Rabinovich, The Road Not Taken (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), p. 66; I am grateful to Professor Rabinovich for his comments.

2. Syrian Arab Press Agency, 2 June 1992, Foreign Broadcasting Information Service, NES. Daily Report, 3 June 1992, p.35.

3. Daniel Pipes, Is Damascus Ready for Peace?” Foreign Affairs 70, no. 3 (fall 1991), p. 50.

4. Robert Jervis, “Cooperation Under the Security Dilemma,” World Politics 30 (1978), pp. 167–214.

5. Thomas C. Schelling, “Confidence in Crisis,” International Security 8 (1984), pp. 56–57.

6. David B. Dewitt, “CBMs in the Middle East—The Arab-Israeli Conflict,” in Confidence-Building Measures and International Security, R.B. Byers et al., eds. (New York: Institute for East-West Security Studies, 1987), p. 114.

7. Given this structure of the regime, any point made by its leader is amplified by the Syrian media. For brevity’s sake I have avoided references to journalistic elaborations on these points.

8. Patrick Seale, Asad of Syria (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988), p. 35.

9. Ibid., p. 492.

10. Radio Damascus, 12 March 1992, Daily Report, 13 March 1992, p. 33; Asad made a similar statement to a similar audience of religious dignitaries in 1988. Radio Damascus, 13 May 1988, Daüy Report, 16 May 1988, p. 34.

11. Rabinovich, The Road Not Tciken, p. 68; Martha Neff Kessler, Syria: Fragile Mosaic of Power (Washington: National Defense University Press, 1987), p. 61.

12. Daniel Pipes, Greater Syria (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990), pp. 5, 110–111, 129–135; Seale, Asad of Syria, pp. 185–186, 474–475.

13. Geoffrey Kemp, The Control of the Middle East Arms Race (Washington: Carnegie Endowment, 1991), pp. 16, 109, 211.

14. Ami Ayalon, ed., Middle East Contemporary Survey, Vol. 13 (1989) (Boulder: Westview Press, 1991), pp. 643–640.

15. Mark Heller, “Coping With Missile Proliferation in the Middle East,” Orbis 35, no.l (winter 1991), p.20.

16. Radio Damascus, 12 March 1992, Daily Report, 13 March 1992, p. 35; Seale, pp. 493, 495.

17. Radio Damascus, 12 May 1992, Ddaily Report, 13 May 1988, p. 33.

18. For these terms, see Henry Kissinger, A World Restored (New York: Grosset & Dunlop, 1964), p. 2.

19. UN Security Council, S/PV.841, 8 December 1958. Quoted in Aryeh Shalev, Cooperation Under the Shadow of Conflict (Hebrew) (Tel-Aviv: Ma’arakhot, 1989), pp. 17–18; Cf. Pipes, “Is Damascus Ready?", p. 44.

20. Pipes, “Is Damascus Ready?", p. 49.

21. Cf. Ephraim Sneh, “Long before Concessions", Haaretz, 15 October 1992.

22. General E. Baraq, Yedi’ot Aharonot, 29 September 1991, Daily Report, 1 October 1991.

23. On “ripeness,” cf. Richard N. Haass, “Ripeness and the Settlement of International Disputes,” Survival 30 (1988), pp. 232–251.

24. Syrian Arab News Agency [SANA], 27 October 1991, Daily Report, 29 October 1991, p. 45.

25. For the most recent “menu” of possible CBMs applicable to the ME, see Richard E. Darilek and Geoffrey Kemp, “Prospects for Confidence and Security Building Measures in the Middle East,” in Arms Control and Confidence Building in the Middle East, Alan Platt, ed. (Washington: US Institute of Peace, 1992), pp. 34–42; Cf. Kemp, Control of the Middle East Arms Race, p. 153; Anthony H. Cordesman, Weapons of Mass Destruction in the Middle East (London: Brassey’s, 1991), pp. 168–171.

26. Front pages of al-Thawra and Tishrin, 7 November 1992.

27. On these concepts, Gerald Segal, “Informal Arms Control: The Asian Road to Conventional Reductions,” Arms Control Today (May 1989), pp. 16–20; Cf. Kemp, Control of the Middle East Arms Race, p. 157; Cordesman, Weapons on Mass Destruction, pp. 170–171

28. Radio Damascus, 14 December 1992, Daily Report, 16 December 1992, p. 46; Time, 30 November 1992, p. 31.

29. Radio Damascus, 12 March 1992, Daily Report, 13 March 1992, pp. 34–35.

30. Asad interview, Time, 30 November 1992, p. 31.

31. Kemp, Control of the Middle East Arms Race, p. 88; my emphasis.

32. Cf. Volker Parthes, “Syria’s Parliamentary Elections,” Middle East Report, no. 174 (January-February 1992), pp.16–17.

33. Barry Buzan, ‘Third World Regional Security in Structural and Historical Perspective,” in The Insecurity Dilemma: National Securities of Third World States, Brian L. Job, ed. (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1992), pp. 168–169.

34. SANA, 2 June 1992, Daily Report, 3 June 1992, p. 35.

35. Radio Damascus, 22 May 1991, Daily Report, 23 May 1991, p. 56.

36. Pipes, ‘Is Damascus Ready?” pp. 43–44.

37. Joseph Alpher, “Security Arrangements for a Palestinian Settlement,” Survival 34, no. 4 (winter 1992–93), pp. 58–59.

38. Rabinovich, The Road Not Taken, pp. 109, 221.

8
Jordan and the Question of Confidence Building: The Politics of Ambivalence

Emile Sahliyeh

Despite its reluctance to engage in direct bilateral peace talks with Israel, over the years Jordan has been interested in avoiding situations that could have led to the breakdown of the cease-fire or to the commencement of violence on its borders with Israel. Jordan’s moderation, pragmatism, and pro-Western orientation generated a level of trust among Israel’s policymakers. Its views on how to resolve the Arab-Israeli dispute further enhanced Israeli trust. In particular, Jordan’s conclusion that diplomacy and direct bilateral talks were the only options available for the resolution of the Palestinian question and its acceptance of the need for a transitional regime in the occupied territories contributed to the building of Israeli confidence in the Hashemite regime.

While its attitude toward peacemaking was changing the Jordanian government did not actively and publicly pursue a policy for the institutionalization of an effective system of confidence building. By the late 1980s, Jordan had resigned itself to a secondary role in the search for a solution to the Palestinian question. It regarded the Palestinians and the PLO as being primarily responsible for their own destiny and also regarded that Jordan would support any decision the Palestinians would make.

Many of the problems that Jordan faced in the area of confidence building are at the heart of the field of confidence and security building. This chapter, therefore, will examine Jordan’s views on the question of confidence building and the limitations that the government confronts in this regard. It will also survey the reasons behind Jordan’s continued relevance to the peace process. The chapter will conclude with a discussion of Jordan’s stand on the question of future confidence and security building measures and the theoretical insights that the Jordanian experience yields to the field of conflict resolution and confidence building.

Jordan’s Relevance to the Peace Process

Since its independence in 1946, the Palestinian question has served as the primary preoccupation for Jordan’s foreign policy. Jordan’s fixation with the Palestinian problem has stemmed from a complex set of factors and interests. National security considerations were at the core of such interests. In the early 1980s, Jordan’s security fears were heightened more than at any time before. The statements of some of the Likud leaders referring to Jordan as an alternative Palestinian state generated a deep sense of distrust among Jordan’s political elite. Those elite feared that Israel may try to settle the Palestinian question at the expense of the royal family.

Another aspect of Jordan’s security dilemma was the fear that Israel’s continued military occupation could accelerate the growth of religious fundamentalism and radicalize the Palestinians on the East Bank.

Economic considerations are also part of Jordan’s national security problem. Jordan’s political elite are afraid that under the pressure of economic hardship and political repression, more Palestinians will leave the occupied territories, thus tipping further the demographic imbalance against East Bank Jordanians and compounding Jordan’s economic problems. Jordan’s financial resources are further drained by the allocation of 30 percent of the government budget to defense. Such high military expenditure burdens the civilian sector, including education, health, social services, and economic development. The return of more than 300,000 Palestinians from Kuwait in the wake of the Gulf War increased unemployment in Jordan to a new record of 35 percent.

In addition to the security and economic concerns, political and personal motives are behind Jordan’s continued interests in settling the Palestinian problem. Aside from the fact that the West Bank was part of Jordan between 1950 and 1967, the Hashemite royal family does not want to be remembered as the one who lost the West Bank and East Jerusalem to Israel. This sense of historic responsibility is particularly important to King Hussein, who inherited from his grandfather the role of advancing Pan-Arab causes and who feels a personal responsibility to restore Arab sovereignty over the West Bank and East Jerusalem.

Jordan’s relevance to the peace process is also sustained by its special regional and international position. Despite its small size, economy, and population, Jordan is the supplier of certain values and goods that are highly desired by outside players.¹ Its proximity to Israel, its control of the West Bank between 1950 and 1967, the sizable Palestinian presence on the East Bank, and the moderation and pro-Western orientation of the royal family assigned to the Jordanian government a central role in the resolution of the Arab-Palestinian-Israeli conflict. The practicality of involving Jordan in the diplomatic efforts to resolve the Palestinian question is further reinforced by the presence of strong cultural, social, economic, and familial ties between West Bank Palestinians and the population on the East Bank.

Jordan’s relevance to the peace process is also sustained by the opposition of the United States and Israel to the PLO. Both countries would like the Palestinian issue to be resolved within a Jordanian framework. Viewing Jordan as a natural partner for Israel in any negotiations prompted the United States to premise its diplomatic initiatives on some degree of Jordanian-Palestinian cooperation.

Finally, Jordan’s internal stability, its proximity to the Persian Gulf, and its professional, well-trained, and disciplined army increased its regional strategic value. These attributes enabled the Jordanian government to help other conservative Arab states in defending themselves against insurgence. In the early 1970s, for instance, Jordan assisted the Sultanate of Oman in defeating the rebels of Dufar.

Jordan and the Question of Confidence Building

The combination of security, economic, demographic, diplomatic, strategic, and historical factors and considerations of internal political stability were behind Jordan’s interests in the peace process and confidence building measures. Since Israel’s military occupation of the West Bank in 1967, the Jordanian government has always felt that the primary objective of confidence building is to avoid unfavorable outcomes to itself rather than trying to actively promote conflict resolution through direct and bilateral talks with the Jewish state. Its principal preoccupation has been to keep the borders with Israel tranquil and to maintain internal political stability.

To achieve this goal, the Jordanian government resorted to a host of preventive and confidence building arrangements. In the security field, there were three interrelated policies that Jordan observed throughout the years. Following its 1967 military defeat, Jordan adopted a policy of avoiding war initiation and military engagement with Israel. It was because of this policy that Jordan did not enter the October war of 1973. Instead, the government dispatched a token force consisting of a single brigade to Syria to fight alongside the Syrian army.

The second aspect of Jordan’s new policy was to prevent Palestinian commando groups from using Jordanian territory to attack Israel. The aim behind this course of action was to avoid Israel’s retaliation on Jordan’s civilian and economic centers. Jordan’s compliance with this policy partly contributed to the outbreak of the 1970 Jordanian-Palestinian civil war.

Third, in line with its policy of reducing tension on its borders with Israel, Jordan has been careful to control the behavior of its own soldiers so they will not go berserk and start shooting Israel’s settlers or army. To minimize the damage to itself caused by such acts and to give credence to its policy of war avoidance, Jordan was always keen on informing Israel directly or through American mediation that such incidents are random and unauthorized, and therefore do not represent a change in the government’s official stand.

In the diplomatic realm, the conduct of the 1972 municipal elections inside the West Bank, in which pro-Jordanian politicians were elected, the removal from office of the pro-PLO mayors in 1982, and their replacement by pro-Jordanian politicians in the towns of Ramallah, Nablus, and Hebron in the mid-1980s, were all signs of the tacit cooperation between the two sides. Likewise, the open-bridge policy allowed for the movement of Palestinians to and from the occupied territories and the flow of agricultural goods to Jordan and the Persian Gulf countries. In mid-1985, the Israeli government licensed the opening of the Cairo-Amman Bank.

In addition to such pragmatic considerations, Jordan spoke consistently about the need to have a comprehensive political settlement to the Arab-Israeli conflict. King Hussein also met secretly with several Israeli Labor politicians to discuss issues of mutual concern. In the meantime, Israeli and Jordanian diplomats privately met on several occasions to examine the possibilities of regulating and sharing the waters of the Yarmuk River.² In early October 1992, the Jordanian monarch allowed the Israeli Arabs to travel to Jordan on a regular basis, despite their holding of Israeli passports.

The Limits of Jordan’s Policy on the Peace Process

Though self-interests were the motivating force behind Jordan’s involvement in confidence building measures, the government has been reluctant to act more independently and assertively and has been unable to institutionalize a more effective and elaborate system of confidence building. Its treatment of the Arab-Israeli conflict has been characterized by caution, conservatism, and indecisiveness. Until recently, Jordan also lacked the political will and capabilities to engage in direct and open peace talks with Israel.

This ambivalence can be explained by the fact that Jordan’s approach toward peace has not been purely a Jordanian prerogative and that several barriers discouraged Jordan from reaching a political compromise with Israel.³

To begin with, Jordan’s approach to confidence building and conflict resolution has been inseparable from the persistent hostility between Israel and the Arab countries. The peace process involves the Palestinians, the PLO, and Syria, among others. In particular, Jordan’s position has been constrained by the political desires and wishes of the Palestinians.

In addition, Jordan’s capacity to act has been constrained by its domestic politics, its geopolitical location, its economic dependency, and by regional and international developments. The pervasiveness of these limitations compelled Jordan to avoid public engagement in detailed confidence and security building arrangements.

The Intractability of the Conflict

The issues at stake involve core values and objectives that are quite different from other regional and international disputes. Unlike the Soviet-American rivalry, the Arab-Israeli conflict involves major territorial claims and counterclaims, where the national existence of the essential actors is at risk. The existential and territorial nature of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict has relegated the relationship between Israel and its Arab neighbors to a zero-sum game. This has made it difficult for the antagonists to retract from their original positions. This situation reduced the room for political compromise and has made progress toward confidence and security building a slow process.

The frequent outbursts of violence were another impediment to a Jordanian-Israeli compromise. The recurrence of the cycle of violence between the Palestinians and the Israelis inside and outside the occupied territories prevented the Jordanian government from reconciling with the Jewish state and broadened the distance between the two sides. Violence and counterviolence has deepened Jordanians’ and Palestinians’ sense of vulnerability and insecurity.

The absence of channels for direct and open communication for many decades and the secretive nature of the meetings between Jordanian officials and their Israeli counterparts limited the scope and the effectiveness of confidence building. In addition, the relationship between the two opposing camps has been characterized by conditions of mutual suspicion and mistrust. The pervasiveness of such sentiments inhibited responsiveness to each other’s needs and wants and precluded the emergence of cooperative forms of behavior. The feelings of mistrust also explain why the peace gestures of one side have been dismissed as misleading and empty, and why malicious intentions have been ascribed to the enemies’ peace moves and actions. Israel’s violation of Palestinians’ human rights, its construction of Jewish settlements, its confiscation of Arab lands, and its periodic recourse to violence against the Palestinians inside and outside the occupied territories have generated a great deal of mistrust and suspicion among the Jordanian elite and masses.

The search for an effective system of confidence building was further thwarted by the lack of effective and imaginative diplomats on both sides of the Arab-Israeli divide. The history of the dispute does not have too many successes to build on.

The Role of the Domestic Setting

Jordan’s quest for peace and confidence building was also hindered by its domestic setting. The key decisions relating to Jordan’s foreign and defense policy are made by King Hussein. His centrality resulted from the supremacy of the royal palace and, until recently, from a low level of political participation. Besides the king, the foreign policy process involves the crown prince, the chief of the royal court, the chief of staff of the army, the prime minister, and the ministers of interior and foreign affairs.⁴

Despite the primacy of the king, Jordan’s policy on the peace process is constrained by its complex domestic backdrop. The presence of a large Palestinian constituency on the East Bank has impeded detailed, open, and direct confidence building measures and reduced Jordan’s freedom of action. Jordan’s stands on the question of confidence building must take into account the Palestinians’ attitudes and political preferences. Many Jordanians and Palestinians believe that their leaders made historic compromises and broke away from their maximalist goal of liberating all of Palestine and have confined themselves to the construction of a West Bank-Gaza state.

In addition to the Palestinians, Jordan’s capacity to act has been influenced by the presence of a number of competing political and social groups and, more recently, by the parliament. Such groups include East Jordanian nationalists, Leftists, liberals, Pan-Arab politicians, the army, and Islamists. Each group holds diverse perspectives on how to resolve the Palestinian question, but five trends can be discerned.

First, some Jordanian politicians want to preserve an East Jordanian character for the country. From their perspective, the continuous influx of Palestinians from the occupied territories threatens East Jordanian national identity and interests.⁵ These fears were intensified with the return of more than 300,000 Palestinians to Jordan in the aftermath of the Gulf crisis. It is also because of such concerns that these politicians have opposed federating their country with the West Bank and the Gaza Strip, where the vast majority of Palestinians did not develop allegiance to Jordan’s political system and royal family.

A second group of politicians believes that Jordan cannot dissociate itself from the Palestinian question.⁶ The presence of historical, economic, social, and cultural factors mandates that Jordanians and Palestinians are one people and that the unity between the two banks is inseparable. The advocates of this trend conclude that both Jordanians and Palestinians should work jointly to resolve the conflict.

A third group of politicians believes that Jordan should coordinate its moves with Syria rather than with the PLO. In their view, the PLO leaders are not trustworthy and are weak and insincere.⁷

The followers of the Islamic movement form a fourth trend. The Islamists are opposed to negotiation with Israel and instead insist on the liberation of all of Palestine. In their opposition to the peace process, they enlist support from other discontented social groups and use existing social and economic problems to oppose any political compromise with Israel.

The fifth trend that has recently appeared on Jordan’s political scene calls for a political solution of the conflict with Israel. The primary concern for this group is Jordan’s severe economic crisis, mounting unemployment, growing inflation, massive foreign debt, and interruption of the flow of Arab economic assistance. This trend incorporates financial technocrats, civilian ministers, and businesspeople all of whom share a common interest in the economic and political development of Jordan. They would like to shift funds from the military to the civilian sector and want to strengthen the democratic process and to ensure political rights for all citizens.

The political diversities of these competing groups accounts, in part, for Jordan’s reluctance to take a more active role in confidence and security building measures. Rather than presenting the government with an opportunity to advance the peace process, Jordanian public opinion has not been favorably disposed to an accommodation with the Jewish state. This public hostility toward Israel accounts for the king’s reluctance to engage in open confidence building measures and his recourse to secret diplomacy in contacts with Israeli leaders. The engagement in direct and bilateral negotiations with Israel would have antagonized Jordan’s mass public and undermined the stability of the regime.

Resource Limitations

In addition to the domestic setting, Jordan’s reluctance to play a leading role in confidence building is attributable to its complex external scene and its limited natural resources, economic needs, and geographic vulnerability. The country’s encirclement by militarily and economically superior neighbors (Israel, Syria, Iraq, and Saudi Arabia) has limited the foreign policy options of Jordan’s policymaking elite. The sharing of borders with these four countries makes Jordan susceptible to pressures and counterpressures and, from time to time, direct military threats. Jordan’s geostrategic vulnerability made the government reluctant to embark on a solution to the Palestinian question that was against the wishes of some of its powerful neighbors.

Jordan’s foreign policy behavior has also been constrained by economic considerations. The small size of its population and its narrow resource base did not allow the government to play a key and continuing role in inter-Arab affairs or to launch its independent political moves and initiatives. Rather, such poor economic resources made the Jordanian government reliant on foreign aid and caused it to often adopt accommodating behavior toward its donors and to frequently subordinate its interests and views on the Palestinian question to an Arab consensus.

Jordan’s economic difficulties were further magnified in the wake of the Gulf crisis as Iraq’s imports through Jordan significantly dropped. Prior to the war, Iraq imported more than ten million tons annually through Aqabah, Jordan’s only seaport. Moreover, 75 percent of Jordan’s industrial output was destined for Iraq. As a result of the Gulf crisis and the imposition of an international economic blockade against Iraq, many of these economic rewards were interrupted. Due to King Hussein’s tilt toward Iraq during the Gulf War, Jordan’s relationship with its traditional allies and diplomatic and financial backers (the United States, Great Britain, Saudi Arabia, and the Gulf states) worsened. The flow of economic assistance from these countries to Jordan was interrupted since the fall of 1990.

Systemic Imperatives

In addition to the limited impact of Jordan’s national attributes, several regional and international obstacles have stood in the path of institutionalization of an effective system of confidence and security building arrangements. Middle East regional dynamics thwarted progress toward an Israeli-Arab peace accommodation. Inter-Arab rivalries and divisions and the fact that the Arab-Israeli conflict involves multiple actors with conflictual interests, undermined the chances for the rise of a strong Arab constituency necessary for making peace with Israel.

The ideology of pan-Arabism and the politics of Palestinian nationalism are additional factors that constrained Jordan’s freedom to maneuver. For many years, the Palestinian question has been treated as a collective Arab responsibility, which limited Jordan’s ability to initiate its own approach to the resolution of the Palestinian problem. Jordan did not always enjoy collective Arab backing and, as such, the Jordanian government could not successfully initiate its own approach to solve the Arab-Israeli conflict. Whether in regard to the Camp David accords, the Reagan initiative of September 1982, Jordanian-PLO coordination in the mid-1980s, or the current peace efforts, the Jordanian government has opted not to act against an Arab consensus.⁸ Since 1974, such a consensus revolved around the PLO, which was designated by the Arab League as the sole legitimate representative for the interests of the Palestinians. The political ascendancy of the PLO not only constrained Jordan’s approach to the Palestinian problem, but it also diminished the support for King Hussein inside the occupied territories where the pro-Jordanian politicians were reluctant to support openly Jordan’s foreign policy moves without the PLO’s consent. In July of 1988, the king severed legal and administrative ties with the West Bank, thus weakening further Jordan’s role in representing Palestinian national interests.

The attitudes of the various Israeli governments also account for Jordan’s hesitation to be more forthcoming. Despite its preference for a territorial compromise, the Labor government’s conditions for peace during the first decade of occupation of the West Bank did not meet Jordan’s minimum requirements for a political solution. The Labor Party promised to return to Jordan only part of the occupied territories and did not give any concession over East Jerusalem.

With the coming to power of the Likud bloc in 1977, Israel’s position became more inflexible. The Likud government has assigned to the occupied territories a highly ideological importance and infused the dispute with political rhetoric, thus lessening significantly the chances of an Israeli compromise over the West Bank and the Gaza Strip. The Likud government regarded these territories as liberated land and as an integral part of greater Israel and regarded their perpetual control over these lands as being crucial to the moral and spiritual well-being of the Jewish people.

To give tangible translation to this ideological stance, the Likud-led government intensified the construction of Jewish settlements throughout the occupied territories and increased the confiscation of Arab lands. Thus, the Likud’s hard-line stance, uncompromising position, and threat to the political survival of the Hashemite family generated a deep sense of dislike and distrust of the former Israeli prime minister and his colleagues among the Jordanian elite and mass public alike. The unwillingness of the Israeli government to exchange land for peace made it difficult for Jordan to be enthusiastic about the various peace plans of the late 1970s and the 1980s. Jordan’s political elite concluded that peacemaking and confidence building are not feasible options under a Likud government. It was then expected that so long as the Likud was in power, it would be difficult to alter Jordanians’ sense of distrust and fear. When the Labor Party came to power in 1992, Jordan’s feelings of anxiety and trepidation that had characterized its relation with the Likud were reduced.

A final constraining factor to Jordan’s foreign policy pertained to the role of the United States and the relationship between the two superpowers. Over the years, the various American administrations adopted pro-Israeli stands. Jordanian officials complained that the United States was averse to employ adequate leverage on Israel to make meaningful territorial concessions, and that the presence of a powerful, well-organized, and well-financed Jewish lobby backed by substantial congressional support for Israel frustrated American-Middle East diplomacy. Such indecisive stands led many Jordanians and Palestinians to distrust the United States as a mediator, to suspect the seriousness of the United States, and to attribute moral duplicity and double standards to its Middle East policy. In this connection, the al-Ra 4 newspaper commented that “the United States does not speak with the same degree of firmness when it deals with the Middle East conflict as much as it does when it handles the Iraqi crisis. We do not see anything forthcoming from the United States to check Israel’s continuing aggression and to force it to comply with international legitimacy. We reject firmly the double standard to deal with our problems."⁹

This sense of distrust of American mediating efforts prompted the Jordanian government to relish for a long time the convening of an international peace conference in which the former Soviet Union and Western Europe would play an active role. The government was certain that without a firm American commitment to search actively for a just solution to the Middle East conflict, it would be too risky to engage in any negotiations with Israel.

Finally, the Cold War ideology placed the United States and the former Soviet Union on opposite sides of the Arab-Israeli divide and prompted them to extend political, economic, and military assistance to their respective clients in the region. Both powers envisaged their interests in the Middle East from the vantage point of a zero-sum game, where the benefits of one superpower were automatically seen as losses for the rival power. Such commitments and rivalries complicated the task of confidence and security building measures.

Despite the limiting effects of the above factors on Jordan’s capacity to engage actively in the peace process and in confidence building, by 1992 the conditions for joining the peace process and the initiation of confidence building proposals significantly improved. This new situation was caused, in part, by the several shocks that occurred in the external environment. The diplomatic isolation of Jordan in the wake of the Gulf War, Iraq’s massive military defeat in that war, and the demise of the Soviet Union made Jordan more keen on finding a peaceful solution to the conflict with Israel. The Bush administration’s balanced handling of the Arab-Israeli conflict, and its determination to move forward with the resolution of the Palestinian problem enhanced Jordan’s confidence and optimism.

Jordan’s past insistence on convening an international peace conference and on a comprehensive settlement of all aspects of the Arab-Israeli conflict, including Israel’s total withdrawal from the occupied territories, was placed on the back burner. In 1991, King Hussein agreed to direct and bilateral talks with Israel on the basis of exchanging land for peace and an interim arrangement for the occupied territories. Jordanian officials recognized the positive outcomes of the Israeli elections and expressed the hope that the moderate statements of Prime Minister Itzak Rabin would be translated into tangible policies. In this connection, Jordan’s minister of foreign affairs, Kamel Abu Jaber, stated that “declarations are not the true measurements for peace. We are waiting to see that these declarations will be translated into actions in the negotiations."¹⁰ While welcoming Israel’s decision to freeze the construction of new Jewish settlements, the Jordanian government expressed concern over Rabin’s intention to continue the construction of security settlements. Abu Jaber rejected Rabin’s distinction between political and security settlements and demanded a freeze on all settlement activities. He declared that Israel’s security can be guaranteed by strengthening peace and not by constructing settlements.

The Jordanian parliament and press were also sceptical about the readiness of the Labor government to find a quick and a just solution to the Palestinian question. The parliament issued several statements defining its conditions for a political settlement. The Palestinians’ right for self-determination, the formation of a Palestinian state, the restoration of Arab sovereignty over East Jerusalem, and the rejection of self-autonomy are viewed by members of the Jordanian parliament as conditions for the achievement of peace. The followers of the Islamic Movement who control 40 percent of the parliament’s seats oppose the peace process with Israel.

The Jordanian press is also critical of the United States and Israel. A number of Jordanian dailies contended that America’s commitment to a permanent and just peace must be translated into pressure on Israel to make the necessary concessions for peace.¹¹

Prospects for a Future Confidence Building System

While many of Jordan’s ideas on confidence building are long-term steps, the Jordanians are in need of immediate assurances to proceed with the peace process and to cope with its demographic and economic problems. Jordan’s requirements for confidence building measures go beyond the Arab-Israeli theater to include Jordan’s Arab neighbors and diplomatic and financial supporters. With regard to the Arab-Israeli conflict, the Jordanian government does not draw a clear distinction between security building measures and conditions for a political settlement. Instead, it articulated a number of political stands that are consistent with the overall Arab and Palestinian positions. For a long time, Jordan regarded Israel’s acceptance of UN Resolutions 242 and 338, its commitment to exchange land for peace, and its freeze on the construction of Jewish settlements in the occupied territories, as preconditions to advance the prospects for peace.

In addition, Jordan believes that Israel’s improvement of the quality of life for the Palestinians inside the West Bank and the Gaza Strip; respect for Palestinian human rights; free movement of people; release of Palestinian prisoners; abandonment of the policy of demolishing houses, deportation, and administrative detention; and the redeployment of Israel’s defense force away from population centers, as well as the return of deportees, would facilitate the peace process and signal Israel’s seriousness to negotiate. Jordan also fears that unless employment opportunities are created in the West Bank and Gaza, more Palestinians would emigrate to Jordan, an eventuality that would further increase unemployment and threaten Jordan’s social equilibrium.

In the ninth round of peace talks, Jordan discussed with Israel short-term confidence building measures including repatriating refugees; opening Jordanian banks in the occupied territories; and issues of environment, water rights, and energy. Though the question of resettling the refugees is sensitive to the Palestinians, the Jordanians want to solve the problem of 90,000 refugees who have Israeli residency permits and who had been denied reentry to the occupied territories since the 1967 June war. Confidence building in these areas would facilitate a conflict resolution orientation at some later stage.

Beyond these immediate concerns, Jordan’s vision of a final peace settlement includes the signing of a number of political, military, and economic agreements.¹² At the political level, Jordan’s concept of a just and a permanent peace includes an end to the state of war, the demarcation of boundaries, and the recognition of the territorial integrity of all the countries of the Middle East. In this regard, King Hussein stated that “Jordan wants a permanent, durable, and just peace that will be acceptable to the future generations who will protect such a peace."¹³

The Jordanian political elite believe that regional stability and peace can be advanced by the formation of a security regime. The elimination of weapons of mass destruction (e.g., nuclear, chemical, and biological), the creation of demilitarized zones, and limitations on the sale of conventional arms are additional components of such security regimes. As part of this security arrangement, Jordan proposes the extension of international security guarantees to Israel and the Arab countries.

In the 1992 multilateral Arab-Israeli negotiations, the Jordanian delegation proposed to create a Conference on Security and Cooperation in the Middle East (CSCME). This conference, which was modeled after the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe, would furnish the countries in the region with a political framework to examine issues of common concern such as human rights, labor migration, oil prices, water supplies, terrorism, economic development, and, most importantly, arms control.

Jordan proposed also an arms-for-debt swap and linking debt reduction with arms control.¹⁴ According to the Jordanian proposal, countries that are engaged in arms reduction would qualify for debt removal. The goal behind Jordan’s proposal is the easing of the country’s economic hardships and the freeing of substantial funds that will be used for economic development.

The Jordanian government also was compelled to trim its defense budget and reduce the size of its armed forces from 130,000 in 1990 to 95,000 by the end of 1992. It also downgraded one of its two mechanized divisions to a light division and cancelled multibillion dollar contracts with France and Britain to purchase Mirage and Tornado jet fighters and bombers. The Jordanian parliament also abolished universal military conscription.

In addition to these regional security arrangements, Jordan can render more specific security functions that would facilitate the conclusion of an Israeli-Palestinian peace agreement. The demilitarization of the West Bank and the Gaza Strip is necessary for stable Palestinian-Israeli relations. With the exception of a small Palestinian police force to preserve internal security, the new Palestinian political entity will be demilitarized. Given this situation, the association of the West Bank and Gaza with Jordan would enhance Israel’s security and ensure Palestine’s internal stability. The placement of the occupied territories under a limited transitional regime would enable both sides to develop mutual trust, demonstrate their good intentions, dismiss their mutual fears and suspicions, and make peace more attainable. The Jordanian political elite are not opposed to the idea that the Jordanian army would preserve internal security and stability during the self-autonomy period or that they would help in monitoring the demilitarization of the West Bank and Gaza after the withdrawal of Israel’s military forces. During the interim phase, Jordan could also help in the administration of the West Bank and Gaza and assist in the building of the agricultural, health, educational, and economic sectors.

Once a peace treaty is finalized, the Jordanian army would defend these territories and would also guarantee the neutralization of the state. The army would also bar the state from forming alliances with other countries or stationing on its soil of foreign troops, advisers, and military equipment.¹⁵

Controlling terrorism is a second area in which the Jordanian army can play a useful role. Following the conclusion of an Israeli-Palestinian agreement, extremists on both sides would try to undermine such an accomplishment. To minimize such risks, Israel, Jordan, and the Palestinians would need to jointly cooperate in the field of intelligence gathering and curbing terrorism.¹⁶ The threat of terrorism is not exclusively confined to the Israelis, as the Palestinians are also concerned about Jewish terrorism and irredentism. Israeli extremists are opposed to a territorial compromise, as they believe that the occupied territories are an integral part of the biblical land of Israel. The presence of the Jordanian army would help in preventing Jewish terrorist attacks on the West Bank and the Gaza Strip.

An important area of interest to Jordan is the economic development of the country and the improvement of the standard of living for the citizens. In the second half of the 1980s and the early 1990s, the Jordanian economy experienced serious hardships.¹⁷ As a result of King Hussein’s tilt toward Iraq during the Gulf crisis, Saudi Arabia and the rest of the Gulf states completely stopped their economic aid programs to Jordan. In a punitive move, Kuwait terminated the employment of 300,000 Jordanians and Palestinians—a step that deprived Jordan of $320 million in terms of annual remittances. In addition, the Gulf countries closed their markets to Jordan’s agricultural products. The transit trade with Iraq, which contributed 6 percent of Jordan’s GDP and employed 4 percent of its work force, was also interrupted as a result of UN economic sanctions on Iraq. In the 1980s, Jordan also began to import half of its food needs.

These economic difficulties severely limited the Jordanian government’s ability to invest in the local economy or to meet the growing economic and social needs of the population. Jordan has an $8 billion foreign debt with $300 million a year to service it.

Jordan expects that the termination of the Arab-Israeli conflict and the attainment of regional stability would bring economic prosperity to the country and would lead to an improvement of the standard of living for the Jordanian population. The flow of trade among countries of the Middle East and Arab investment in the Jordanian economy would help to overcome the country’s economic recession. Jordan’s internal stability and free market economy would encourage Arab entrepreneurs to invest in Jordan.

Water is still another area of interest to the Jordanian government.¹⁸ The fact that Jordan’s water sources stem from outside the country highlights the need to efficiently use water for land reclamation and urban consumption; this situation mandates cooperation between Israel and the Arab states. The scarcity of water has often compelled the Jordanian government to ration its consumption. Jordan’s water problem is part of a Middle East water shortage. Indeed, it was the struggle over the water of the Jordan River that, in part, led to the outbreak of the 1967 war. The scarcity of water necessitates the joint cooperation in sharing of West Bank water resources. A joint Israeli-Palestinian-Jordanian committee would supervise the distribution of that water. Regional cooperation with Egypt is also needed to supply water from the Nile to the Gaza Strip.¹⁹

Jordan can also lend itself to the resolution of the Palestinian refugee problem. As part of confidence building measures, a comprehensive settlement of the refugee problem should be implemented. The solution of the refugee problem would help in reducing the chances of instability inside the Palestinian political entity. The resettlement process would be a joint cooperative effort involving Jordan, the Arab countries, Israel, and the United States. In this regard, Jordan’s contribution would be in the area of providing the territorial space to resettle those refugees who cannot be absorbed inside the West Bank and Gaza.

The widening of the circle of participatory politics and the introduction of democratic rule are still other mechanisms that are perceived by Jordanians to reduce the chances for war initiation.²⁰ Such assertions are in line with a growing body of international relations literature that argues that democracies are inherently peaceful and as such do not fight other democracies.²¹ Indeed, the presence of shared democratic values among the political elite of the Middle East would make them less prone to war; democracy would reduce the appeal of radical ideologies and religious fundamentalism and lessen national sensitivities and antagonisms.

The Jordanians argue that governmental public accountability would make the recourse to violence difficult, and that internal opposition to peace can be overcome through the advancement of the democratic process and economic growth. In this connection, including the opposition in the political process would provide them the opportunity to express their views and to influence the process of policymaking.

Confidence building needs also to be established concerning the questions of Israeli settlements, the Arab economic boycott of Israel, and Jerusalem. Jordan’s position with regard to these issues is more difficult. The presence of Jewish settlement within the occupied territories is a source of potential friction. This is the case because the residents of the settlements are the most fanatic. Should these settlers wish to stay on, no extraterritorial privileges should be given to them. Such a special extraterritorial status will make the settlements a target for the Palestinian rejectionists and will also undermine the sovereignty of the state. Jordan advocates the placement of such settlements under Arab jurisdiction.

As to ending the Arab boycott of Israel, the government feels that this question is beyond its jurisdiction. In this connection, King Hussein stated that this is an issue for the Arab League to decide.²² Concerning the future of East Jerusalem, the Jordanian government officially calls for the return of the city to Arab sovereignty. Some Jordanians, however, propose that the city should be jointly administered by an Arab-Israeli council with a rotation of mayors. The open status of the city would guarantee free exercise of religion and ensure the free movement of people and goods.²³ Other Jordanians call for the internationalization of the Old City, making East Jerusalem the capital of the Palestinian state (West Jerusalem would remain the capital of Israel), and the Arab countries—including Jordan—recognizing Israel’s sovereignty over that part.²⁴

Conclusion

The Jordanian case reveals a number of interesting conclusions to the field of confidence building. Despite its marginalization in inter-Arab politics, and the limitations on the government’s capacity to act, Jordan continues to be relevant to the resolution of the Arab-Israeli conflict. Its participation in the peace process is essential as it provides Israel with the confidence and security needed to make territorial concessions.

For the most part, the various Israeli governments have appreciated the stabilizing role of King Hussein’s regime on the Palestinians who live on the East Bank. His pro-Western orientation and his moderating role in inter-Arab politics made Jordan a buffer zone for Israel. Moreover, Jordan’s policy of war avoidance induced the Jewish state to reduce the conflictual elements in its relationship with the Hashemite regime. The beginning of direct talks with Israel and the coming to power of the Labor Party are likely to further increase Jordan’s level of trust—important prerequisites to confidence building and stable relationships. Indeed, the election to power of the Labor Party revived Jordan’s role in the West Bank, which was severed in 1988.

The Jordanian case also demonstrates that egoistic self-interest is a vital factor behind the engagement in confidence building. The Jordanian government undertook preventive measures that contributed to stability on its borders with Israel. This practice created new opportunities for learning, a rise of reciprocal expectations between Israel and Jordan, and opened up new prospects for their mutual cooperation.

An additional important conclusion of the Jordanian case is that economic imperatives provide powerful incentives for confidence building. Jordan’s economic hardships have been behind the initiation of the arms-for-debt swap and the conference on cooperation. Jordan’s political stability has rested on the ability to meet the growing needs of its population. The economic remunerations of the arms-for-debt swap will benefit the Jordanian economy and will accelerate the arms control process. This process will, in time, increase the number of constituents who have a stake in economic development, strengthen the power base of the civilian technocrats who sanction the transfer of funds from the military to the civilian sector, and augment the influence of those officials who advocate arms control.²⁵

The Jordanian experience also reveals that confidence building is a complex process that has four dimensions: self-confidence, confidence toward the adversary, attitude toward regional and international actors (and mediators), and confidence in the process itself.

The complexity of such a process explains why the question of engaging in an elaborate system of confidence and security building is problematic for Jordan. The policy on such issues is not purely a Jordanian prerogative, as it involves multiple domestic and regional considerations. Though the Jordanian government has privately been engaged in confidence building, its capacity to make progress in this area was constrained by the multiplicity of the players involved and the complex issues contested. Jordan’s capacity to act was limited by regional and international actors who oppose peaceful accommodation with Israel and deny the rights of Jordan and moderate Palestinians to engage in confidence building.

This complicated regional setting explains why, despite the presence of few points of disagreement over the conclusion of a peace treaty between Jordan and Israel, Jordan has adhered to an overall Arab position since the beginning of the peace talks in October 1991. The broad outlines for such an Arab position came on 25 July 1992 in the Damascus declaration of the foreign ministers of the PLO, Syria, Lebanon, Egypt, and Jordan. These stands included the call for the participation of the PLO and the Palestinians from East Jerusalem in the peace talks, the demand for a total ban on the construction of Israeli settlements, and the appeal to the new Israeli government to commit itself to a comprehensive settlement and to fully implement UN Resolutions 242 and 425, and to abandon the Likud policy of procrastination.

Jordan’s willingness to discuss the question of resettling the refugees and issues related to health, environment, borders, and arms control in the bilateral talks with Israel generated criticism, thus prompting Jordan to assert its rejection of any separate deal with Israel and its insistence that normalization with the Jewish state has to be part of a comprehensive treaty. The same degree of reluctance is clear in the government’s concern that an agreement over the sharing of water resources may be challenged by the Palestinians and other Arab countries.

In addition, Jordan’s small size, military vulnerability, and poor economic resources, have undermined its political will and contributed to its lack of self-confidence. This sense of insecurity did not allow the Jordanian government to take too many diplomatic initiatives or political risks.

Likewise, Jordan’s domestic politics places a serious constraint on foreign policy, rather than furnishing the government with opportunities for diplomatic initiatives. Indeed, the complex domestic environment has compelled the government to avoid public engagement in confidence and security building arrangements. Jordan’s position toward the peace process was further complicated by the democratization process that has been under way since 1989. This complexity is manifested in the rising influence of the conservative, leftist, and Islamic forces in the society who are split over continuing coexistence with the regime, the participation in the peace process, and relation with the West. In particular, the delicate balance that the government created between the Islamists and the Leftists has been challenged by the peace process.

Jordan is also worried that the violence that was generated by the peace process between Hamas and PLO supporters inside the occupied territories may spill into the East Bank. The active Islamic opposition to the peace process may lead to a showdown with the government. Yet, it is wrong to conclude that the anti-Israeli sentiments in Jordan are immutable or the government is paralyzed. The alteration of such stands is possible if a breakthrough concerning the exchange of land for peace is achieved. To enlist domestic support for the peace process, Jordan needs to see progress on substantive rather than procedural issues. Such substantive progress would demonstrate Israel’s commitment to peace and reduce Jordan’s fear that Israel’s military superiority will harm Arab interests in the final settlement.

Confidence building is also required in Jordan’s relations with the Palestinians. There are several potential sources of tension between Jordan and the Palestinians. These include Jordan’s role at the peace talks, the status of the Palestinians in Jordan, the status of the PLO groups who maintain offices in the country, and the future relationship between Jordan and the West Bank and Gaza. The election of the Labor Party to power aroused Palestinian fears that Jordan may try to revive its claim to represent Palestinian interests. Moreover, the beginning of autonomy talks highlighted the need to define Jordan’s relations with the Palestinians. Self-rule, which calls for the association of the occupied territories with Jordan, will exclude the PLO from the peace talks indefinitely.

The attitudes of the United States and the Gulf countries are also crucial to Jordan’s sense of security and trust. The diplomatic persuasion of the United States and other friendly countries will enhance the chances of reaching a political compromise. The diplomatic and economic support of these countries would enable Jordan to overcome its feeling of insecurity regarding Israel’s military superiority and would help Jordan to overcome its economic problems. In the past, such feelings of vulnerability and the lack of sufficient resources thwarted Jordan’s efforts to achieve a diplomatic compromise.

Jordan’s interest in the field of confidence building transcends the Arab-Israeli theater. The government also needs to improve its relations with the Gulf countries and Saudi Arabia. Its reconciliation with the Arab countries and especially the Gulf states is essential for progress in the peace talks. Finally, the history of the Jordanian-Israeli relationship suggests that confidence building cannot be confined to the ruling elite. To be sure, during the initial phase, confidence building naturally involved the king and his top policy advisers, but at a later stage the support of the Jordanian mass public is essential for the success and the institutionalization of trust. The value of secret diplomacy and contacts with policymakers would not have their intended impact on the public opinion in both societies.

Notes

1. For an elaboration of Jordan’s interests in the resolution of the Palestinian question, see El Hassan Bin Talal (crown prince of Jordan), “Jordan’s Quest for Peace,” Foreign Affairs 60 (Spring 1982), pp. 804–809.

2. For more information about the history of the Jordanian-Israeli talks on sharing the Yarmuk River, see al-Quds al-Arabia, 2 September 1992.

3. For a theoretical discussion of the various barriers to a political compromise, see K.J. Holsti, International Politics: A Framework for Analysis, 5th ed. (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, 1988).

4. Interview with Mudar Badran, Jordan’s former prime minister, Amman, Jordan, 17 July 1992.

5. Interview with Abd al-Hadi al-Majali, former director of Jordan’s internal security and the secretary-general of al-Ahd party, Amman, Jordan, 14 August 1992.

6. Interview with Anis al-Muasher, former minister of economy and the leader of the Unionist Liberals Party, Amman, Jordan, 15 August 1992.

7. This trend has been traditionally associated with former prime minister Zaid al-Rifa’i.

8. For a more detailed account of Jordan’s foreign policy during this period, see Adam M. Garfinkle, “Negotiating by Proxy: Jordanian Foreign Policy and U.S. Options in the Middle East,” Orbis 24 (Winter 1981), pp. 863–877.

9. Al-Ra’i, 21 July 1992, p. 1.

10. Interview with Kamel Abu Jaber, minister of foreign affairs, Jordan television, English channel, 20 July 1992.

11. Al-Dustur, 21 July 1992, p.2.

12. Radwan Abdallah, Muhsen Makhamreh, and Muhamid Khair, “A Jordanian Perspective,” (paper submitted to the “Imagining the Peace: The Year 2020” workshop, Dreyfuss-James Productions, Washington, D.C., 22 May 1991).

13. Interview with King Hussein on Jordan television, English channel, 20 July 1992.

14. Yahya M. Sadowski, Scuds or Butter? The Political Economy of Arms Control in the Middle East (Washington: Brookings, 1993), pp. 45–50.

15. Ze’ev Schiff, Security for Peace: Israel’s Minimal Security Requirements in Negotiations with the Palestinians (Washington: Washington Institute for Near East Policy, 1989), p. 25.

16. For additional information, see ibid.

17. Ibid., pp. 16–17.

18. Shlomo Gur and Munther Haddadin, “Water and the Peace Process: Two Perspectives,” Policy Focus (Washington: The Washington Institute for Near East Policy Research, September 1992).

19. Schiff, Security for Peace, pp. 22–24.

20. Abdallah, Makhamreh, and Khair, “A Jordanian Perspective,” p. 4.

21. Many of these arguments are attributed to the writings of Kant. See, for instance, Patrick Riley, Kant’s Political Philosophy (Totowa: Rowman and Littlefeld, 1983); Hans Reiss, Kant’s Political Writing (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970); A. C. Armstrong, “Kant’s Philosophy of Peace and War,” Journal of Philosophy 28 (April 1931), pp. 197–204. For a general discussion on this subject, see Steve Chan, “Mirror, Mirror on the Wall, Are the Freer Countries More Pacific?” Journal of Conflict Resolution 28 (December 1984), pp. 617–649; Michael W. Doyle, “Liberalism and World Politics,” American Political Science Review 80 (December 1986); Erich Weede, “Democracy and War Involvement,” Journal of Conflict Resolution 28 (December 1984), pp. 649–664; and D. Marc Kilgour, “Domestic Political Structure and War Behaviour,” Journal of Conflict Resolution 35 (June 1991), pp. 266–284.

22. Interview with King Hussein on Jordan television, English channel, 20 July 1992.

23. Abdallah, Makhamreh, and Khair, “A Jordanian Perspective.’’

24. See Adnan Abu Odeh (former chief of the Royal Hashemite Court of Jordan and minister of information; currently Jordan’s ambassador to the United Nations), “Two Capitals in an Undivided Jerusalem,” Foreign Affairs 71 (Spring 1992), pp. 183–188.

25. Sadowski, Scuds or Butter?

9
Confidence Building and Dilemmas of Cooperation: The Egyptian-Israeli Experiment

Janice Gross Stein

Introduction

Confidence building is often most difficult where it is most important. It is virtually impossible when interests are incompatible and one’s gain is the other’s loss.¹ Even bitter, protracted conflicts, however, are rarely completely zero-sum. Confidence building can be understood as the process through which parties attempt to reach agreement when they agree on what they wish to avoid or when independent decisions produce outcomes that are sub-optimal. The sequencing of confidence building gives empirical content to the logical specification of the moves of the parties and helps to explain the solution of dilemmas of cooperation.

To locate confidence building within the broader structure of adversarial interests and preferences, for heuristic purposes I first distinguish between two simple representations of preference structures—dilemmas of common aversion and common interests. Some of these models do not yield a unique solution while others generate solutions that are Pareto-inferior. When measured against four cooperative dilemmas faced by Egypt and Israel, they do not accurately predict the interdependent outcome of choices made by the two parties in four cases.

It can be argued that the lack of fit may be a result of the simple, simultaneous game used to model the Egyptian-Israeli dilemmas. Formally, many dilemmas of collaboration disappear when the game is played repeatedly over time and players have a long shadow of the future. Nonmyopic equilibria in games of incomplete information resolve many of the apparent dilemmas of collaboration. Dynamic analyses of games have been used effectively to model the kind of sequential play that characterizes games of deterrence and crisis bargaining.² They are less appropriate as heuristics, however, when the parties cannot move sequentially but must commit simultaneously to agreement.

Analysts of confidence building have suggested that dilemmas of common aversion and common interests logically require different kinds of confidence building if impediments to agreement are to be reduced. Dilemmas of common aversion require coordination to create the functional equivalent of conventions if the parties are to reach a Pareto-optimal outcome, while dilemmas of common interest require the functional equivalent of trust.

I look at the pattern of confidence building between Egypt and Israel at four different phases in their relationship from 1957 to 1978. I first identify the kind of dilemma they faced and then examine the kind of confidence building measures they used. Analysis of the confidence building measures they put in place demonstrates only a partial fit between the kind of dilemma and their confidence building behavior. In most of the cases, Egypt and Israel used both kinds of confidence building measures to solve their dilemmas. Measures that made individually rational but collectively suboptimal strategies hostage and participation in “insurance” schemes changed the parties’ estimates of the other’s preferences. The tracing of the process of confidence building suggests how the parties were able to reshape estimates and reach agreement.

Coordination and Collaboration Problems

Two kinds of cooperative dilemmas can be central in an adversarial relationship. Problems of coordination arise when the parties to a dispute may wish to avoid consequences that none want. In dilemmas of “common aversion,” participants have divergent interests but share a common aversion to a particular outcome. They do not prefer the same outcome but do agree that there is at least one outcome that they want to avoid.³ They must coordinate if they are to avoid the least-preferred outcome.

War may be an undesirable outcome even for adversaries in a bitter protracted conflict Even though all participants are averse to war, it may become likely, for example, when military or industrial technology or unfavorable capability distributions drive leaders to choose strategies they would otherwise not select in more benign and information-rich environments. The “common aversion” of the United States and the Soviet Union to nuclear war led them to undertake a series of confidence building measures to reduce the likelihood of inadvertent war, an outcome that both feared.⁴

Dilemmas of common aversion logically require certain kinds of confidence building. When states fear an undesired outcome, information about an adversary’s future plans can be important in building the confidence that is necessary to avoid an undesired outcome. This kind of confidence building measure may also help to create the possibility of further agreements by changing preferences over time. The two functions are synergistic. Advance information, for example, about planned military exercises, troop movements, or changes in military deployment can help to reassure an adversary that no aggressive action is intended.

Collaboration problems are different in kind and require different kinds of confidence building measures. Here preference structures lead individually rational parties to a suboptimal outcome. The parties have a common interest in ensuring a particular outcome that would not occur as a result of their individual choices. Collaboration problems can be resolved through mutual policy adjustment, but adjustment continually runs up against individual incentives to cheat and move to their individually rational choice.⁵ In this context, an agreement that provides information about past rather than future behavior is important to monitor compliance and increase the likelihood of detecting defection. The more extensive the information, the less opaque the intentions of an adversary. Here too, expressed willingness to share this kind of information can also help to create the confidence necessary to reach agreement.

Confidence building measures that provide information about past and future behavior can be distinguished analytically and logically connected to the resolution of dilemmas of collaboration and coordination respectively. Whether dilemmas of common aversion and common interests have been ameliorated by different kinds of confidence building measures is also an empirical question. I examine four Egyptian-Israeli dilemmas, characterize them as dilemmas of common aversion or collaboration, analyze the confidence building measures to assess whether they were designed to provide information about past or future behavior, and then assess the expected fit between the kind of dilemma and the confidence building measures.

1956: A Dilemma of Common Aversions or Common Intereste?

In 1956, immediately after the war in the Sinai peninsula that ended when Israeli forces reached the Suez Canal, Egypt and Israel appeared to be in a dilemma of common aversions. Their preferences were asymmetrical but, for different reasons, both sides wanted to avoid stalemate. Figure 9.1 represents the payoff matrix for the two parties in the wake of the war in the Sinai.

Figure 9.1 Dilemma of Common Aversions and Divergent Interests: Egypt and Israel, 1956

Egypt strongly preferred unilateral withdrawal by Israel, then preferred to agree to some demilitarization in exchange for an Israeli withdrawal, was unhappy with any international security arrangements if Israel did not withdraw, but was strongly averse to deadlock and the attendant risk of the renewal of war. The United States pressed Israel heavily to withdraw its forces from the Sinai peninsula, shaping its preference structure. Israel preferred to withdraw in exchange to Egyptian concessions, but then preferred to withdraw without Egyptian concessions rather than face US sanctions and stalemate.

Logically, these preference structures produce a unique solution to their dilemma. Since Israel prefers withdrawal under any conditions, Egypt should make no concessions. Yet, an examination of the record demonstrates that Egypt did agree to limited security arrangements in exchange for an Israeli withdrawal of its forces from the Sinai peninsula. Despite the dominance of its strategy, Israel nevertheless insisted on some “insurance” against a future Egyptian attack. We are particularly interested in whether confidence building measures which provided information about future intentions helped to shift the outcome of the game.

Egypt agreed very quickly to the deployment of a United Nations’ peacekeeping force (UNEF) just inside the eastern border of the peninsula and at the choke point of the Straits of Tiran, Sharm e-Sheikh. The UN force was formally charged with patrolling, manning sensitive border positions, and preventing infiltration across the border. The administration of the force was delegated to the secretary-general who was assisted by an advisory committee created by the UN General Assembly. The involvement of the international community in the peacekeeping force and Egypt’s acquiescence increased Israel’s confidence that the Sinai would not be used as a staging ground for attacks across its borders. As long as it remained in place, it limited Egypt’s options. Because a demand for its withdrawal would signal a clear change in intention, intentions in the future became less opaque and easier to read.

Egypt also undertook a second, unilateral confidence building measure. Throughout this period, Egypt deployed only two divisions in the Sinai peninsula, reinforced by no more than 250 tanks. These forces were not deployed forward in the peninsula, but well back in the western half of the desert. Only two squadrons of fighters or fighter-bombers were kept permanently in the Sinai and none of these was the then-advanced MIG-21. This configuration of offensive forces did not represent an immediate threat to Israel’s security. Despite the existence of an extensive infrastructure in the peninsula, Egypt would have had to send additional forces across the Suez Canal if it were preparing to attack.

The scope of this confidence building measure was very limited. There was no formal recognition by either side of the demilitarization of the Sinai and, consequently, no system of inspection nor accompanying international guarantees. Moreover, the extensive infrastructure in place in the peninsula permitted fairly rapid conversion to an offensive deployment in the forward areas of the peninsula. The limited deployment helped to coordinate; it served as a hedge against miscalculated accident. By limiting contact between the crack units of the Israeli and Egyptian armed forces, the likelihood of a miscalculated war was diminished; in this sense, unilateral limitation on the size and location of the Egyptian deployment in the Sinai worked effectively to build confidence that both sides could avoid an outcome that neither side wanted.

Although these confidence building measures are consistent with the expectations of a dilemma of common aversion, they also addressed the problem of defection that is characteristic of a dilemma of common interests.⁶ In anticipation of agreement, even before Israel agreed to withdraw its forces from the Sinai but after Egypt accepted the peacekeeping force, Israel insisted on some insurance against the risks and costs of defection from the newly agreed-upon procedures. The confidence building measures Egypt had agreed to provided partial insurance. A change in the limited deployment of Egyptian forces would signal an intention to attack on the ground. Consequently, the deployment increased Israel’s confidence in its capacity to detect defection and defend in time.

The UN peacekeeping force also provided insurance against defection. It was not so much a fire brigade as a fire alarm. UNEF could not prevent an attack, but it could provide valuable warning time of impending military action. It did so in at least three ways. As long as it remained in place, its presence unambiguously signaled compliance. Second, because Egypt and Israel expected that the withdrawal of the force would require time-consuming multilateral procedures, the regime provided valuable time to respond to defection.

Formal declarations by interested great powers also built Israel’s confidence by reducing the costs of defection. Britain, France, and the United States affirmed the right of innocent passage through the Straits of Tiran and the United States recognized Israel’s right to self-defense if its ships were denied passage through the Straits.

It is worth noting that these confidence building measures were initiated by parties to an acute conflict who were deeply suspicious of each other’s intentions. Israel and Egypt each suspected the other of the intention to attack or expand. These are hardly ideal conditions for confidence building. Nor was the technological environment especially conducive to these kinds of measures. Offensive and defensive technology were difficult to distinguish and Israel’s force posture was difficult to interpret. Indeed, because of its shallow space, it eschewed a strategy of defense as impractical. In part because of these dynamics, however, Egypt as well as Israel was responsive to confidence building measures that avoided their common aversions. Even though these measures were limited and narrowly focused, because they signaled future intentions and provided some insurance against defection, they were effective.

Formal representation of Egyptian and Israeli preferences identifies a logical outcome which is at variance with the choice Egypt made. Egypt chose to concede because of its strong aversion to stalemate and Israel’s capacity to insist credibly that it would not withdraw without insurance against defection.⁷ In effect, by denying the dominance of its strategy and threatening stalemate unless it was insured, Israel shifted the outcome. Information about the future intentions of Egypt in the Sinai was critical both to the resolution of the crisis and coordination in the future to avoid war. The information that Israel and Egypt exchanged, both directly and indirectly, the actions Egypt took, and the declarations of outsiders served as confidence building measures that helped the two parties resolve their shared dilemma. The agreement that was reached helped to stabilize their relationship for the following decade.⁸

Dilemma of Collaboration: 1973

Immediately after the cease-fire that ended the fighting in 1973, Israel and Egypt faced a dilemma of collaboration. Neither wanted the fighting to resume, but each preferred war to unilateral concession to the other. Their armies were intermingled in close proximity on both banks of the Suez Canal. The structure of their preferences should have produced the suboptimal outcome. Yet they reached agreement through the help of a third party that initiated a process of confidence building. This process was critical in the avoidance of suboptimal outcome.

Even before the cease-fire was stabilized, UNEF II was sent by the Security Council to the Suez Canal zone to help the adversaries coordinate to avoid the suboptimal outcome. UNEF personnel were deployed to prevent further entanglement of Egyptian and Israeli forces, to assume control of and establish checkpoints along the Cairo-Suez Road, to work jointly with Israel to verify the nonmilitaiy nature of the supplies moving through Israel’s lines to the encircled Egyptian Third Army, and to chair the meetings at Kilometer 101 between Egyptian and Israeli representatives. These negotiations had explicit political symbolism as well as substantive content; for the first time in twenty-five years, representatives of the two states met in face-to-face negotiations.⁹

Secretary of state Henry Kissinger framed the problem for both parties as broad disengagement rather than simply as avoidance of was and as the first in a series of collaborative problems. In January 1974, after intensive mediation, Egypt and Israel agreed to a series of interrelated measures that resolved their immediate dilemma and built confidence in preparation for further collaborative agreements.¹⁰ Two measures specifically addressed their common aversion to war: forces in the Sinai were separated by a demilitarized buffer zone controlled by UN personnel and limited force zones incorporated specific restrictions on armed forces and weapons so that the allowed level of fire-power could not reach the lines of the other party. These measures dealt with future behavior and were fundamental to assure coordination to avoid the equilibrium outcome.

Three additional confidence building measures were adopted to enhance the stability of a collaborative agreement. The limited-force zones were inspected by UNEF working with Egyptian and Israeli liaison officers, the deployment of forces was monitored by American reconnaissance aircraft, and Egypt and Israel agreed that disengagement would be a process of phased withdrawal in which they would agree on a new set of rules to govern future military behavior and negotiation. These measures were put in place to detect defection from the agreement that was inherently unstable: once Israel withdrew, it was rational for Egypt to revert to its dominant strategy.

The formal distinction between dilemmas of common aversion and collaboration does not capture the messy intermingling of the two kinds of problems in leaders’ minds and the embedding of a shared aversion within a larger dilemma of collaboration. Both wanted to avoid war, but each tied steps to prevent inadvertent war to broader concessions that would stabilize the agreement they reached and make a political settlement possible. They disagreed on the terms of the settlement, but both linked war prevention to a broader political agreement.

Figure 9.2 Dilemma of Common Interests (Prisoner’s Dilemma): Egypt and Israel, 1974

The confidence building measures they agreed upon reflected their shared aversion to war but also helped to create the preconditions for the changes in preferences that would make possible a broader resolution of their dilemma of collaboration. Monitoring and verification of compliance with the limited disengagement agreement, for example, was important not only to protect against defection but also as a confidence building measure to build reputation for further agreement. The two were tightly connected. The impact of learning and enhanced reputation were reflected in the next round of negotiations.

Dilemma of Collaboration: 1975

Fulfilling a commitment to President Sadat to extend the scope of the agreement, Kissinger attempted a second round of mediation in March 1975. Neither President Sadat nor Prime Minister Rabin thought that renewal of war was as likely as it had been in December 1973 when forces were tightly intermingled.¹¹ The urgency to avoid war was less. Even though neither leader wanted war or thought it imminent, both again connected the stability of their coordination to prevent war to a collaborative agreement on further Israeli withdrawals in the Sinai and political concessions from Egypt.

In the negotiations, Egypt demanded Israeli withdrawal from the critical strategic passes in the Sinai and the return of the Abu Rudeis oil fields, while Israel insisted on the maintenance of its electronic surveillance station at the Gidi Pass and on a formal declaration of nonbelligerency by Egypt. The dilemma of collaboration was made even more difficult because Israel had no confidence that Egypt would end the state of war if Israel were to withdraw further into the Sinai and Egypt had no confidence that Israel would withdraw further if Egypt committed to nonbelligerency. It required a simultaneous commitment to break the deadlock and induce each party to forego their dominant strategy.

In this modelling of Egyptian and Israeli preferences, Israel and Egypt have dominant strategies, but Egypt would be hurt more by the failure to agree than Israel. Egypt’s relative loss was greater if the status quo continued and was consequently more adverse to the status quo. It is not surprising, therefore, that President Sadat broke the deadlock.

He did so with two unilateral confidence building measures that made it clear that he intended to forego his dominant strategy. He approved a three-month extension of UNEF beyond its scheduled expiry date of April 1975. Far more important, in the functional equivalent of a commitment to nonbelligerency, he announced that Egypt would reopen the Suez Canal and rebuild the damaged cities along its west bank. The president signaled unambiguously that he had no intention to go to war since the canal and the reconstructed cities would be hostage to renewed fighting. The reopening of the canal and the heavy investment in reconstruction were strong and not easily manipulated indicators of Egyptian intentions.¹² President Sadat effectively made his dominant strategy hostage. In large part because they were not easily manipulated, these measures were given significant weight in Israel and created the confidence necessary for Israel to agree to a further withdrawal.¹³

In September 1975, Kissinger mediated a broader agreement between Egypt and brad that built on the earlier foundation. Many of the confidence building measures in the Sinai II agreement addressed their shared aversion to stalemate and war which could recur if the status quo continued indefinitely.

Israel agreed to leave the oil fields and to withdraw from the passes which would be included in an enlarged buffer zone. It was allowed to retain its electronic surveillance station at the western end of the Gidi Pass while Egypt was permitted to build and man a similar station at the eastern end. Offensive weapons were prohibited in both stations that were staffed by no more than 250 personnel. The United States agreed to perform three critical verification tasks: to operate a ground-based early warning system in the Mitla and Gidi Pass areas of the Sinai buffer zone, to monitor the operations of the Egyptian and Israeli surveillance stations and ensure that identical verification procedures were used at each station, and to undertake aerial reconnaissance missions over the areas covered by the agreement.¹⁴ Within the buffer zone, UNEF manned all checkpoints and observation posts, controlled all access to the zone, and conducted inspections in the limited-forces and armaments zones.¹⁵ A joint commission was established to resolve problems of implementation, clarify errors of interpretation, and assist UNEF in its mandate.¹⁶ The four components of the verification system—Egyptian, Israeli, American, and UN—were closely interrelated and worked to reinforce the contribution of each unit to the system as a whole.

Figure 9.3 Dilemma of Common Interests: Egypt and Israel, 1975

Confidence building measures to avoid war were critical in two important ways to the political concessions that both Egypt and Israel made. First, Sadat’s unilateral measures that signaled his future intentions changed Israel’s estimate of Egyptian preferences. These measures that dealt with future intentions are logically more appropriate in a coordination game, but here they were essential to persuading Israel that Egypt had no intention of going to war.

These unilateral confidence building actions were reinforced by the measures to enhance the capacity to monitor compliance and detect cheating. They helped to change each side’s estimates of the other’s preferences and allowed them to reach agreement. Confidence also grew from the political “insurance” provided by the United States, but even more from the willingness of both parties to participate together in the verification system, willingness to participate in confidence building measures was a low-cost test of the intentions of both parties. Participation further enhanced their reputation for trustworthiness and encouraged both parties to broaden the scope of the agenda in the next round. Learning was cumulative over time.

Dilemma of Collaboration: 1976–79

In 1976, President Jimmy Carter began a new round of mediation of a broad-gauged political settlement of the Arab-Israel conflict. President Sadat anticipated great cost both from the perpetuation of the status quo and a resort to force, and Israel was uncertain of Arab intentions and reluctant to return territory without an assurance of full peace.

In the autumn of 1977, the negotiations were deadlocked. President Sadat then moved to eliminate other Arab participants and build confidence directly with Israel. It was the distrust built up over decades, he argued, which constrained the attempt to negotiate the issues at stake and fueled the cycle of wars.¹⁷ Through a strategy of irrevocable commitment, he attempted to reassure Israel of Egypt’s benign intentions and to build the confidence necessary to create incentives for negotiation.

Sadat searched for a dramatic move which would both reduce the tension and distrust between Egypt and Israel and induce Israel to make major concessions. He first considered asking the five permanent members of the Security Council to meet in Jerusalem with the parties to the Arab-Israel conflict but was dissuaded by President Carter who warned that such a strategy would fail.¹⁸ Secret negotiations between Egypt’s deputy prime minister and Israel’s foreign minister followed in Morocco, where each agreed to make a critical concession: Israel indicated its willingness to return most of the Sinai peninsula to Egyptian sovereignty and Egypt agreed to peace and the establishment of diplomatic relations with Israel.¹⁹ Although these were major concessions, and moved the parties away from the Pareto-inferior equilibrium, the agreement was not stable. Israel in particular was not convinced of the sincerity of Egypt’s intentions.

Shortly thereafter, in a speech to the People’s Assembly in Cairo, Sadat offered to travel to Jerusalem to address Israel’s parliament personally in an effort to persuade its members of the sincerity of Egyptian intentions. The reaction was outrage in the Arab world, incredulity among the Israeli public, and alarm among some of the senior military in Israel who considered the proposed visit a ruse to provide cover for a renewed attack. Within days, however, Sadat came to Jerusalem and spoke to the Knesset of the Egyptian terms for peace. Egyptian demands were unchanged: a full withdrawal by Israel from all territory it had captured in the war of 1967. If Egyptian and Israeli preferences were modeled only with reference to the substance of the issues at stake, their dilemma had not been resolved. Israel’s leaders and public, however, paid attention to the deed rather than to the words. In large part through this single, dramatic act, Sadat changed the dynamics of the conflict by boosting Israel’s confidence that Egypt would not—indeed could not—withhold recognition. President Sadat made his dominant strategy hostage through his actions and hereby increased the stability of a likely agreement. In so doing, he created heavy international and domestic pressure on Israel’s leaders to reciprocate.

Figure 9.4 Dilemma of Common Interests with Asymmetrical Preferences: Egypt and Israel, 1977

Why did this single act of confidence building succeed? Several factors were at play, some general and some specific to the historical context. First, the initiative was irreversible: once the president of Egypt traveled to Jerusalem, he could not undo the deed. It was clear to Israel’s leaders and public that President Sadat could not withhold recognition because, through his visit to Jerusalem, he had recognized Israel. Because it could not be reversed, the action was treated as a valid indicator of Egyptian intentions rather than as a signal that could be manipulated.²⁰ Sadat’s visit to Jerusalem was an act of coordination through confidence building which guaranteed that if Israel withdrew, it would not face its least preferred outcome.

Second, the substantial political cost to President Sadat of breaking the longstanding Arab taboo of not treating directly with Israel was also apparent to Israel’s leaders. Dissension within the Egyptian government was pronounced; the Egyptian foreign minister resigned in protest. A tidal wave of criticism from the Arab world engulfed the Egyptian leader and Arab states moved in near unison to sever diplomatic relations with Egypt. Experimental studies suggest that people determine the motives of a donor by how much the gift cost the giver in utility: the greater the relative cost to the donor, the less likely ulterior motives.²¹ These studies in attribution are consistent with evidence of the impact of the cognitive heuristic of “proportionality": Israel’s leaders reasoned that Egypt’s president would not incur such heavy costs were he not sincere.²² Through his action, he changed Israel’s estimate of Egyptian preferences.

Third, Sadat’s arrival in Jerusalem challenged the most important set of beliefs about Arab goals among Israel’s leadership and public. A broad cross-section of Israelis had assumed that Arab leaders were unrelentingly hostile, so much so that they were unprepared to meet Israel’s leaders face to face. Once these core beliefs were shaken, it became easier for Israelis, as cognitive psychologists predict, to revise associated assumptions and expectations.

Fourth, President Sadat spoke over the heads of Israel’s leadership directly to Israel’s public. With his flair for the dramatic, he created the psychological and political symbols which would mobilize public opinion to press their more cautious and restrained leaders. In so doing, he removed a constraint on Israel’s leaders and created a political inducement to concession. Confidence building had multiple audiences and multiple constituencies.

Under this very special set of conditions, confidence building through irrevocable commitment succeeded brilliantly. We must be very careful, however, in extrapolating from this single case. The two critical components that make an irrevocable commitment to an adversary such an effective confidence building measure are its obviously high cost to the leaders who issue the commitment and its irreversibility. The strategy has been used so infrequently in part because it is often very difficult and very risky to design a commitment that is both high in cost and irreversible²³ Leaders frequently have neither the resources nor the information necessary to make irrevocable commitments. A simulation of tacit bargaining in arms control finds, for example, that leaders are rarely certain enough about an opponent’s response to make a large gesture while the opponent is rarely trusting enough to respond enthusiastically to a small one.²⁴ In designing confidence building measures, leaders face a difficult trade-off: they are more likely to make offers that are reversible and less costly—but reversible, low-cost offers are far less persuasive to an adversary as an indicator of intentions.

Confidence building through irrevocable commitment also requires a degree of freedom from domestic political and bureaucratic constraints. In Egypt after the October war, Sadat had great autonomy in decision making and, indeed, could withstand the resignation of his foreign minister.²⁵ The making of an irrevocable commitment to leaders long identified as antagonists can also be difficult to justify to the public. Yet, it is the public nature of the commitment which contributes to its irreversibility and credibility. Not only did Sadat’s visit to Jerusalem build confidence among Israel’s leaders, but it also mobilized important domestic constituencies to press its leaders to reciprocate his action.

Even after Sadat had assured Israel, intensive personal mediation by the president of the United States was necessary to “insure” against defection at Camp David in September 1978. A peace treaty, signed in March 1979, provided for a phased but complete withdrawal by Israel from the Sinai by 1982, accompanied by extensive arrangements to monitor compliance with its security provisions, in exchange for full recognition of Israel by Egypt and an end to the state of war.²⁶

To prevent inadvertent war, a large part of the Sinai west of the passes was effectively demilitarized and an international force was stationed at Sharm e-Sheikh. To monitor compliance with Israel’s phased withdrawal from the Sinai, two Egyptian zones (A and B) of limited forces west of el-Arish and a third demilitarized zone (Zone C) from el-Arish to the international border were created. A fourth zone (Zone D) of limited forces was established within Israel behind the international boundary. Egyptian forces were limited in the first two, Israel kept technical installations in the third, and Israel’s forces were limited in the fourth. When the Soviet Union vetoed the renewal of the mandate of UNEF in July 1979, the Sinai Field Mission was charged with inspection of Egyptian military installations in the two buffer zones and of four Israeli technical installations located in the interim buffer zone.²⁷ A liaison system replaced the joint commission to resolve disputes arising from operations implementing the treaty. To prevent miscalculation arising from errors, a direct telephone link was established between the two liaison offices.

Confidence building measures were critical to the resolution of the Egyptian and Israeli dilemma of collaboration. Their preferences reveal a significant asymmetry in the harm that would follow a failure to agree. Israel did not prefer the status quo because it risked war, but Egypt would have suffered more from the failure to agree. To overcome this dilemma, Sadat first had to create confidence in Israel that Egypt would not withhold recognition and peace; this he accomplished through his visit to Jerusalem. Even when both parties became reasonably confident that they could avoid an undesired outcome, extensive negotiation was required to put in place measures to protect against defection. Confidence building was critical at every step of the process in reaching agreement between Egypt and Israel.

Coordination and Collaboration Through Confidence Building

In resolving dilemmas of international cooperation, confidence building measures can provide the process through which leaders’ change the other party’s estimate of their preferences, signal their intention to forego a strategy that is dominant but leads to a Pareto-inferior outcome, and stabilizes outcomes that are not in equilibria.

This examination of the record of Egyptian and Israeli cooperation from 1957 to 1978 illustrates the obstacles to cooperation. In all four cases, the structure of Egyptian and Israeli preferences would have combined to prevent an optimal outcome and the agreement they mutually preferred. We treated the games as simultaneous because both parties had to make their choices concurrently to reach agreement, even though the process of bargaining before they committed was sequential. To explain the outcome, it is necessary to examine the process through which they overcame the obstacles to agreement and the sequencing of their moves.

Current models of dilemmas of coordination and collaboration distinguish between different kinds of measures that can surmount different kinds of obstacles to cooperation. Measures that address future intentions are considered more appropriate for dilemmas of coordination while measures that deal with compliance and detecting defection are considered appropriate for dilemmas of collaboration. This examination of confidence building measures initiated by Egypt and Israel did not find a fit between the kind of dilemma and the kind of measures the parties undertook to overcome the obstacles to agreement. In all cases, a mixture of both kinds of confidence building measures was present.

The distinction is useful, however, in demarcating the sequencing of confidence building measures. Our analysis of the process of confidence building is instructive in two ways. In all four cases one or both parties initiated actions designed to deal with future intentions first. They initially addressed what we would term “coordination” problems to change estimates of future intentions, to reshape estimates of preferences, and to signal that they would forego dominant strategies. Only then did they address problems of compliance and cheating to stabilize outcomes that were inherently unstable. This sequencing of confidence building gives content to the process through which the parties reached agreement and explains the outcomes.

The tracing of the process also illuminates the question of which party is likely to initiate confidence building. At different times in their relationship, Egypt and Israel suffered unequally from the consequences of the failure to cooperate. It is not surprising that Egypt, who suffered more, initiated the confidence building measures that were critical to the resolution of their dilemmas in 1975 and again in 1977.²⁸ In analyzing problems of cooperation, it is important to examine not only the preference orderings of the parties to the dispute but also the absolute and relative damage that the principals are likely to suffer if they fail to agree. They party that suffers “unacceptably” or “more” is the logical candidate to initiate confidence building measure to ease dilemmas of cooperation.

Confidence building is helpful in resolving dilemmas of cooperation when it creates the functional equivalent of trust that is necessary to persuade one or both parties to forego dominant strategies in order to reach and stabilize agreements.²⁹ Trust is generated in part through reasoning about another party’s future moves. Collaboration and coordination can be confounded, however, by the inferences one party makes about another party’s intentions in the future.

The functional equivalent of trust can be created when one party makes its individually rational strategy hostage. Through unilateral commitments, when Sadat reopened the Suez Canal and rebuilt the devastated cities along its bank, and when he implicitly recognized Israel through an irreversible visit, he persuaded Israel that Egypt would not take the action that would culminate in the outcome that neither desired.

Even after Israel was convinced that Egypt would not do what was individually rational but collectively suboptimal, the functional equivalent of “insurance” as well as “trust” was necessary to give leaders confidence that an agreement would be stable. To ensure that the parties reached and maintained an optimal outcome, it was important to insure against defection. Effective inspection and verification systems created “insurance” policies. In the earlier stages of an adversarial relationship, when cooperation is most difficult, willingness to participate jointly in insurance schemes can itself contribute over time to the functional equivalent of trust.

Trust can be created through learning from experience. If one or both parties acquire a reputation for reliability, some of the paradoxes inherent in dilemmas of cooperation disappear. Analysis of the Egyptian-Israeli relationship suggests that leaders learned through their joint participation in confidence building activities. The impact of confidence building was cumulative and helped to shift preference structures over time.

Notes

1. It is, of course, unnecessary when interests converge.

2. Steven J. Brams, Theory of Mooes (London: Cambridge University Press, 1993), and Stephen J. Brams and Walter Matti, “Theory of Moves: Overview and Examples,” Conflict Management and Peace Science 12, 2 (1993).

3. A variant of this kind of coordination problem arises when each party prefers a different outcome. When no party has a dominant strategy, the best course of action therefore depends on how the other behaves. Under these conditions, an agreement is often difficult to reach. Once agreement has been reached, however, neither party has an incentive to move from the agreed-upon outcome; agreements are likely to be stable over time. See Arthur A. Stein, “Coordination and collaboration: regimes in an anarchic world,” International Organization 36, 2 (spring, 1982), pp. 299–324, 304–311, and Why Nations Cooperate: Circumstance and Choice in International Relations (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1990), p. 36.

4. Robert Keohane, After Hegemony: Cooperation and Discord in the World Political Economy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984), pp. 65–84 examines the class of games where policy coordination can avoid unwanted outcomes.

5. The prisoners’ dilemma is the archetypical dilemma of collaboration. Solutions to the dilemma are repeated play of the game, where reputational factors intrude, and heavy discounting of immediate payoffs because of the shadow of the future.

6. The debate about which game best represents a set of issues is widespread. Analysts have modelled deterrence problems as games of Prisoner’s Dilemma and as Chicken, with very different normative and descriptive implications. See Steven Brams, Superpower Games: Applying Game Theory to Superpower Conflict (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985) and Frank Zagare, “Toward a Reconciliation of Game Theory and the Theory of Mutual Deterrence,” International Studies Quarterly 29, 1 (1985), pp. 155–169.

7. For details of Egyptian and Israeli reasoning, see Janice Gross Stein, “Detection and Defection: Security ‘Regimes’ and the Management of International Conflict,” International Journal XL, 4 (autumn, 1985), pp. 599–627.

8. In May 1967, responding to pressure from Arab allies and false intelligence from the Soviet Union, President Nasser requested the withdrawal of UNEF, announced the blockade of the Straits of Tiran, and moved a large number of Egyptian troops into the Sinai. When Nasser removed all the confidence building measures that had been put in place, Israel’s leaders calculated, erroneously, that Egypt intended to attack and launched a preemptive attack. An inadvertent war that no party had intended or planned ended with Israel’s capture of the Sinai, the Golan Heights, the West Bank, and East Jerusalem. See Janice Gross Stein, “The Arab-Israeli War in 1967: Inadvertent War Through Miscalculated Escalation” in Preventing War: Problems of Crisis Management, Alexander L. George, ed. (Boulder: Westview Press, 1991), pp. 126–159.

From 1967 until 1973, Israeli and Egyptian preferences were zero-sum. In the aftermath of an overwhelming military victory, Israel preferred war to withdrawal from the Sinai and concession, and Egypt preferred war to negotiation with Israel in the wake of a humiliating defeat. Only in 1973, after Israel won at a very high cost in military casualties, and after a significant Egyptian success in crossing the canal followed by major military reverses, did their preferences change and create a dilemma of collaboration.

9. Michael Comay, “UN Peacekeeping in the Arab-Israel Conflict, 1948–1975,” Jerusalem Papers on Peace Problems 17–18 (Jerusalem: Leonard Davis Institute of International Relations, 1976), p. 33.

10. For the full text of the Sinai I agreement of 18 January 1974, see Henry Kissinger, Years of Upheaval (Boston: Little, Brown, 1982), pp. 1250–1251. See also William Quandt, Decade of Decisions (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1977), pp. 208–209.

11. Interview, Yitzhak Rabin, Tel Aviv, November 1977 and Osama el-Baz, Cairo, November 1977.

12. Maoz and Felsenthal characterize Sadat’s strategy as a “self-binding” commitment to resolve the paradox of this kind of game. See Zeev Maoz and Dan S. Felsenthal, “Self-binding Commitments, the Inducement of Trust, Social Choice, and the Theory of International Cooperation,” International Studies Quarterly 31 (1987), pp. 177–200.

13. Author’s interview with Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, Tel Aviv, November 1977.

14. Established by presidential directive on 14 November 1975, the US Sinai Support Mission (SSM) was charged with the responsibility of providing Egypt, Israel, and the UN with tactical early warning of any unauthorized armed forces into the passes or any preparations for such movements. It established the Sinai Field Mission (SFM) that was responsible for operating watch stations, sensor fields, a supporting base camp, and a communications network. Watch in the Sinai (Washington: United States Sinai Support Mission, 1980). For a comprehensive analysis of the operation of the SSM, see Brian S. Mandell, The Sinai Experience: Lessons in Multimethod Arms Control Verification and Risk Management (Ottawa: Department of External Affairs, Arms Control Verification Studies 3, 1987).

15. “Protocol to the Agreement Between Egypt and Israel,” Report to the Congress (Washington: United States Support Mission, 13 April 1977), Annex B, pp. 5–14.

16. The Commission was chaired by the Chief Coordinator of the United Nations Peacemaking Mission and Egypt and included a representative from each party to the agreement.

17. Anwar el-Sadat, In Search of Identity: An Autobiography (New York: Harper & Row, 1977), p. 457, argued that the psychological barrier of distrust constituted 70 percent of the problem in resolving the Arab-Israel conflict.

18. Anwar el-Sadat, In Search of Identity: An Autobiography, pp. 306–307, and Jimmy Carter, Keeping Faith: Memoirs of a President (New York: Bantam, 1982), p. 307.

19. Moshe Dayan, Breakthrough: A Personal Account of the Egypt-lsrael Peace Negotiations (New York: Knopf, 1981), pp. 44–52.

20. See Maoz and Felsenthal for a similar analysis. For an analysis of signals and indicators, see Robert Jervis, The logic of Images in International Relations (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970).

21. Stuart S. Komorita,” Concession-Making and Conflict Resolution,” Journal of Conflict Resolution 17 (1973), pp. 745–762, and Dean G. Pruitt, Negotiation Behavior (New York: Academic Press, 1981), pp. 124–125.

22. For a discussion of the bias of “proportionality,” see Richard Ned Lebow and Janice Gross Stein, “The Limits of Cognitive Models: Carter, Afghanistan, and Foreign Policy Change,” in Diplomacy, Force, and Leadership: Essays in Honor of Alexander L. George, Daniel Caldwell and Timothy J. McKeown, eds. (Boulder: Westview Press, in press).

23. Maoz and Felsenthal, “Self-binding Commitments, the Inducement of Trust, Social Choice, and the Theory of International Cooperation,” p. 198.

24. G. W. Downs and D. M. Rocke, “Tacit Bargaining and Arms Control,” World Politics 39 (1987), pp. 297–325.

25. As the leader of the largest country in the Arab world, Sadat could also withstand the defection of almost all his Arab allies. This condition would not hold for many of the other parties to the conflict with Israel.

26. Egypt and Israel also agreed to a framework for autonomy on the West Bank and the Gaza Strip, the creation of a self-governing authority by Israel, Egypt, Jordan, and mutually acceptable representatives of the Palestinians, the withdrawal of Israel’s military forces to specified security locations, and a transitional period of five years to determine the final status of the West Bank and Gaza. The first phase of the negotiations on autonomy for the West Bank and Gaza ended inconclusively and this part of the agreement was never implemented.

27. Working with liaison officers from the forces to be monitored, SFM teams inspected Egyptian military forces on site in Zones A and B twice a month and Israeli technical installations in Zone C once a month. Aerial reconnaissance of Zones A and B was conducted by the SIM prior to a scheduled inspection. Israel and Egypt were permitted to fly reconnaissance missions only over Zones A and D respectively. The SFM Operations Unit prepared a single report of the inspection, including personnel and weapons counts, and both parties received only the information necessary to verify compliance with the treaty. See Mandell, The Sinai Experience, pp.19–22. After Israel’s final withdrawal in April 1982, the Sinai Support Mission was replaced by the Multinational Force and Observers (MFO). US participation was requested by both Egypt and Israel, and the US contributed an infantry battalion, a logistics unit, and a civilian observer group. An American, Leamon R. Hunt, was the first director-general of the MFO. See Mala Tabory, The Multinational Force and Observers in the Sinai: Organization, Structure, and Function (Boulder: Westview Press, 1986).

28. For an analysis of the impact of the Egyptian aversion to loss on its strategy, see Janice Gross Stein, “The Political Economy of Strategic Agreements: The Linked Costs of Failure at Camp David,” in Double-Edged Diplomacy: International Bargaining and Domestic Politics, Peter Evans, Harold Jacobsen, and Robert Putnam (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), pp. 77–103.

29. See Deborah Welch Larson, “Game Theory and the Psychology of Reciprocity,” Negotiation Journal, 4, 3 (July 1988).

Part Four
External Actors and Interactions

10
The United States and the Arab-Israeli Peace Process

Bernard Reich

Confidence Building and United States Policy

CBMs and CSBMs are very much a part of the literature of international relations, especially in recent years and for Europe. Their applicability to the Middle East and particularly the Arab-Israeli conflict is a question yet to be carefully addressed. The Middle East has been unable to create a broad-ranging and overarching confidence building regime or system similar to that which applies to Europe. Indeed, this has been both symptomatic of the Arab-Israeli conflict (and other regional issues) as well as a cause of continuing concern.¹ The divisions and tensions that might be ended by such a regime have continued to plague the region. Confidence building has not been a central conceptual theme of US policy in the Middle East, although increasingly, and often by indirection, it has been an element of recent approaches. Although the United States has understood that confident parties are more likely to resolve their conflict and to sustain peace, there has not been a central effort to promote this concept.

The absence of CBMs and CSBMs in the Middle East is reflective of the fact that the region has not yet achieved the breakthrough that eliminates war as an instrument of national policy and a potential mode for conflict resolution.² Unlike Europe where the relationship had been transformed from a war oriented to a peace-oriented system, the Middle East has not yet achieved that status.³ War has not been relegated to the status of a historical factor; it remains a central element of the policies and programs of numerous regional regimes. Despite some indicators of change, the Arab-Israeli conflict has not yet reached the cold war stage; it remains within the realm of real probability that war could break out.

In the wake of the end of the Cold War and the Gulf War, it was suggested by US officials and by some who supported their arguments, that the region was on the threshold of a new period in which war as an option would be replaced by a cold war alternative. Indeed, this was a central theme of President George Bush and Secretary of States James Baker immediately after the end of the hostilities with Iraq. Within that new conceptual framework for the region, the suggestion could therefore be advanced in a political and policy sense, rather than a conceptual one, that various CBMs and CSBMs, such as an arms control regime,⁴ could be created and this would contribute to the overall prospects for peace and stability in the region. However, this initiative of the Bush administration soon gave way to political reality and little progress on arms limitations followed.

Resolution of the Arab-Israeli conflict has been a central theme of American policy since the conflict emerged as an international issue following World War II, but the intensity of American efforts and the nature of the approaches to conflict resolution and management have varied considerably. Although the dominance of the American position has been asserted only after the Six Day War (1967) and especially the Yom Kippur War (1973), the concepts were developed earlier. In 1953, Secretary of State John Foster Dulles articulated a conceptualization, albeit not particularly nuanced, of the problem that included some rudimentary notions of confidence building to counteract the fear of the regional actors that contributed to the problems of the region.⁵ Although Dulles’ approach was rather unsophisticated, reflecting the level of understanding of the issues and of the mechanisms to make them operative, it nevertheless wove together concepts of conflict resolution and confidence building in ways that have been a part of the American approach since, although not always clearly and explicitly.

From the outset, a number of themes have been included in the articulated approach. Clearly the United States believed that the conflict required resolution and was prepared to work to achieve that end, although the nature and extent of the United States effort varied from administration to administration.⁶ At the same time, the United States has seen its own role in varying terms. In the first decades of the conflict it remained distant and sought not to be a central player, despite concern about the problem. It was after the Six Day War and especially after the Yom Kippur War that it became a central and indispensable actor. And, it was only after the 1973 war that a clear and detailed conceptual framework began to develop, although elements of the policy were articulated earlier in such statements as President Lyndon Johnson’s “principles of peace” address of June 1967.⁷ After the 1973 war the United States also began to guarantee the process through various actions that were designed to reassure the parties and create the confidence essential to ensure the success of the peace process.⁸

Throughout the effort, the United States developed a weak and often unarticulated conceptual approach to the problem. By the post-Cold War period its content focused on several themes: the conflict was an important one and dangerous, posing a threat to the regional and international interests of the United States. The parties could not, on their own, reach a solution to the problem. But, on the other hand, the United States could not substitute itself for any of the parties—that is, the parties to the conflict had to be the parties to the peace. The United States could play the role of bringing the parties together and could then help to generate the CBMs that would bridge the gaps between them and thereby help to assure the success of the process. It could also help to create a more friendly and positive regional environment by dealing with collateral issues, such as water resources and arms control. This conceptualization later became a part of the Madrid process with its simultaneous bilateral and multilateral tracks.

The Historic Role and Centrality of the United States in the Arab-Israeli Peace and Security Process

The United States is, and has been since at least the 1973 Arab-Israeli War, the preeminent external power in the quest for peace in the Arab-Israeli sector of the Middle East. This central role is a consequence of numerous factors that have been detailed elsewhere and need not be rehearsed here. The dominant one is that the United States is the only external force acceptable, at least at some level, to each and every one of the parties to the peace process. In that it has no peer, despite efforts by various states and other actors (such as the Organization of African Unity and the European Community) to insinuate themselves into the process and the occasional willingness of the United States to allow others (notably the USSR and later Russia) to gain a certain degree of formal status and to identify themselves as coequals in the process. The Arab-Israeli peace process has been US-dominated from the outset and the Madrid inaugurated round is a direct result of US initiatives. Despite earnest efforts by other powers and organizations, only the United States has been successful in promoting the various agreements⁹ that have, thus far, been achieved. In one sense this simplifies the confidence building process while complicating the diplomacy for the United States as it seeks to generate, sustain or restore the confidence of the several parties simultaneously.

The centrality that has been sustained for more than two decades and that is likely to continue in the future, results not only from presidential preferences but also from the objective conditions in the Arab-Israeli zone and in the broader Middle East as well as in the international system. In the period before the demise of the Soviet Union, US Middle East policy was dominated by its competition with the USSR. This rivalry took many forms, including economic and military assistance and political and diplomatic support for client states, as each superpower sought to deny regional hegemony to the other. The competition contributed to a polarization of Middle Eastern states into two camps, one tending toward a close working relationship with the United States and the other with the Soviet Union. Nevertheless, and despite this polarization, the United States was the dominant address for the Arab-Israeli peace process.

The Soviet Union became increasingly irrelevant during the Bush administration and, after its collapse, its successor states focused more on domestic economic and social needs and their political ramifications than on promoting their prestige in the Middle East or elsewhere. Russia played a secondary, albeit highly visible, ceremonial role in the Madrid-launched peace process and in regard to the Gulf crisis spawned by Saddam Hussein’s invasion of Kuwait.¹⁰ The United States was the sole superpower and emerged as the dominant, essentially hegemonic, force in the Middle East. It remained the central external power seeking to mold the Arab-Israeli and Gulf sectors to conform to its image of the postwar world.

George Bush took office as President in January 1989 with no long-range strategic plan or specific policies for the Middle East and North Africa.¹¹ Bush and Secretary of State James Baker had no grand design for a comprehensive approach to the Arab-Israeli conflict but instead launched a more modest step-by-step effort to achieve direct negotiations between the parties. Baker moved slowly and incrementally to achieve progress. The initial, low-key efforts focused on an Israeli proposal to establish an Israel-Palestinian dialogue as a prelude to broader peace negotiations. In this initial phase, confidence building measures were neither uppermost in the minds of United States negotiators nor central to US planning. The goal was to begin a negotiating process, but little attention was paid its mechanisms. The give-and-take centerd on the identification and selection of participants rather than on that which would follow.

The Arab-Israeli peace process was moribund by the time Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait, and he sought to use that conflict as a tool to gain Arab world support, to split the US-led coalition, to reduce the effectiveness of the coalition’s embargo, and to help neutralize the military forces arrayed against him. And, while the United States resisted Saddam Hussein’s attempts to create a linkage between the Gulf and the Arab-Israeli issues, it increasingly became clear there would be a sustained post-crisis effort to resolve the Arab-Israeli conflict. Bush stressed his determination in his address to a joint session of Congress on March 6, 1991: “A comprehensive peace must be grounded in United Nations Security Council Resolutions 242 and 338 and the principle of territory for peace. This must provide for Israel’s security and recognition, and at the same time for legitimate Palestinian political rights."¹² Clearly this statement sought to instill confidence in the parties that their basic concerns with regard to the peace process would be met.

The successful prosecution of the Gulf War that resulted in the restoration of the legitimate government in Kuwait generated the perception that the region had undergone sufficient change to make peace possible and provided the impetus for Baker’s subsequent efforts in the Arab-Israeli sector. The framework for the post-Kuwait crisis approach to the Arab-Israeli dispute and other regional issues was articulated by Bush and Baker in a series of speeches and statements in the spring of 1991 during and immediately after the hostilities against Iraq. These provided some conception of American interests and concerns after the termination of hostilities but did not provide a conceptual framework although they suggest an outline for operations in the subsequent months (years).

The new world order of the Bush-Baker administration identified a series of themes central to the Middle East and, in particular, to the Arab-Israeli sector and the potential peace process.¹³ Security arrangements for the Persian Gulf sector would help to ensure that there could not be a repeat of the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait or similar threats to regional security and stability. Arms control measures would seek to limit the availability of weapons to the region and thereby to reduce the possibility (and, if unsuccessful, the lethality) of future conflict. This would also help to assure that Iraq could not maintain or develop its nuclear, biological or chemical weapons capabilities. Economic reconstruction would reduce the tensions between the have and have-not states. A comprehensive strategy to diminish US dependence on imported oil would be developed. And, a significant effort would be made to achieve real reconciliation among Israelis, Arabs and Palestinians—that is, to end the Arab-Israeli conflict and to establish peace.

Efforts to implement these goals were soon underway but significant strides toward their achievement did not follow. The region was in uncharted territory between the old world order (essentially a bipolar world system with the United States and the Soviet Union and their alliance systems as the poles and a consequential “stability” in the Arab-Israeli sector despite competition between the powers and the blocs) and the yet-to-be-established new world order with undetermined implications.

The new world order, even if somewhat amorphous despite the articulations of Bush and Baker, was of importance to the politics of the Middle East and to the peace process in a number of ways. Most crucially, it generated a new framework for the region in which there was only a single superpower and only one major player to whom the regional parties could turn for economic and military assistance and political and diplomatic support. For the Arabs, who had relied on the Soviet Union and its allies, this meant a need to reassess their overall position and to come to terms with the new reality that only the United States could be a major player in the region. This meant, of course, that the United States gained a central role unprecedented in the history of the conflict and that there was no ability on the part of the parties to “play off’ the superpowers against each other, and no real alternative to the United States for those that had been Soviet-linked. But, this change also would require the United States to deal with the confidence issue in new and unexpected ways. It had to reassure the Arab interlocutors that it would take into account their interests and address their concerns. It had to build confidence in the United States as not simply the only broker for peace, but also one that would be “honest,” if not evenhanded, in its approach.

The secretary of state, backed by the president, soon began a sustained, if not systematic, effort to move toward resolution of the Arab-Israeli conflict by convening a peace conference. This was a pragmatic approach without a clear or delineated conceptual framework. The objective was to restart a peace process; there appeared to be no conceptualization beyond the inauguration of the process and confidence building and related measures appeared to await a later round.

Baker’s visits to the Middle East in the spring and early summer of 1991 sought to revive the Arab-Israeli peace process but it was clear that there was no agreement to convene a conference that would lead to bilateral negotiations. Nevertheless, the administration pressed its case and, eventually, Baker convened the Madrid Peace Conference at the end of October 1991. He was able to accomplish this through a combination of entreaty and reassurance. The conference was attended reluctantly by the parties and little of substance was expected to result. A process of “playing to the United States” was begun. Israel did so to retain and sustain its special relationship with the United States¹⁴ while the more radical Arabs did so to acquire a relationship to supplant the one lost with the Soviet Union and its allies and the other Arab interlocutors did so to sustain, refurbish, expand or otherwise to enhance their relationship with the United States in an era of no alternative superpowers. This effort continued throughout subsequent rounds in the process. The extensive, intimate and personal involvement of Baker, with the visible and significant support of the president, was a crucial element. This was designed to generate confidence in both the negotiator and in the negotiating process.

Primarily because of objections to Geneva and other sites from some of the participants, Madrid was accepted as the venue. The effort to convene the conference was replete with required reassurances for, as well as pressures on, the parties to secure their consent to the initial and subsequent meetings.¹⁵ The primary mechanisms were cajoling, pressure and threat rather than reassurance and confidence building. Did the parties participate in the Madrid and subsequent Washington rounds of the peace process because they were reassured by United States words and deeds or because they were intimidated by US “threats"? The record suggests the latter as the more dominant factor. Nevertheless, establishment and continuation of the process suggests that reassurances are crucial. Past US experiences in the peace process suggest that the parties respond to overtures primarily when they are reassured that their central interests will be protected and that their concerns will be met. Generally these have revolved around security matters, in the broadest sense of that term. And, it has been useful, if not necessary, and effective primarily in the US-Israeli relationship. It seems both logical and probable that further significant progress in the peace process will revolve around the need for and the provisions of reassurances concerning security for Israel in the ongoing peace process. The assurances could take a number of forms to include letters of reassurance, statements of policy, provision of aid, and other similar mechanisms that have been utilized in previous rounds of the peace process going back to the Kissinger models of the 1970s.¹⁶

The Madrid conference did not achieve a substantive breakthrough although it eliminated the procedural barriers to direct bilateral negotiations between Israel and its immediate neighbors when Israel and Syrian, Egyptian, Lebanese, and Jordanian-Palestinian delegations met at an opening public and official plenary session and delivered speeches and responses. Bilateral negotiations between Israel and each of the Arab delegations followed. The Palestinians of the joint Jordanian-Palestinian delegation gained a measure of authority and legitimacy for their roles in the Madrid round and in the bilateral discussions that followed. They were able to deal with Israel, in part because Israel’s conditions were met—the Palestinians were not the PLO, not from the so-called “diaspora,” and not from East Jerusalem. This resolved the issue of Palestinian representation that had stymied Bush administration efforts in the period before the Gulf crisis.

The Madrid sessions were followed by eight rounds of bilateral talks in Washington later in 1991 and throughout 1992. A ninth round convened in Washington in May 1993 and a tenth in June 1993, ending on July 1. The first rounds achieved accord on nonsubstantive matters and progress was measured primarily by the continuation of the process rather than by significant accomplishment on the substantive issues in dispute. The gap between the Israeli and Arab positions was not narrowed in these initial encounters and it could not be bridged by outside actors. The United States adhered to its role as a facilitator and did not intervene on substantive matters. It was not a party to the bilateral talks and its representatives were not in the room nor at the negotiating table, although it did meet separately with the parties and heard their views and perspectives. In the course of the ninth round of negotiations in Washington in May 1993, the United States, eager to ensure the continuity of the process, presented a draft statement for the consideration of Israel and the Palestinians and as a means of facilitating the continuation of the process. It sought to address the central areas of concerns of the parties and to help bridge the gap between their position and thereby to assure continuation of the process.¹⁷ A similar effort marked the tenth round. The United States sustained the position that the negotiations should continue and that they were the best chance for peace in the Arab-Israeli sector. The continuity of the process contributed to the confidence of the parties in the United States that permitted its special role.

The Madrid-inaugurated process also included multilateral discussions on several regional issues that paralleled the bilateral negotiations. The unique decision to run two parallel and mutually reinforcing sets of discussions, bilateral and multilateral,¹⁸ is an innovative mechanism for confidence building in the Arab-Israeli process. An initial organizing conference, convened in Moscow in January 1992, established a goal to achieve progress on important regional issues, even without a political solution, that would reinforce the bilateral negotiations. The themes of these efforts were refugees, economic development, water resources, environment, and arms control. The five permanent members of the Security Council and a number of other important powers (including the European Community and Japan) were represented. The continuity of this process reinforced the confidence of the parties in the value of the functional negotiations as well as in the broader utility of the Madrid inaugurated process. Despite its small role in the multilateral process the United States saw these negotiations as broadening and enhancing the overall peace efforts and helping to reinforce the positive perspectives of the parties.

The multilateral process served a number of purposes. It would help to reinforce the efforts at the bilateral level and would allow confidence in the process by showing some progress in a related area. By achieving some movement in functional areas of consequence, perhaps this would or could reinforce the bilateral process and perhaps could achieve some movement even without a political resolution. And, by involvement of numerous external powers it would help to prevent these other powers from undercutting the US effort and would afford further confidence to the parties who would have various patrons or potential patrons and be less isolated within the negotiating process. It would serve to incorporate those who might be “spoilers” of the process and would spoil the spoilers.

Although the Bush administration was pleased with the inauguration of an essentially irreversible process to create peace in the Arab-Israeli conflict, the situation had not yet reached a point of substantive breakthrough. Nevertheless, the Baker team seemed optimistic that while the differences between the parties were still wide, they would eventually narrow and then it would be possible to “bridge the gaps.” Israel and its Arab interlocutors continued along a lengthy and tortuous, but irreversible, path because of their desire to achieve their goals and because of the continued prodding of the United States.

The Clinton administration entered office with no coherent view of the post-Cold War world and no overall conception of the foreign and national security policy essential for the post-Gulf War, and post-Madrid conference, Middle East.¹⁹ Some potential elements were foreshadowed by the presidential election campaign, but these were more general than specific and provided little significant insight into the prospective Middle East policies of the Clinton administration. The dominant focus was on domestic issues, especially those relating to the economy, and foreign policy in general, and the Middle East in particular, was given little attention. However, Clinton made clear that he wanted to keep the peace process on track and to take whatever actions he could to ensure that there would be no break in continuity.

Clinton soon noted that the US role “is to serve as an honest broker and, at times, as a catalyst.” His working team seemed to believe that an active role was needed for the success of the peace process but also seemed to concur in the view that Israel will make meaningful concessions only when it is reassured of US support. There is likely to be continuity in the existing negotiations and the United States will not devise a master plan, or seek to impose its own will or solution, believing that such an approach will not be successful, although Secretary of State Warren Christopher described the US role as that of a “full partner.” Consultation and coordination with Israel is likely to be a feature of the process especially since Clinton has suggested that he will “treat the Arab-Israeli conflict as one in which the survival of Israel is at stake” and has made clear that the United States “must maintain our special commitment to our democratic partner, Israel, and its overall security.” This is a perspective very different from that of the Bush administration and suggests a potential tilt towards Israel. This would have the effect, as it did in the spring of 1993, of raising Arab doubts about the United States and requiring some reassurances to reinstill Arab confidence in the “evenhandedness” of US policy. Clinton reiterated that he seeks a solution that meets the legitimate requirements of the Arabs and American diplomats sought to give credence to that perspective.

The Clinton administration’s policy was foreshadowed by the decision that Christopher’s first foreign trip would be to the Middle East primarily, but not solely, to see if he could reinvigorate and restart the Arab-Israeli peace negotiations. Christopher prepared the way for his visit with an effort to reinstill Arab confidence through a flurry of personal diplomacy to neutralize the obstacles to the peace process caused by the deportation of more than four-hundred Palestinians to Lebanon by Israel in December 1992. Christopher persuaded Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin to agree to a complicated formula under which Israel would take back some of the deportees and then the Security Council would endorse the compromise and urge the Palestinians to return to the peace negotiations. This confidence building measure provided insight into the new working relationship between the United States and Israel. It also demonstrated Christopher’s skills at damage control and his ability to prevent foreign policy issues from diverting the President from his preferred focus on domestic matters.

Christopher’s trip to the Middle East reflected no new or bold strategy on the peace process nor new substantive proposals to facilitate the negotiations along, but rather an effort to meet and get to know the principal players and to seek to reinvigorate the process through reassurances to the parties concerning the overall nature and direction of US policy. He sought to establish personal relationships, to assess the current state of play and the commitment of the parties to serious and continuous peace negotiations, and to make clear Washington’s commitment to playing an active role in the revival of the talks and in their continuation.

The Appropriateness of CBMs in the United States Approach

The United States has recognized the value of CBMs in the Arab-Israeli peace process since it first utilized them in the Nixon administration. The absence of confidence can preclude negotiations while its existence will not in and of itself make negotiations “happen.” But confidence is difficult both to create and to sustain. Confidence remains an intangible factor, difficult to identify and to quantify. As Kissinger negotiated the disengagement agreement of 1974 and the Sinai II agreement of 1975, CMBs of various types were included in the process and in the agreements. CBMs, albeit initially without using the appellation, were seen as both appropriate and necessary in the US effort to convince the parties to participate in the process and to reach agreement. The CBMs proved essential to the process.

The United States has seen confidence building measures as an important element of the Arab-Israeli process. Dennis Ross, then head of the Department of State’s policy planning staff and a leading player in the US efforts, in an address before the Middle East Institute, on October 12, 1990, said: “We believe that confidence building measures of the sort we developed with the Soviets in Europe, could be pursued between Israel and her Arab neighbors to reduce the risk of war and miscalculation and to lay the basis for their political engagement.” He did not elaborate.

The United States has sought to use two approaches to CBMs: One is to get the parties to initiate them for each other. Failing that, as for example in the first months of the Madrid process, the United States will, as with Camp David and earlier efforts, propose its own CBMs for the parties. The United States would seek to encourage the parties to take mutual confidence building measures. For example, Baker suggested to Israel that it could freeze the building of settlements in the occupied territories in exchange for a relaxation by Arab states of the Arab economic boycott against Israel. However, each side preferred the first move to be made by the other and neither was prepared for such far-reaching concessions.

The United States can provide a variety of CBMs to the parties involved. Thus, for example, for Jordan and the Palestinians the United States could provide an improved quality of life in the West Bank and Gaza Strip, there could be an end to settlement building, there could be less military pressure in the occupied territories, there could be limits on the arms races (both conventional and nonconventional), and there are possibilities of water sharing, as well as demilitarized zones. The idea of a goodwill gesture remains a part of the process.

In May 1992, then US ambassador to Israel, William Harrop, suggested that Israel should make a goodwill gesture because Syria had announced that it would enable its Jews to travel freely. He said “I think it falls very much under the category of what we call in the peace talks ‘confidence building measures.’ would be happy to see a response of some kind come one way or another from Israel.” The Israeli response ran the gamut but a central theme was that this was not a matter of CBMs but instead a humanitarian requirement that did not deserve a response.

The relationship between expected gestures and actions and those that are provided for purposes of generating good will remains a point on contention. Clearly each of the parties looks to the other for actions to be taken and gestures to be made. But, the parties tend to downplay their own need to act.

Confidence building provided by the parties to each other, or by the United States for the parties, or forced by the United States on the parties to provide to each other, must be public in nature and public oriented. Confidence building provided by elites to elites and satisfying them, will be useful to have them think in terms of pursuing a process, but for the elite to “sell” it to their broader constituencies the CBMs must be public and provided as a means of facilitating the peace process by the individuals directly involved. The public must be convinced that the opponent has provided sufficient measures to enable the public to accept the concessions of their negotiators in the peace process. The US role in that regard can be crucial.

There is always the prospect of documents and other legal instruments. In 1974 and 1975 the United States had some success in using these in the initial and highly successful disengagement agreements between Israel and Egypt and between Israel and Syria. The latter remains especially interesting since the accord was worked out between two hostile states but has been scrupulously honored despite their continued antagonism. International mechanisms may prove invaluable—thus the UNDOF has helped to assure the scrupulous adherence to the Israel-Syria disengagement of 1974. Earlier, Nasser used the stationing of UNEF between Egypt and Israel as a means of avoiding conflict.

The Honest Broker

In the wake of the Yom Kippur War the United States emerged as the central external power in the search for peace in the Arab-Israeli conflict, and as the source of economic and military assistance to facilitate the process and assure its continuation. The successes of the United States in the 1970s, and with the Madrid conference in the 1990s, were based on an indispensable combination of increasingly multifaceted relations with the Arab states and on continued traditional linkages with Israel. The United States is the only power able to pursue a major role to resolve the Arab-Israeli conflict, and is likely to sustain this solitude. Nevertheless, and despite its crucial role and its achievements, the United States has never been neutral concerning the outcome of the Arab-Israeli conflict and the future of Israel. It has been and is an honest broker in the Arab-Israeli peace process, but it is not disinterested, nor indifferent. Traditionally, an honest broker is “a neutral agent” that does not support or favor either side in a dispute. Increasingly, the term is used simply to refer to an intermediary, such as in the Arab-Israeli conflict where the United States serves, and should continue to do so, as one. It is the only one available despite pretensions by various other powers to supplant it. It is an honest broker, with the power and ability to convene a peace conference, to launch a peace process, and to achieve results.

For the Arab actors (the states and the Palestinians), there is no alternative; either they cooperate with the United States or they opt for no participation. They recognize the relative power and weight of the United States because it is a superpower and because of its connection to Israel. They invoke the images of President Eisenhower in 1956–57 during the Suez crisis and of President Bush in 1991–92 on the loan guarantee issue as the mechanisms appropriate to achieve a preferred result. Despite Arab criticism of its policies, the United States is the only power capable of achieving the preferred policy outcomes. It has been the one sought out, a process that began even before the collapse of the Soviet Union and the end of the Cold War. Anwar Sadat turned to Washington to support his initiative that eventually led to the peace treaty with Israel in 1979 and the PLO sought a dialogue with the United States in the 1980s, despite the availability of the Soviet Union as an alternative.

The United States’ role as an honest broker, as a catalyst and facilitator of the Arab-Israeli peace process, has been central to the achievements thus far. The United States is the only power in which the parties have confidence, in part because, if a peace agreement is violated, it has the strategic and military means of restoring the credibility of the accord and of its role. The Gulf War is proof of that.²⁰ Europe is not a true political community, nor does it have a military capability to implement its policies. Events in Yugoslavia have emphasized this impotence. Nevertheless, Europe, and to a lesser degree Japan, can make a contribution to economic and cultural ties, and to the potential development of the states involved and can help to finance the peace in the framework of its participation in the post-Madrid multilateral negotiations.

Although it can be argued that the United States should be circumspect and “evenhanded” in its approach, its position is clear and well known and to rearticulate it can reassure the parties. Restating these American interests (i.e., rehearsing the “bottom line") can avoid the destructive ambiguity that leads parties to probe for the content of US policy, to push for changes in that policy, and to avoid compromise that might otherwise be possible and positive.

The United States’ interest seeks a solution to the Arab-Israeli conflict in the form of a just and lasting peace, and not simply a peace treaty derived from direct negotiations between and among the parties to the conflict, in which Israel is at peace in a normal relationship with its neighbors and is an accepted legitimate member of both the international and Middle Eastern communities. It believes that Jerusalem should not be redivided, as it was from 1949 to 1967, and that its status should be the outcome of direct negotiations rather than of the unilateral actions of one party or another. At least in the interim, and unless or until the parties themselves agree otherwise, the United States sees no formal role for the PLO in the peace process and no Palestinian state as an outcome. Secure and recognized borders between the parties should reflect a negotiated outcome, not American preferences or dictates, although it envisages some insubstantial alterations in the 1949–67 armistice lines.

The firmness of a US position, once adopted, plays a valuable role. The US position concerning a dialogue with the PLO, adopted in the 1970s, and maintained with remarkable tenacity over the ensuing period, through several administrations and in the face of numerous challenges, ultimately led the PLO in December 1988 to announce a modified position on three central issues. At the bilateral level, the reaffirmation of the American commitment to the survival and security of an Israel living at peace with its neighbors will facilitate the concessions essential to move toward a compromise between Arab and Israeli positions.

Creating Confidence: Assurances to Israel

Those that went to Madrid did not go because they wanted to or because they were eager to make peace or speak to each other. They went because Bush and Baker wanted them to, told them to, and pressured them to do so.²¹ For Madrid to work the parties required reassurances, measures that would help them to feel that peace was possible and that the risk of participation had a counterpoint in not facing a significant danger.

Although Israelis, in particular, await the prospects of peace with great anticipation and are prepared to take many risks, they still require a form of proof that they can trust their adversaries. The Palestinians pose a different problem. The Israelis doubt that anyone can speak for or lead the Palestinians because of their internal divisions and the famous concept that they have never missed an opportunity to miss an opportunity for peace. Israelis are not certain that they will honor a deal made, perhaps because they won’t be able to, perhaps because they can’t.

Trust building, confidence building, is thus an important requirement. Without a significant gesture by the Arab interlocutors, Israel will be reluctant to make concessions and reach accord. The only alternative would be American “pressure” or influence to convince Israel to move in a particular direction.

Assurances can take many forms and depend on the party’s needs for reassurance in determining its requirements. Among the more significant factors is the confidence provided by the United States to Israel to bring it into the Madrid conference process and assure its continued presence. The primary assurances to Israel preceding the Madrid conference in October 1991 focused on traditional Israeli concerns and sought to reassure it that the United States had not altered the working themes and the objectives of the process sought by the Israelis.

The United States noted that the main objective of the Madrid conference is to secure a peace agreement and diplomatic relations between Israel and its Arab neighbors. Israel is entitled to secure and defensible borders. Negotiations would be direct only and the opening conference would not have the power to take decisions, hold votes, or impose positions. The United States reassured Israel that it would not have to sit with another party against its wishes and that it did not have any intention of bringing about an Israel-PLO dialogue. The United Stages also reiterated its position of not supporting the creation of an independent Palestinian state. The United States would consult closely with Israel and show consideration for its peace process positions. In addition to its willingness to guarantee any border agreed to by Israel and Syria, the United States reiterated its commitment to Israel’s security and to the maintenance of its qualitative edge. In an effort to improve the overall climate, the United States would seek an end to the Arab economic boycott and to have the United Nations annul its “Zionism is racism” resolution.²²

In the period prior to the establishment of peace the United States commitment to Israel’s existence and security must be clear, so that neither Israel nor the Arabs will doubt its significance and content. Although there is widespread Arab knowledge and understanding of the connection and the commitment, periodically some choose to reinterpret it or to test it. The US-Israeli contretemps over the loan guarantees in 1991 and 1992 was of limited long-term value in progressing toward an Arab-Israeli peace and regional stability but it had short-term negative effects. Israelis were concerned about US support, thereby generating hesitation and reluctance, while Arabs were convinced that they needed to make few concessions given the deteriorating US-Israeli relationship. Progress was halted. An important priority is to avoid future situations of this genre.

A dear commitment to the survival and security of Israel is an irreducible minimum. Over the years, despite the substantial links that have developed between them, and the widespread belief in the existence of a commitment, and the assurances contained in agreements such as the Sinai II accords and the accompanying memoranda in 1975, and the Egypt-Israel Peace Treaty and accompanying documents, the precise nature, form and content of the US commitment to Israel remains imprecise. Although it is commonly assumed that the United States would come to Israel’s assistance should it be gravely threatened, it is important to ensure that the commitment is not misunderstood. This is especially important after the Scud missile attacks on Israel during the Gulf War and the loan guarantee episode. The value of the commitment will be in the willingness to undertake it, and in American sincerity to implement it, if challenged, and this is a function of the decision makers, the particular challenge, and of the relationship on which it is based.

The United States and Israel are the signatories of a number of specific, formal, bilateral agreements covering a wide range of subject areas but they do not articulate the overarching commitment. The value of an accord that includes an American guarantee for Israel’s security is not a new idea, but it has found new arguments and supporters after the Gulf War. The fact of an American guarantee, and awareness by potential aggressors that the United States intends to implement it, could serve as a deterrent to enemy action and help to create/reinforce the confidence essential to progress in peace negotiations. Also, if within its terms, the American commitment to Israel’s qualitative edge is institutionalized, this would reduce the dangers of misperception and potential conflict. Nevertheless, if such an agreement imposes limitations on Israel’s freedom of action in matters relating to its defense, then its negative aspects might outweigh the more positive ones and reduce significantly its benefit. The sentiment and perspective of compatibility of the two parties is more significant than a carefully worded legal document that, in effect, circumscribed the commitment. The document would be essentially worthless in a crisis if the president and/or Congress were not sympathetic, while if they and others were positive or supportive, the treaty would be unnecessary.

In recent years Israelis have expressed mixed views concerning a formal treaty relationship with the United States, although they recognize the value of a restated commitment and of the strategic connection. Until peace is achieved, Israel faces the requirement of assuring its security and the United States will continue to be essential as a provider of arms. Israel does not seek the involvement of American personnel in its efforts to meet its security requirements and it continues to believe in self-reliance, despite the Patriot missile episode during the Gulf War. It wants US reassurances that it will be able to sustain its qualitative edge over its Arab and other potential adversaries, and that it will secure the military equipment essential for its security as long as the potential for hostilities exists. The United States will remain the primary, if not the sole, source of sophisticated modern weapons systems for Israel, as it has in the period since 1967. The arms are essential to sustain the qualitative edge as a deterrent to prevent Arab radicals, and potentially Iran, from going to war to take advantage of Israel’s decreasing military capability. There is also the need to generate confidence so that Israel will be convinced that it may safely move toward concessions and peace.

Confidence between the United States and Israel is essential for the relationship to flourish and for progress toward Arab-Israeli peace, as only a confident Israel will take risks in the peace process. In the diplomatic process maintaining confidence, and reestablishing it where it had been eroded, is essential. Official Israeli behavior suggests the value of reliable reassurances by the United States, despite the argument by some that they are unnecessary. Measures that reduce confidence are counterproductive and are likely to be self-defeating. Israel’s history suggests that the establishment of peace, and its taking risks and making concessions, is closely linked to its feeling of security and its confidence in its situation and in the United States as an ally and guarantor of the process. Israel responds positively when it is confident and reassured, not under pressure, as illustrated by the role of the United States in securing the Egypt-Israel Peace Treaty and as an intermediary in the Madrid process. This assumes the continued congruence of US and Israeli policy to achieve peace. Pressing Israel to adopt policies or procedures that will advance the peacemaking process continues to be an appropriate element in the bilateral dialogue, while avoiding the substitution of American solutions and judgments for Israeli decisions and seeking to impose these will continue to be improper and prove counterproductive. The counterargument focuses on pressuring Israel to make peace and the concessions necessary to bring it about. To achieve these ends, cutting American aid (economic and military) as well as broader support have been suggested as policy mechanisms to be employed by the United States. The argument is that Israelis seek this pressure to have a rationale for doing what might otherwise be politically unthinkable. Despite the logic of these suggestions, on matters of crucial centrality they have not been employed with success in the bilateral relationship; reassurance, not pressure, has been the effective mechanism.

American economic and military aid has not only helped Israel to ensure its security, it has helped to bridge the gap between the parties in negotiations, and it has been effective in inducing Israeli concessions, as in the Sinai II accords and the Egypt-Israel Peace Treaty. In the latter instance, Israel’s agreement to withdraw from the Etam and Etzion air bases in the Sinai peninsula was closely linked to the US pledge to assist in the construction of new and sophisticated air bases in Israel’s Negev. The American commitment to meet Israel’s oil needs, if alternative sources were not available, facilitated Israel’s decisions to withdraw from the area of the Sinai oil fields. American guarantees of the basic treaty were important inducements to both Israel and Egypt. Reassuring Israel may also take less-tangible forms such as indicating sensitivity to Israel’s concerns and restating the commitment to Israel’s survival and security. The need for close and continuous consultation between the United States and Israel is both obvious and critical and when it has not occurred tensions have prevented achievement of the desired objectives.

Will Israel regard US reassurances as reliable? Although the record is mixed, Israel has sought reassurances as a mechanism to allow it a greater margin of security and to help it to accept changes. Not all Israelis will agree on what constitutes a reaffirmation of the American commitment nor on its reliability. Even in the best of circumstances, small states tend to be wary of the actions of larger powers and harbor suspicions about the policies and actions of even their best friends and allies, and, in this regard, Israel is not very different from other states. And, it adds to the more traditional suspicions, the “facts” of its own history and, in particular, instances of its reliance on the United States. Although there will be suspicions about American motives and questions about US reliability, the preferred avenue is to provide the reassurances in the expectation that they will help to convince Israel of the solidity of its position and of the prospects for the ultimate success of its venture.

Creating confidence for the Arabs is a parallel consideration. Clearly the United States has been, over the years, disproportionately involved with Israel compared to the Arab states.²³ The Arabs have understood the imbalance in the relationship between the United States and Israel and the United States and the Arab states. Indeed, it can be both argued and demonstrated that among the reasons for the centrality of the United States in the peace process is the fact of the close relationship between the United States and Israel that has led the Arabs to recognize that the road to pressure on Jerusalem is through Washington. And, despite this relationship, there has been no real effort to “punish” the United States by withholding oil, etc. Indeed the contrary can be argued, especially in recent years. For the Arab actors there is no real alternative; either cooperate with the United States or they may be precluded from participation. They recognize the relative power and weight of the United States because it is a superpower and because of its connection to Israel. Despite Arab criticism of its policies, the United States is the only power capable of helping them to achieve their preferred policy outcomes. It has been the one sought out, a process that began even before the collapse of the Soviet Union and the end of the Cold War. Anwar Sadat turned to Washington during the Carter administration to support his initiative that culminated in the peace treaty and the PLO sought a dialogue with the United States in the 1980s and agreed to US conditions (accepting United Nations Security Council Resolution 242, renouncing terrorism and accepting Israel’s right to exist), despite the Soviet Union’s existence as an alternative.

Nevertheless, the United States has sought to encourage the Arab side in the peace process, partially through confidence building actions but primarily through the perspective that there really is not much of an alternative.

To the Arab side the United States now offers the ultimate confidence building measure, the prospects of peace and resolution of the Arab-Israeli conflict, brokered by the United States with American efforts to bridge the gaps and to help assure the outcome through guarantees. The United States has sought to assure the Arabs on such matters as implementation of United Nations Security Council Resolution 242 and related issues.

An American Guarantee to Facilitate Peace

Among the roles that the United States might play, in addition to that of an honest broker and of a confidence builder to generate negotiations and to secure an accord, is one of a potential guarantor of the peace, and of its interim stages.

The Sinai II arrangement of 1975 is a useful experience to inform the process; the American presence was indispensable, albeit small and circumscribed in scope and in potential danger. Sinai II was qualitatively different from the agreements that preceded it because it provided not only for a military disengagement separating forces and describing a new status quo, but also because it provided critical first steps toward increased accommodation between the parties and it moved in the direction of an overall political settlement. This too could be the case with potential agreements between Israel and its current adversaries, especially concerning the Golan Heights. It is also instructive because it clearly engaged United States prestige, participation, and expenditure in the continued search for an Arab-Israeli peace. It formalized the increased US role and involvement and further identified the central role of the Arab-Israeli conflict in the bilateral relationship. This direct, formal and essentially irreversible involvement was a crucial characteristic of US policy. It was the only state with the standing to achieve such an agreement, and the only one that could provide the economic, military, and political commitments and assurances essential for its maintenance.

As with the Sinai deployment, the American presence could be circumscribed to minimize potential dangers. In Sinai II there were not more than two-hundred American civilians technically skilled to perform their assigned monitoring functions. They served in a delimited zone between the two parties that had agreed to abstain from hostilities. Although others could perform the technical intelligence functions, the US presence had a broader symbolic purpose that could not be served by other parties, and was sought by both Israel and Egypt. A tangible American commitment would facilitate the maintenance of the peace accords and would make continued American participation in the peace process a virtual certainty. Military violations of the agreement would be readily known to the United States and thereby would influence the activities and judgments of the parties.

A further parallel is to be found in the Multinational Force and Observers (MFO). The US is an effective, low-profile, peacekeeping operation emplaced on the Sinai peninsula between Egypt and Israel, whose origins are in the Egypt-Israel Peace Treaty of 1979. The treaty called for the withdrawal from the peninsula of Israel’s civilian and military assets by 1982 and the return of the territory to Egypt in a series of phased Israeli withdrawals and Egyptian advances. The peninsula was divided into a number of zones and the number and types of military equipment permitted in each was specified. The treaty called for UN forces to monitor and verify treaty compliance and to implement the security arrangements, but Arab and Soviet opposition prevented the Security Council from authorizing the appropriate observers. This led the United States, Egypt and Israel to create the MFO and an August 1981 protocol codified it as the replacement of the UN operation. It is an operation stationing American troops as well as civilian observers (as in the 1975 arrangement) in a troubled area and the United States was the only national contingent specified in the protocol. The force is composed of some three-thousand military and civilian personnel from eleven states and began operations on 25 April 1982. It is only lightly armed for self-defense and cannot perform offensive operations. Its mission is to monitor treaty compliance and to reduce the likelihood of surprise attack; neither its mission nor its equipment permits it to engage a major force from either party. The United States also manages the essential logistical network for its operations. Although there were disagreements between Egypt and Israel concerning the force, both sides clearly sought its presence, albeit with different degrees of enthusiasm.

Potential Tools and Instruments of a US CBM Process

To provide the confidence building measures required for the Arab-Israeli peace process, the United States has available to it a wide range of potential tools and instruments that might be used to provide the parties with the confidence they require to move toward peace. The United States could provide documents and formal accords and potentially construct an “international regime” for the region. This process was used with some successes in Sinai II and the Camp David accords, as well as the Egypt-Israel peace treaty. In keeping with a time-honored tradition of utilizing the media to provide various insights into the thinking of policymakers, the United States might “leak” to the media the ideas or concepts or guarantees that the parties might seek to instill confidence in their needs and which the United States might not be able to provide in a more formal manner.

The United States might provide the technical means to help ensure the confidence of the parties in the process through such measures as hot lines and satellite surveillance by which it provides information to the parties to help reassure them about the intentions and actions of the other.

The United States might encourage humanitarian gestures on such issues as prisoners of war and other captives and in the case of Israel and Syria might encourage the Syrian regime to permit its Jewish population to travel freely. The former was utilized with the Hamas deportees as a mechanism to restart the post-Madrid negotiation’s ninth round in Washington.

The very fact of the continuation of the peace or peacemaking process itself might serve as a confidence builder.

CBMs generally are technical or military actions agreed to by two or more countries whose central purpose is to enhance stability by improving predictability and reducing opportunities for misperceptions. Their primary value lies in making political and military intentions more transparent and the potential uses of military forces less opaque, in contrast to limiting or reducing arms directly. The hotline between Moscow and Washington during the Cold War was perhaps the most interesting example as it provided direct, rapid and reliable communications between the heads of government in the United States and the USSR and allowed confidence to be retained with ease and speed.

There have been some similar successes in the Egypt-Israel arena. Between 1973 and 1979 these were established in the course of negotiating the various agreements culminating in the peace treaty of 1979.

CBMs are not just technically modest arms control measures designed to assuage public or international opinion. Neither are CBMs a substitute for arms limitations or reductions. Rather, they can improve the climate for conducting negotiations and can complement arms agreements as part of the monitoring phase of the verification process. CBMs can also help alleviate a number of important political-military concerns and thus enhance bilateral and regional stability. This worked between Israel and Egypt.

CBMS can help prevent crises from developing (crisis prevention). CBMs aimed at reducing the danger of military accidents, mistake, or miscalculations would include active third party (US or UN) involvement in addition to buffer zones. These were important and worked with the Egypt-Israel disengagement agreement of 1974 and the Sinai II accords.

A declaratory policy not to resort to the threat or use of force to resolve future conflicts is a form of crisis management. Sinai II and the Egypt-Israel Peace Treaty are examples of this form of crisis management.

CBMs could also address some of the basic causes of conflict inherent in an adversarial relationship and lead to longer-term stability. Thus, for instance, US monitoring of the Sinai buffer zone helped to assure the predictability of the actions of Egyptian and Israel military forces in the Sinai II agreement. The peace treaty included additional and longer-range methods of stabilization.

The Middle East is overarmed as a consequence of vast purchases and acquisitions of arms over the past few decades. Some local states, including Israel, Egypt and Iraq, have also built extensive military industries, mostly based on technology acquired from outside the region. The arms race, readily documented both in weapons systems acquired and resources expended, has substantially increased the lethal capability of the region’s military forces and has added to the instability of the region. In more recent years the regional states have been among the most active in the world in seeking to expand their capabilities in the biological, chemical and nuclear weapons sectors, while also seeking to acquire missile delivery systems to augment those already extant.

Arms control regimes are an integral part of the effort to achieve peace and constitute an important element in the confidence building sector. It was articulated in the Bush-Baker conception of a new world order and it is one of the five areas of the multilateral-functional approach to the Arab-Israeli peace process. Numerous proposals have been advanced in an effort to reduce the transfer of weapons systems to the region and others have sought to render safe and harmless the weapons that are already there. These efforts complement those seeking to prevent indigenous regional development of military capabilities. Numerous proposals and efforts have been advanced for control of the regional arms race and related developments. Many of these are interlinked with confidence building measures, although there is wide divergence on whether one should precede the other or vice versa.

Prospects

Despite the centrality and significance of the United States to the Arab-Israeli peace process and its successful employment of CBMs in the past and potential application of them in the future, little emerges of broader theoretical value because of the special, dominant and unique nature of the US role in this particular peace process. Nevertheless, certain broad conclusions can be drawn from the effort.

Confidence building measures as conceived in a theoretical or conceptual sense have not been a staple of the US approach to the peace process. In practice, however, the United States has had to sustain the confidence of the parties in the United States as the honest broker and as the potential guarantor of the process. The United States has succeeded in sustaining the process, but this has been accomplished by other factors as well. Thus, continuing the process has been a function of nonaltemative powers and American pressure as much as confidence building measures, and the interaction of all three elements in the same effort.

The United States has sought to sustain the process through a high level effort that, in its own way, has been a mechanism for reassuring the parties. In essence the commitment and involvement of the most senior US officials, to include the president and the secretary of state, has been a confidence building measure that this is the policy of the United States and carries the weight of its senior decision makers.

The central conclusion to be drawn from the US involvement is that continuity in and of itself has a confidence building utility as does the involvement of the most senior officials. On the substantive end, the effort to frame the goals of the process in terms of the concerns and interests of the parties is crucial. Thus to suggest that the process seeks goals that can be identified by each of the parties as their central concerns helps to ensure that the process will continue and, perhaps, bear fruit. Confidence in the process, in the personalities, and in the objectives of the effort combine to suggest the effective end result of the process.

The United States has seen the continuation of the process as a mechanism for confidence creation as well as a mechanism for moving the peace process along. It has worked on the proposition that continuation of the process helps to create confidence as the parties gain confidence as their knowledge and understanding of their adversaries grows. Thus the more there are contacts, the more efficient is the process. The very fact of the peace process is a confidence building measure. Adding specific measures to the process confirms and elaborates this effort.

Clearly the preceding discussion leads to an obvious set of prescriptions for US policy, some of which have been discussed or noted previously. The United States must remain central and active in the peace process because no other external actor has the ability to play a significant role to resolve the conflict and provide the appropriate guarantees to ensure the success of the process. And the parties are unable to make significant progress on their own, even though conflict resolution cannot be achieved without the desire of the parties. An honest broker with a clear view of the end result must be the role for the United States. The need to sustain the confidence of the parties is obvious, but the regional and international situations suggest that the parties have less of an alternative and no real options with the end of the Cold War, and, as a result the requirements imposed on the United States are lesser than before.

Confidence building measures remain an important component of any conflict resolution process. But it might be useful to suggest that in the Arab-Israeli peace process they have often taken an oblique rather than specific form. The United States has provided the venue, the personnel, the aid and assistance and the guarantees including the presence of forces in the region, that are not and increasingly will not be available from other sources.

Notes

1. For an early and interesting discussion of this idea see David B. Dewitt, “Confidence and Security Building Measures in the Middle East: Is There a Role?” in Gabriel Ben-Dor and David B. Dewitt, eds., Conflict Management in the Middle East (Lexington: Lexington Books, D.C. Heath and Co., 1987), pp. 241–259.

2. There are exceptions to this generalization of which the most significant is the 1975 Sinai II agreement between Egypt and Israel that included the renunciation of war as an instrument of national policy and set in place one of the elements essential for the process that achieved the peace treaty between them in 1979. In Article I they agreed: “The conflict between them and in the Middle East shall not be resolved by military force but by peaceful means."

3. With the growing number of sessions of negotiation in Washington between Israel and its Arab interlocutors in the wake of the Madrid Peace Conference, increasingly there is a view that this peace-oriented perspective has indeed developed at least in that part of the Arab-Israeli sector of the Middle East in which Israel Jordan, Lebanon, Syria and the Palestinians are located. The very fact that the talks continue despite little concrete achievement and that each of the parties continues to profess a desire for peace suggests that the focal point has shifted from the war-oriented perspective to one more conducive to a CBM regime and movement toward peace.

4. In the aftermath of the Gulf War, the Bush administration proposed an arms control initiative for the Middle East as an element of the new world order but also as a measure that would help to facilitate peace. This idea was also subsequently incorporated into the Madrid process multilateral negotiations. Although the issue of Middle East arms control has, in itself, generated a substantial literature beyond the scope of our present discussion, it is useful to remind ourselves of the central components as they apply to the Arab-israeli sector and CBMs there.

On 29 May 1991, President Bush unveiled a plan to curb the spread of lethal weapons in the Middle East. The idea was “to curb the spread of nuclear, chemical, an biological weapons in the Middle East, as well as the missiles than can deliver them” and also “to restrain destabilizing conventional arms buildups in the region.” (White House Press Release, 29 May 1991) He sought to apply the program to the entire Middle East and North Africa, not just the Arab-israeli zone, and to gain the support of the five major arms suppliers to the region. Meetings involving the United States, the United Kingdom, France, the former Soviet Union and China, sought to implement these concepts as modified by the proposals of the other powers. In reality little progress was made as regional states and external arms suppliers found that political and economic realities more than offset the concepts and logical arguments of the arms control themes.

In a separate but parallel initiative arms control became one of the five multilateral subject areas of the Madrid-inaugurated process. A working group on arms control and regional security, with the United States and Russia as the co-lead organizers, met in Washington in May 1992 and again in May 1993 and in Moscow in September 1992. The discussions focused on arms control experiences but there was also a consensus to examine a number of CBMs. No concrete achievements emerged from these initial meetings.

5. Soon after he become secretary of state, John Foster Dulles visited the Middle East. On his return he delivered a report in which he focused on the region’s problems and delineated what he saw as the major issues. He spoke of the need to overcome mutual fear and distrust and to achieve peace in the region. For the full text of his report see Department of State Bulletin 28:831–835 (15 June 1953).

6. For a detailed discussion of the United States involvement and the concepts underlying the approach see Bernard Reich, Quest for Peace: United States-Israel Relations and the Arab-israeli Conflict (New Brunswick: Transaction Books, 1977) and William B. Quandt, Peace Process: American Diplomacy and the Arab-israeli Conflict Since 1967 (Washington: The Brookings Institution, and Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993).

7. On 19 June 1967, Lyndon Johnson spelled out the principles upon which he believed peace in the Middle East should be based. These have served as the foundation for both United Nations Security Council Resolution 242 and subsequent US policy. The text is in Public Papers of the Presidents of the United States: Lyndon B. Johnson, 1967, Part I (Washington: US Government Printing Office, 1969), pp. 632–634.

8. The US role included such activities as the civilians emplaced in Sinai to help monitor compliance with the terms of the Sinai II agreement of 1975 and the MFO constructed for Sinai after the Egypt-Israel Peace Treaty of 1979.

9. It was the United States that was instrumental in achieving the Egypt-Israel disengagement agreement of 1974, the Syria-Israel disengagement agreement of 1974, the Sinai II agreement of 1975, the Camp David accords of 1978, and the Egypt-Israel Peace Treaty of 1979.

10. For further discussion, see Ibrahim Ibrahim, ed., The Gulf Crisis: Background and Consequences (Washington: Center for Contemporary Arab Studies, Georgetown University, 1992).

11. For detailed discussion of the Bush administration’s approach to the region see “United States Middle East Policy-Making in the Bush Administration,” JIME Review (Cairo), no. 13 (summer 1991), pp. 71–91; Bernard Reich, L’administration Bush et le Moyen-Orient face aux nouvelles realites,” Relations Internationales et Stratégiques (Paris), no. 7, (Automne 1992), pp. 247–261; and Bernard Reich, “The Bush Administration and the Middle East: Facing New Realities,” Annals of Japan Association for Middle East Studies, no. 8, 1993, 353–372.

12. Text in New York Times, 7 March 1991.

13. In February 1991 Secretary of State James Baker outlined a new world order as the goal of the Bush administration in the aftermath of the Gulf War. For the text see “The World After the Persian Gulf War,” in “The Middle East Peace Process,” United States Department of State Dispatch, volume 3, supplement no. 2, February 1992, pp. 1–3. President Bush elaborated on some of these themes in an address before a joint session of Congress on March 6, 1991.

14. On the overall nature of Israel’s special relationship with the United States, see Bernard Reich, The United States and Israel: Influence in the Special Relationship (New York: Praeger, 1984); and Bernard Reich, Securing the Covenant: The United States-Israel Special Relationship (New York: Council on Foreign Relations, 1993) as well as the works cited therein.

15. In October 1991 the United States provided assurances to the parties to help move them to the Madrid conference. These were reported in the media and repeated elsewhere. The letter of assurance to Syria was published in Mideast Mirror citing al-Sharq al-Awsat, 15 October 1991; the assurances to Jordan were in a Mideast Mirror translation of King Hussein’s speech to the National Conference, 14 October 1991; the assurances to Israel were printed in Mideast Mirror translation from Israel Radio, 16 October 1991; those to the Palestinians were reported in Mideast Mirror, 24 October 1991. In each set of assurances the United States sought to address the central concerns of the party noted and thereby sought to help convince it to participate in the process. Thus, in the case of Syria, there was a prominent statement that “the peace conference and the talks that follow must be based on Security Council Resolutions 242 and 338.” Israel was assured that “the US sees the objective of the Middle East negotiations as to attain genuine peace and reconciliation between the peoples of the region accompanied by peace treaties and full diplomatic relations…” The Palestinians were told that “Palestinians and Israel must respect each other’s security, identity and political rights.” These were cardinal points of concern to each of the parties and were among the numerous points addressed in the several letters of assurance.

16. The letters of assurance that accompanied the Sinai II agreement of 1975 between Israel and Egypt and the Egypt-Israel Peace Treaty of 1979 are prominent examples of this process. For the texts of the Sinai II documents see Department of State News Release, 1 September 1975. On 3 October 1975, the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations declassified four documents, already printed in the press, dealing with American assurances to Israel and Egypt. See New York Times, 17 and 18 September 1975. The documents may be found in US Senate, Committee on Foreign Relations, Press Release No. 16, 3 October 1975; US Senate, Committee on Foreign Relations, Hearings, Early Warning System in Sinai, 94th Congress, 1st Session (Washington: USGPO, 1975), pp. 249–253. For the texts of the Egypt-Israel Peace Treaty and the accompanying letters and memoranda see The Quest for Peace: Principal United States Public Statements and Related Documents on the Arab-Israeli Peace Process, 1967–1983 (Washington: Department of State, 1984), pp. 88–98.

17. The text of the document and of Israeli and Palestinian documents were leaked to the media. See “Texts of Israeli, Palestinian, And American Draft Declarations Of Principles,” Near East Report, 14 June 1993, pp. 106–108.

18. Never before has there been a combination of the essentially political bilateral process with the functionally oriented multilateral process.

19. See Bernard Reich, “De Bush a Clinton,” Les Cahiers de L’Orient, Premier Trimestre 1993, no. 29, pp. 9–24.

20. For a detailed discussion of the United States role in the Gulf sector see Bernard Reich and Stephen H. Gotowicki, “The United States and the Persian Gulf in the Bush Administration,” The Royal United Services Institute for Defence Studies, London, editor, RUSI and Brassey’s Defence Yearbook 1991, pp. 249–266; and Bernard Reich and Stephen H. Gotowicki, “The United States and the Persian Gulf in the Bush Administration After the Gulf War,” in The Royal United Services Institute for Defence Studies, London, editor, RUSI and Brassey’s Defence Yearbook 1992 (London: Brassey’s [UK]), 1992), pp. 145–164.

21. The decision to go to Madrid was a direct reflection of the centrality of the United States. During the subsequent rounds of the process the parties remained mindful of the centrality and significance of the United States and of the need to be responsive to the United States, the only superpower and the power able to assure the continuity and results of the process. For the parties this has meant a constant need to be aware of US positions and preferences and for the United States it has meant a need to be wary of the pitfalls of centrality. The United States, understanding its own potency, has been able to use this power to persuade and cajole, and in other ways to pressure the parties to move along. Accompanying this pressure has been the carrot provided by US assurances on other regional issues on matters such as aid and assistance. Nevertheless, the US approach has been more ad hoc than systematic and more practical than conceptual. Understanding its delicate role has not led the United States to a clear conceptualization of how this might be utilized in the process.

22. There has been some success on both issues. The United Nations General Assembly overturned its “Zionism is racism” resolution after significant American efforts during the Bush tenure and the Clinton administration noted in the spring of 1993 that some Arab states had modified their stances concerning the economic boycott of Israel after the issue had been raised during regional visits by senior American officials.

23. This relationship between the United States and Israel has been amply discussed and documented elsewhere by this author and others. For elaboration of the central themes of this unique and special linkage see the following works and the materials cited therein: Nadav Safran, Israel: The Embattled Ally (Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1981); Bernard Reich, The United States and Israel: Influence in the Special Relationship (New York: Praeger, 1984); and David Schoenbaum, The United States and the State of Israel (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993).

11
Russia’s Role in Peacemaking and Confidence Building in the Middle East: Present and Future

Victor A. Kremenyuk

Introduction

Peacemaking in the Middle East must incorporate confidence building measures as an integral part of its long and multidimensional process. The problem of achieving a durable peace takes many years to solve and suggestions which promise a quick and easy solution should be regarded as irresponsible, naive or unrealistic.

In this process confidence building measures require a high priority as it has been proven that once a peace process is underway, it does not always lead to an agreement that satisfies both regional actors and external powers. At least two recent examples give full evidence for that: an abortive conference on the Middle East started in Geneva in December 1973 following the Yom Kippur War, and the Madrid Peace Conference started in the fall of 1991 following the end of the Gulf War. Both failures show that without a labor-intensive and time-consuming period of confidence building it is impossible to count on a peace settlement in the Middle East.

However, before analyzing the possibilities of confidence building in the Middle East and possible contributions to it from different actors, it would be useful to try to understand confidence building in general, and its relevance and applicabilitity, if any, in the Middle East.

On Confidence Building

The term confidence building has come into the political vocabulary as one of the products of the Helsinki Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE). It is interesting to recall that in the first years of the CSCE, the problem of confidence was not recognized by the majority of the European nations as one of crucial importance. Moreover, when some of the analysts tried to raise the issue, it was received with a great deal of scepticism. It was assumed that confidence and mutual trust might come as a result of agreements, rather than as an occurence which preceded or was simultaneous with them. In general, the problem of confidence was regarded as secondary to arms control, conflict management, and political accommodation. It took several years of negotiations before the problem of confidence building was singled out as a special focus in the document on CBMs in 1976 and treated seriously by the participants of the CSCE at their meetings, which led to the Stockholm Agreements on confidence building in 1986. Since then, it has been assumed that confidence building should be an integral part of any peace process.

Before addressing the relevance of this conclusion for the peace process in general and the Middle East in particular, it is useful to recall several features concerning the emergence and evolution of confidence building in East-West relations. The process of building confidence in the relations between the Soviet Union and United States started well before the CSCE. The first and instinctive response by both sides in the context of Mutual Assured Destruction (MAD) was to work out some “rules of prudence” which were designed to avoid a clearly unacceptable nuclear war. The earliest attempt to achieve such a code of conduct was related to the so-called Zorin-McCloy Agreement (1960), but which never came into existence. This was an attempt to formulate some general rules of conduct for both sides. After the Cuban missile crisis of 1962, when Moscow and Washington had signed the Hot Line Agreement in 1963, the premises for such rules of prudence finally appeared.¹

At the time, the problem was not even formulated as one of confidence building. This is understandable in light of the fact that Cold War dogmas still dominated, hence excluding the notion of “confidence” from the vocabulary of the relationship. However, the imperative to survive in conditions of mutual nuclear threat demanded an introduction of such “primitive rules of prudence"² in their foreign policy conduct. The logic of this situation lead to the notion of confidence building. During the ensuing years there was an invisible but rather active search for an arrangement that would guarantee against the dangers of uncontrolled, spontaneous developments bringing the superpowers to the brink of war. This delicate diplomatic process was grossly overshadowed by their competition in weapons systems, influence in the Third World, and propaganda war. Gradually, however, it created solid ground for the beginning of confidence building. This was accomplished in a series of agreements concerning such crucial issues as: the Non-Proliferation Treaty (1968), agreements on the exchange of information concerning the development of nuclear weapons on the seabed and ocean floor (1971), improving the Hot Line, an understanding concerning incidents at sea (1971), and the prevention of nuclear war (1973). In addition, a host of other agreements were signed between the USSR and the United States, as well as between the USSR and United Kingdom and France on measures to prevent accidental nuclear war. These agreements were accompanied by another series of multilateral treaties which helped to stabilize the international system.³

The development of these agreements tested different aspects of the evolving codification of the superpower relationship. An approval/rejection process was developed through international aises or in the process of those crises. For example, the European spheres of influence were divided by the superpowers through the sequence of Berlin crises, mainly in 1948 and 1961, through crises in Hungary (1956) and Czechoslovakia (1968). The attitude toward the United Nations and its role was tested through crises in Korea (1950), the Suez (1956), and the Congo (1960). The rules of deployment of nuclear weapons were tested and implicitly approved in the Cuban missile crisis. The rules of conduct in local wars were tested in regional crises in Vietnam, the Dominican Republic, the Middle East, Cambodia, and Afghanistan.

Thus, as a result of this long and rather painful process a certain code of conduct appeared. Allison made an attempt to summarize these rules, counting among them: avoid any use of nuclear weapons; avoid military action against the other’s vital interest; respect the others dominant security concerns; avoid any use of force against the other’s troops; and restrain allies and clients.⁴ This partial list is evidence of a maturing stage of cooperation between the superpowers during the Cold War period. It included a rather sophisticated and legally framed scope of mutual obligations in the nuclear area, the mutual restraint in activities of the armed forces, and some other general areas included in the Basic Principles Agreement (1972). This implicit code of conduct was partly legalized in the form of different US-Soviet agreements and, partly, shared but without a legal arrangement. However, the attempts to further formalize the legal arrangements of these rules were not successful.⁵

The issue of confidence building as a focus of the foreign policies of the superpowers came into being as the result of the accumulated understanding of the importance of adherence to some rules of conduct. Another development which was pertinent to this process was the problem of verification of arms control treaties signed by both the United States and the USSR. The process of verification was carefully negotiated each time a relevant agreement was considered and frequently verification was more difficult than reaching the substance of the agreement itself. Gradually, with the accumulation of experience and with the INF Treaty of 1987, mutual trust between the superpowers the verification procedures turned into a powerful vehicle of confidence building.

Emerging from the Cold War experience and CSCE process, there has been a presumption on the part of European powers that confidence building should be applied as an integral part of peace processes in other regions.⁶ However, to this date, experiences have been mixed. One of the best examples of such an attempt is Soviet leader Gorbachev’s proposal on a set of confidence building measures in the Pacific area which he formulated in his speech in Vladivostok on 24 July 1986.⁷ This proposal has not led to a practical result but it has reflected changing thought among world leaders on the role of confidence building and has strengthened the idea that any peace process cannot be carried out without due respect for this important stage. Confidence building is a complicated and multidimensional process, which includes shared rules of conduct (explicit or implicit) an assessment that stability and predictability are better than instability and ambiguity, and a common belief that transparency and reliability of mutual information are more valuable than strategic deception or hidden accumulation of bargaining chips.

It was also understood that confidence building has domestic as well as international sources. Domestically, the source is derived from the evolution of perceived national interests, which brings the majority of the policymaking community to appreciate its importance. Internationally, dramatic changes in East-West relations and in the United Nations have contributed to the fact that regional actors are accepting the value of confidence building measures. Furthermore, it is also important to differentiate what input may be expected on the part of different actors. For instance, in the Middle East, some actors have been known to pursue policies favorable to the search for peace—the United States and Egypt among them—while others—Iraq, Libya, and the PLO—have been known to be a disruptive element. There are also actors whose policies can be either constructive or destructive, depending upon their domestic situations and their interests. They are still at the stage of formulating their position regarding the peace settlement and trying to assess their interests. One case in point is Israel, still vacillating between constructive and destructive due to its domestic setting which sends out signals of hope and despair, or the possibility of settlement or new war. Without deep analysis of this factor it would be sufficient to say that due to its overwhelming military edge, Israel, as a state and government, continues to vacillate between both possibilities with almost equal fear of a new war or of a failure in the quest for peace. Something similar may be said of Syria.

A similar but external actor is Russia, which has inherited from the Soviet Union a controversial and ambivalent policy of partnership with the United Staes in search of peace (while at the same time maintaining support for Arab friends against Israel). For many years, both policies were regarded by the Soviet leadership as equally important to Soviet strategic and ideological interests, though their incompatibility was evident to everyone. It was considered by Russia that a withdrawal from the Middle East would be counterproductive to Russian interests after the many years of Soviet involvement. Hence Russian leaders had to reformulate their interests in order to enhance their positive input into the peace process.

Russian Interests in the Middle East

The Russian republic has inherited much of the Soviet Union’s legacy, including its international standing on arms control and disarmament, its role on the UN Security Council and the settlement of regional conflicts. Though critically evaluated and subjected to significant changes, Russia has continued its involvement in world affairs in pursuit of its own interests as well as for international peace and security. On the one hand, this continuity has given Russian diplomacy much leverage in dealing with its immediate tasks but, on the other, it has demanded new resources to be spent for purposes other than immediate domestic needs.⁸

The Russian leadership, eager to avoid new controversies and confusion, have encouraged an extensive debate. The beginnings of Russian foreign policy have been closely tied to the debates on the Russian national interest in the media, the Supreme Soviet, and government. Predictably, divergences in the understanding of this interest have occurred between different political groups and experts.

Some groups were inclined to understand the Russian national interest in wide, quasi-imperial terms, insisting that as a great power and a permanent member of the UN Security Council, Russia was obliged to devote a significant part of its resources to the solution of international problems. They further argued that such a role would not only bring additional influence to Russia but also help dissipate military challenges, thus leading to disarmament and genuine increase in civilian resources. This position was partly shared not only by the liberal group of “internationalists"⁹ but unexpectedly also, by some “soft” chauvinists who wanted to enhance Russia’s role in the world through diplomatic activism.

At the other end of the spectrum, there was a group of “Russia first” isolationists, who, following Solzhenitsyn’s advice,¹⁰ insisted that the loss of the Soviet superpower’s role and disintegration necessitated a period of preference for domestic needs at the expense of foreign relations. From this perspective, Russian foreign policy should focus on relations with the “close abroad,” i.e., independent republics of the former Soviet Union (mainly due to the existence of a huge Russian diaspora in these republics), with little attention given to the rest of the world.¹¹

Between these two extremes were viewpoints which generally accepted the necessity to continue an active foreign policy but with some reservations: concentrate either on Europe (especially Germany) or on the Far East (China, Japan and South Korea), or the Third World. Russian foreign policy, from the very beginning of its existence, has had to tread carefully to avoid the continuation of Soviet policy, while trying to find an appropriate focus where its efforts could be both constructive and specifically relevant to Russian interests and security.

The Middle East certainly falls into the orbit of the Russian periphery in terms of national self-determination, economic development, religious resurgences, and ethnic conflicts. Geopolitically, it is close to Russian interests since it continues to be an area where the interests of the West collide with the interests of the Orient, where the United States continues an active policy of peacemaking, and where Russia has developed friendly relations (Arab states as well as Israel). The Middle East (Persian Gulf included) also is important for Russia since Russia is likely to either become an importer of oil or a partner of the oil-exporting countries in the world market.¹²

Although the Middle East does not pose a direct military threat to Russia proper, domestic interests within Russia are drawn into Middle East affairs. Russian strategic interests in the Middle East include concern over Middle East actors gaining influence in the Transcaucasian area as well as in Central Asia, concerns about the possibility of another war between traditional enemies in the Middle East, and pertain to the course of arms trade where Russian strategic interests, due to its dependence on arms exports, are likely to endure.¹³

Russian interests in the area have to be understood in light of the striking political similarities that exist between processes in the Middle East and the immediate Russian periphery. These similarities include resurgence of nationalistic, ethnic and religious conflicts in the process of self-determination and nationbuilding, political instability and economic disarray, swift changes inside the countries and in their international relations. Russia, as well as Western nations, cannot afford to ignore these realities or to abstain completely from supervising them. While it is not necessary to restore imperial control, political influence, surveillance and consultations on the major transformations may help the Middle East to develop in constructive and nonviolent directions.¹⁴ In light of this, it is evident that Russia should continue to be involved in the area. So far, it still holds a significant freedom in choosing a policy of developing relations with either group of local or regional actors, including Israel and Arab moderates.

Ties with Israel, which constitute a renewed focus of Russian diplomacy in the Middle East, are rapidly becoming important. The Soviet Union was a principal sponsor in the establishment of Israel in 1947–48, providing it with the necessary assistance to make the new state self-reliant. However, Soviet-Israeli diplomatic relations suffered a serious blow after the 1967 war. Yet a trickle of emigration continued and since 1985–86 it has turned into a tide, with almost a third of the Israeli population now consisting of Soviet immigrants. Since almost all of them continue to be attached to Russia and other former republics, they regard Russia as a future partner for Israel.¹⁵ Israeli businesses are interested in the Russian market for the export of fruits and vegetables, consumer goods, and technologies for agriculture in Southern Russia. Russian businesses, in their turn, are interested in closer ties with Israel. A major reason for this is the fact that often these are the same people that they knew back home. Furthermore, a strong and continuing mutual interest in cultural ties exists through well-known former Russian artists who presently live in Israel but enjoy a close relationship with artistic life in their former home.

The Russian Orthodox Church is another powerful interest and an important ingredient in future Russian-Israeli relations. There were times when the Russian Orthodox Church possessed significant property and spiritual influence in the Middle East, although much of that was lost during seventy years of Communist regime. With the present increase of religion in Russian public life and even in policy-making, the position of the church in the region acquires a new importance for Russia. As well, it acquires new importance within the region itself, where a significant part of the population adheres to the Orthodox religion, including many Arabs, Greeks, and Armenians. For these people Russia has become the only hope in their struggle to survive amidst the Arab-Israeli and inter-Arab conflicts and quarrels.¹⁶

Russian diplomacy also has become active in promoting relations with the moderate Arabs: Egypt, Kuwait, Jordan, and Saudi Arabia. Russian presence is regarded by some as balancing the American presence, and would be a desirable prospect along with a Russian role in the Islamic world in general. This aspect of Russian policy acquires special importance as Russia continues to be the Big Brother for the former Soviet Central Asian republics while the Islamic world wants to incorporate them into its own orbit. According to the expectations of the moderates, who desire to counter the desires of Islamic fundamentalists, Russian-Arab relations might help constrain the speed of Islamization of Central Asia.¹⁷

Objectively, Russia cannot be regarded as a force either friendly or even tolerant to Islamic fundamentalism, although the changed nature of the whole policy-making process makes it difficult to predict what form policy will take in the long run. However, it seems likely that Russian authorities will guard against the encroachments of Islamic fundamentalism, thereby making Russia a desirable partner for the West.

In addition to its role as an arms supplier of the region, Russia possesses other assets which are relevant to its participation in the search for peace in the Middle East. It has its religious assets in Jerusalem and other holy Orthodox places; it has a significant cultural and historical bearing in the minds of Israeli intellectuals who came from the Soviet Union; and it has close ties with some Arab governments which for years have been Soviet clients. Whether Russian diplomacy will be able to find a proper way to work with and use the efforts of the United States and of the UN Security Council is problematic, since Russian diplomacy does not possess skills of an alliance relationship or partnership in dealing with regional conflicts.

Russian Policy in the Middle East: Weighing the Options

Russian foreign policy interests in the Middle East are not likely to turn isolationist. Too many of its interests are at stake and too many opportunities may be lost if Russia, due to domestic or other reasons, remains inactive and indifferent to the events in the area.¹⁸ Russian foreign policy, as a whole, is in the making. According to constitutional procedure this process should be supervised by the president in both his capacities as president and as the head of the government, and carried out by the Foreign Ministry. This relationship is in the process of working out a general concept of Russian foreign policy as well as prompt solutions to immediate problems that face Russia internationally. It is expected that in the long run there will be legislation establishing a new legal and conceptual foundation for Russian policy which will be different from the former Soviet one.¹⁹

The process of internal debate in Russia and the current upheaval in the government have created new opportunities for the secretary of state, the vice-president, and the head of parliament to play an increasingly important role in foreign policy-making. Although this pattern does not differ substantially from most other nations, when such participation is accompanied by firm legislation and strong policy-making tradition under the supervision of the executive branch, then participation of the other bodies does not create an image of mismanagement or indecisiveness in foreign policy matters. However, when the policy-making mechanism is weak and unsettled and there is no multipartisan support, then intervention of the other bodies brings confusion and additional problems for the foreign relations of the country.

This is especially important for the current period of Russian foreign policy. While there is wide support for the idea of making it distinct from Soviet policy (though conservative and chauvinistic groups stand for continuation of Soviet policy by the Russian government), there is no broad understanding of where the focus of that policy should be and how it should be established.²⁰ Russia is a big country which has its immediate concerns in Europe, the Middle East, South and Southeast Asia, the Far East, and the Pacific. Being a nuclear superpower, it has a direct relationship to US foreign policy and to global issues of security. This means that Russia can easily change the focus of its policy, both geographically and functionally, and there always will be strong pressures for that policy to be changed or refocused. Given the current transition, it is difficult to find a more or less significant support for foreign policy. All this has a direct impact for Russian policy in the Middle East. In light of these preliminary observations, at least three distinctive visions can be singled out when sketching out the main ideas circulated within the policy-making community as to how Russian policy in the area should be constructed.

The first idea, prompted by professional liberal thinking, consists of turning Russian foreign policy into an instrument of peace. It is considered that Russia still possesses enough weight to tilt the scales toward the side of a peace agreement. Since the Soviet Union was the major supporter of the radical Arab cause, the withdrawal of that support, along with the rapid development of the Russian-Israeli connection could play an important role in isolating the most intransigent Arab leaders²¹ and create conditions for moderate Arabs to strike a deal with reasonable Israeli leaders.²² The only important irritant in this Russian position is the question of whether this should be achieved through a UN peace effort (which is desirable but difficult knowing the situation in the United Nations) or through a bilateral Russian-American initiative (which could be instrumental but difficult to achieve in view of US reluctance to engage Russia in a superpower’s role).

The second position, prompted by more conservative and more chauvinistic thinking (sometimes with an anti-Semitic element) concentrates on continuing Russian-Arab links (including both moderate and radical Arab regimes) which, of course, could not disappear instantaneously after the Soviet Union disintegrated. The people supporting this position, some known academics among them, advocate a Russian role in the Middle East peace process to concentrate on efforts to bring Arabs into the negotiations and promise them continued support. Such support, however, should not be along the lines of Soviet ideological reasoning but along the lines of Islamic solidarity between former Soviet republics (Central Asia, Azerbaijan, Northern Caucasus) and the Arabs. This idea could work out twice: in the domestic area through elevating the role of the Islamic republics within Russia and the CIS, and internationally, by building a bridge between two major Islamic communities. This would also strengthen the general Russian position in world politics, creating a new mission for Russia as a Eurasian power.²³

The third position is advocated by supporters of the “Russia First” idea. They do not exclude the necessity for the Russian government to continue some measure of involvement in the area, but prefer to stand for a limited role of intermediary or free rider without strong commitments and strong engagement in the process. They generally are highly sceptical about the prospects of peace in the Middle East and do not believe in the power of international action to achieve it. What they recommend is to create barriers which would prevent the spread of instability from the Middle East into the Russian state periphery, as well as a continued limited Russian presence in a geographic area similar to that of the Russian empire at the turn of the century.²⁴

Although this survey of the three dominant positions may not present some marginal perspectives within the Russian foreign policy community, they do provide a comprehensive spectrum of Russian options in its policy in the Middle East. Obviously, selecting a focus for Russian foreign policy is far from being an easy and simple thing. Both the Russian government and parliament hesitate between these options and cannot make a final choice due to domestic reasons and to the evolution of the situation in the Middle East. This period of hesitation in Russian foreign policy should not continue for too long. Its duration will to a great extent depend upon the results of the Russian-American dialogue, as well as the formation of a policy consensus in the Russian policy-making community. At least, it is reasonable to suggest that the problem of confidence building and security in the Middle East may move Moscow closer to some definite choice of preferred policy.

Russian Input into Confidence and Security-Building: Possibilities and Limitations

For many years the Soviet Union played its own game via its friends and clients similarly to the other great powers. This contributed intensively to the creation of suspicion, mistrust and animosity among local actors within the Middle East. The external powers have played a significant role in deepening the historical quarrels and mistrust between the parties in the region, thereby helping to create the atmosphere which is now the main stumbling block on the way towards peace.

The Soviet contribution may be regarded as the most controversial and confusing. The Soviet Union was at the birth of Israel. Its vigorous support of the Jewish state was not prompted by feelings of remorse or sympathy toward millions of Jews slaughtered in the Nazi camps during the Second World War. The Soviets themselves suffered unprecedented losses (by some estimates, up to 30 million people) during the war, and besides, Stalin’s regime was not one which based its policy on altruism. The motives of the Soviet decision to support the establishment of Israel in 1947–48 were prompted by considerations of rivalry with Great Britain and a hope to create a counterbalance in the area dominated by British-sponsored Arab monarchies. Similar great power considerations, but this time anti-American, prompted Khrushchev to reverse the sides and to support Gamal Abdel Nasser in 1954–55 when, after the Egyptian revolution of 1952, it appeared that Arab nationalists were not supported by US foreign policy.²⁵

Soviet policy, mainly driven by great power rivalry, was not something that could be regarded as reliable and predictable. Its ideological overtones were inducing the policymakers in the Kremlin to support the most radical, anti-imperialistic forces. Geostrategic considerations demanded support for Nasser as one of the founders of the nonaligned movement which helped the Soviets destroy Dulles’ idea of encirclement of the Soviet Union in the Middle East and Asia. Thus, Soviet policy was decisively reversed against Israel, preparing grounds for the severance of relations in the course of the June 1967 war. The logical continuation of this course brought the Soviets to the support of the PLO, which buried any hope for peace as the PLO’s position to drive Israel into the sea foreclosed any prospects for peace negotiations. Soviet policy became one of preventing a peaceful solution while supporting the most radical of Israel’s opponents—the PLO, Syria, Iraq and Libya.

Russian policymakers, while aware of this legacy, are not inclined to use it for their purposes. However, much will depend on the position of the desk officers in the Foreign Ministry and in the arms trade agencies, as well as on the attitudes of the conservative legislators who possess sufficient power to correct even the best decisions for the benefit of their friends in the Arab world.²⁶ Therefore, Russian leadership may choose to rely upon the US positions. As it is well known, the US position has always been much more consistent and predictable (due to the impact of the much criticized pro-Israeli lobby), and has turned into one of the main factors working for the peaceful solution of the conflict. Without overestimating the US position, it simply should be noted that the US administration was long ago forced into such a “peace-loving” position due to two factors: pressure from those in the United States who did not want to “sell” Israel to the Arabs and, on the other side, pressure from those who did not wish US policy to become a hostage to the militaristic schemes of Israeli radicals. As a sound compromise between these two extremes, the American policy of quest for peace in the Middle East has become a rather stable and predictable long-range policy.

Even in the 1970s, Soviet policy could not avoid being influenced by this American position. In its moves around the evident fact of Arab military weakness, the Soviet Union could not ignore completely the change in American policy which occurred in 1973 as one of the results of the Yom Kippur Warwhen the United States, under the influence of the Arab—oil embargo opted resolutely, for the strategy of peace. As a result, the Soviets agreed at that time to share the chair of the peace conference in Geneva and hoped to use it for the purpose of saving their Arab friends. However, it was premature to hope for success, since the state of relations between Washington and Moscow, as well as between the regional actors, lacked the necessary trust and confidence. The attempt failed when the Soviets suspected that US Secretary of State Henry Kissinger’s “shuttle diplomacy,” which followed the first meeting of the conference, was an attempt to exclude the Soviets from the peace process. These suspicions were based on Soviet understanding of the Nixon doctrine²⁷ as intending to “drive the Soviets out."

This unhappy beginning was compensated to some degree by active American-Soviet collaboration in convening the Madrid conference on peace in the Middle East in late 1991. But, though it seemed that the two superpowers had finally come to some joint position on a settlement, the sceptical approach by the Israeli government as well as obstinacy of the Palestinian delegation immediately raised insurmountable obstacles on the way to agreement. Later that year the disintegration of the Soviet Union put an end to this peace effort, leaving the United States almost in isolation. There was a chance that Russian diplomacy could help the Americans out, but Russian foreign policy became entangled in endless and fruitless quarrels with the other members of the CIS over the legacy of the Soviet Union, and the favorable moment was lost.

Now both the peace process in the Middle East and Russian policy in the area have to be restarted, and this creates an opportunity for Russian diplomacy to find a new focus for its efforts and to try to play a more constructive role in security and confidence building. And Russia (alone among the former Soviet republics) may totally change the image of Soviet policy. Had it chosen a simple withdrawal, it would have left a power vacuum in the area which could be filled either by a relevant European power or by China, which might have contributed to further destabilization in the area since Chinese policy makes few distinctions between those who could help peace process and those who could put an end to it.

One of the major contributions to confidence building is the possibility of a new Russian role in the Middle East. Such a new role would depart from the traditional Soviet one of supporting Arab radicals towards a more intermediary one with elements of dialogue with Arab moderates. The new pattern of Russian priorities could see a firm refusal to support terrorism. By developing a versatile and fruitful relationship with Israel, thereby creating conditions under which staunch opponents of peace in the Middle East will be isolated and denied patronage and support, Russia could fundamentally changing the nature of Soviet-American rivalry in the area.

Due to superpower rivalry, the traditional mistrust and suspicions among different ethnic, religious and political groups in the Middle East, such as between the Arabs and Israelis, were grossly magnified. The Israelis could not completely trust the United States since they had grounds to suspect the Americans in manipulating them in the interests of anti-Soviet policy. Similarly, the Arabs could not trust completely the Soviets since they had grounds to suspect that the Soviet support was prompted not by ideological or cultural affinity but rather by considerations of the superpower’s rivalry. Thus, the situation of mistrust and mutual suspicion was exacerbated by the superpower’s competition, though at times it had some stabilizing effect on the region (at least on the possibilities of escalation of conflicts).²⁸ While this could lead to some sort of solidarity among local actors against the superpowers (as had been the case in Central America with the Contradora group and other aspects of the peace process), this situation could not facilitate the reconciliation of the local enemies.

A possible reversal of Russian policy in the direction of open and honest cooperation with the United States and other permanent members of the Security Council could have a significant importance for the whole area. Its possible effects include: dissolving mutual mistrust and suspicions between the superpowers and, perhaps, other external actors in the Middle East; facilitating identification of mutual or joint interests between the external actors and their regional or local friends, helping at the same time to specify the criteria of such friendship and its raison d’être; minimizing the chances of manipulation of the external powers by the local friends and vice versa, assisting the local antagonists to evaluate more realistically their capabilities in case of further confrontation, and demonstrating the assets and gains of peace settlement.

Such a decisive turn in Russian policy does not look too fantastic or unrealistic. Presently, Russia has all the necessary instruments for such a turn and could make it, provided other actors would recognize legitimate Russian interests in the area (as, for example, its share in arms trade). That would need some special arrangement in the course of consultations between Russia and the United States, Israel, Egypt, Jordan and Syria. Without such an arrangement it would be difficult to hope that, first, Russian policy would contribute to the peace process (and not provide a new spiral of arms race) and, second, that this policy would receive enough domestic support.²⁹ Besides, reluctance on the part of the other actors to recognize the legitimacy of Russian interests in the Middle East would inevitably encourage regional radicals who would see in such an opposition a source for possible Russian support in their struggle to delay peace.

Some Specific Proposals

There are specific ways in which Russian policy could become instrumental in creating confidence and providing enhanced security in the Middle East. The first issue to be addressed should be nuclear nonproliferation. The positions of Moscow and Washington have always been rather close and aimed at strengthening the NPT regime. However, as is evident, each of the superpowers was at the same time soft and understanding when it had to deal with the nuclear programs of its friends: the United States with Israel, and the Soviets with Iraq. Now the situation has changed, and the considerations of former alliance relationships are in the process of being transformed into a partnership between those who support the peace process in the face of those who are working against it. Under these circumstances there are no more reasons for the United States or Russia to continue the former double-standard policy and to move in the direction of adhering to the policy of strict observation of the international legal norms. This will be essential to the interests of both powers as well as to the global community.

Creation of mechanisms to enforce the NPT regime in the area would, of course, demand great powers’ guarantees against possible nuclear attack, including their cooperation in creation of regional antimissile defense, as well as their cooperation in control of chemical and biological weapons. The basis for such cooperation has been created by the international agreements, which ban both types of weapons of mass destruction, and by the decisions to install an effective mechanism of control over the possible production and deployment of such weapons. The eventual possibility of such a cooperation between the United States and Russia is substantiated by their adherence to the rules limiting the export and deployment of intermediate missiles.

The second area where Russian diplomacy may contribute is the control of conventional arms transfers. It is evident that Russia as well as the United States, Great Britain, France, Germany, Italy and the other arms exporters, will continue to supply weapons to their customers. The end of the Gulf War was followed by an increased arms race in the Middle East and there has been no sign that this race will be stopped in the foreseeable future. However, by making this process transparent and, possibly, contrary to the wishes of the buyers, imposing mutual obligations to report on all major deals and even register them with UN bodies, much of the danger which accompanies arms races would be reduced. Removal of the secrecy which usually surrounds arms transfers is critical, since nontransparency fosters grounds for suspicions and mistrust more than the arms themselves.³⁰

The third area in which Russian diplomacy could contribute to confidence and security measures in the Middle East is the transition from bilateral to multilateral approaches to the peace process. So far, the local actors definitely have preferred bilateral deals and arrangements in the peace process. The exaggerated reliance on bilateral arrangements at times committed the great powers to unnecessary obligations and unwanted commitments which, because details were unknown to the other side, were working against confidence building and against security. The transition of the peace efforts to multilateral approaches could be extremely helpful in this sense and Russia could lead the others in rejecting the bilateral approaches.³¹

The fourth area in which Russian policy could contribute to the peace process in general and to confidence building in particular is the development of the Russian-Israeli relations, while continuing mutually beneficial ties with the Arab moderates and even, perhaps, with some of the radicals such as Syria. This could both lower the Israeli concerns about hidden Russian-Arab plots, if any, and reassure the Arabs that they have not been abandoned or sold out to the West. All the principals in the Middle East conflict continue to experience a deep need for reassurance. This is very important for their self-identity and feelings of security. One should bear in mind that such feelings drive actors in the region to take extreme steps such as prompting Israel to acquire a nuclear deterrent when Tel-Aviv felt that it was betrayed by the United States, the same feelings that prompted Iraq’s Saddam Hussein to make the same decision.

Finally, Russian policy could also help confidence building in the Middle East by taking a more active position on the negotiations in the region. The structure of the negotiation process right now in itself may create additional suspicion and mistrust. Very often the chaotic and ad hoc nature of negotiations, their closed nature, ambiguous agenda, and even the participants themselves, increase tensions while they could and should work in the opposite direction. The Russians could insist on disclosing some of their discussions with Americans, West European nations, and with the Arabs and suggest to the others to do the same in order to turn negotiations in a positive direction.

Conclusion

It is evident that Russia, abandoning the Soviet imperial role, may in principle work out a policy which would cease to be a source of tension, and rather, turn into a stabilizing factor worldwide. At least, this is a stated desire of Russian authorities. Their problem is how to realize this declared goal given the resources which Russia possesses. As it stands, there is an understanding in Russia of the necessity to do it as well as a clear interest in implementing such a policy, and in so doing, contributing to security and confidence building in the Middle East.

The changing role of Russia in the Middle East in general, with specific reference to confidence building in part, might be sufficient to push the whole process towards the direction of peace and security. Whether the Russian leaders understand it or not, whether the other actors believe it or not, is still to be seen. As the 1992 Israeli election demonstrates, participation of the former Soviets, combined with a possible new role of Russia, have the potential to introduce totally new factors into the area.³²

Two sets of issues may determine whether this Russian contribution will materialize. The first is connected to the domestic Russian situation. In the conditions of sharpening economic crisis and current domestic political crisis, it is unlikely that changing the Russian role in the Middle East will be a top priority for Russian leaders. Left to the supervision of the desk officers among whom there are still a great number of Arab “friends,” this new policy may never come into existence.

The second set of issues is linked to external factors. Within US foreign policy there is a desire to acquire the central position in the Arab-Israeli peace process and thus exclude the Russians from the region (though this is not its dominant goal). There is a reluctance on the part of the Arab leaders to “lose” Russia and let it turn towards a new role. There is still a legacy of mistrust and scepticism in the positions of Israeli leaders as well as in the positions of Arab “conservatives.” Whether Russian diplomacy will manage to overcome these difficulties, and find ways to make the others believe in the constructive engagement of the new Russian policy, is to be seen. In any case, there is no doubt that the changing Russian role will face resistance and Russia will have to work hard to achieve its goals.

Notes

1. T. Sorensen, Kennedy (New York: Harper and Row, 1965), p. 681.

2. G.T. Allison, “Primitive Rules of Prudence,” Windows of Opportunity: From Cold War to Peaceful Competition in the US-Soviet Relations, G.T. Allison, W.L. Ury, and BJ. Allyn, eds. (Cambridge: Ballinger Publishing Co., 1989), pp. 9–38.

3. Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI), Arms Control: A Survey and Appraisal of Multilateral Agreements (London: Taylor and Francis, 1978).

4. Allison, “Primitive Rules of Prudence,” pp. 13–14.

5. See J. Gowa and N.H. Wessell, Ground Rules: Soviet and American Involvement in Regional Conflicts (Philadelphia: Foreign Policy Research Institute, 1982).

6. R.E. Kanet and E.A. Kolodziej, eds., The Cold War as Cooperation: Superpower Cooperation in Regional Conflict Management (London: MacMillan, 1991).

7. Izvestia, 25 July 1986, p. 5.

8. A deep analysis of this setting is in Russian Foreign Minister Andrei Kozyrev’s article “Russia: A Chance For Survival,” Foreign Affairs, vol. 71, no. 2 (April 1992), pp. 1–16.

9. A. Yakovlev, G. Shakhnazarov, E. Shevardnadze—mainly from Gorbachev’s surrounding. ‘Novy mirovoy poriadok i my’ [New World Order and We], interview with Deputy Foreign Minister V. Petrovsky, Izestia, 13 August 1991.

10. In his open letter published widely in the Soviet Union and in the West, A. Solzhenitzyn, Kak nam obustrioit Rossiyu [How we should rebuild Russia?], Komsomolskya Pravda, Special issue, September 1990.

11. See, for example, the documents of the Organizational Committee of the Russian Party of National Resurgence (in Russian): "Dokumenty Organizationnogo Komiteta Russkoi partii Natsionalnogo vozrozhdenia,” Russkiy Vestnik, Prilozhenie N 4 USSR Today, Soviet Media News and Features Digest, RFE/RL Information Service, N11.08.15.3 December 1991.

12. B. Lagutenko, "Politika Respublik Vse Bolshe Otdayet Neftiu” ["The Policy of the Republics Increasingly Smells Oil"], Rossiyskaya Gazeta, 2 June 1992.

13. See “Sneaking in the Scuds,” Newsweek, 22 June 1992, pp. 20–24.

14. Russian Foreign Minister Kozyrev’s remarks following his visit to the Middle East, “A. Kozyrev: An Interview for Izvestia,” Izvestia, 30 April 1992, p.5.

15. “Rethinking Jewish History,” Newsweek, 18 May 1992, p. 38.

16. Moscow News, 26 January 1992, p. N4.

17. An interview with Kuwaiti Ambassador to Russian Abdul Mohsen Al-Douage published in Izvestia, 23 April 1992, p.5.

18. In this respect it is hard to give a unidimensional explanation to the fact of nomination of Alexander Bovin as Russian ambassador to Israel in early 1993. On one hand, it may be accepted as a sign of the desire to change completely the pattern of Russian diplomacy in the area (and Vice-President Rutskoy’s visit to the Middle East in early 1993 may be regarded as a support of this conclusion); but, on the other hand, both the facts of continuing influence of the major Arab “friends” among the Soviet military and Russian academic experts, and sporadic forays into the area by other policymakers, prevent making definite conclusions. For example, the hadj of the head of the Russian parliament, R. Khasbulatov, in June 1992.

19. Excerpts from Yeltsin’s Speech, “There Will Be No More Lies,” The New York Times, 18 June 1992.

20. E. Agayev, “Rossiya Preshde vsego" [Russia First], Moscow News, 3 May 1992.

21. Especially following the results of the Gulf War when both Iraqi Saddam and PLO leader Arafat were humiliated while Syria’s Assad changed sides.

22. See I.D. Zviagelskaya, Konfliktnaya Politika SShA na Blizhnem i Srednem Vostoke [US Policy in Near and Middle East Conflict] (Moscow: Nauka, 1990).

23. A. Bogaturov, M. Kozhokin, and K. Pleshakov, “Mezhdu Vostokom i Zapadom” ["Between East and West"], Nezavisimaya Gazeta [Independent Gazette]), 25 September 1991.

24. “Changing the Guard,” Newsweek, 6 July 1992, pp. 10–15.

25. Khrushchev Remembers, translated and edited by S. Talbott (Boston: Little, Brown and Co., 1970), pp. 433–35.

26. This point may be illustrated by the whole debate in Soviet media covering the Gulf crisis and war in late 1990 to early 1991. Thus, while the liberal press was highly critical of Saddam’s policy and Soviet maneuvers around the war (Victor Kremenyuk, “On Confidence in Politics,” Moscow News, 3 March 1991), the conservative press, reflecting the views of the desk officers in the CPSU Central Committee and Foreign Ministry ÇSovetskaya Rossiya") as well as military press ("Red Star") were actively engaged in a campaign to assist Iraq.

27. Victor Kremenyuk, “Blizhni Vostok: Doktrina v deystvii” ["Middle East: the Doctrine in Action"], Doktrina Nixona (Moscow: Nauka, 1972).

28. One of the best analyses of this interplay of perceptions is in M. Copeland, The Game of Nations: The Amorality of Power Politics, (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1969).

29. During the Gulf War, the Soviet conservative media were actively using the reluctance of the public to be engaged in another war abroad ("the Afghani syndrome”) as a pretext to advocate the policy of noninvolvement (e.g., Sovetskaya Rossiya, 22 February 1991), p.3.

30. See Newsweek, 22 June 1992, pp. 20–24.

31. This was one of the three main foci at the Soviet-American-Arab-Israeli conference on the Middle East convened in Moscow in November 1991. The papers of the conference edited by the Institute on Global Conflict and Cooperation at the UCLA are forthcoming.

32. M. Gorbachev, “Israel is Poised to Turn History’s Pages,” The Los Angeles Times News Fax, Moscow edition, 10 July 1992.

12
The Evolution of Arms Control in the Middle East

Keith R. Krause

Introduction

Arms control and regional security building measures are (and have been) an integral part of the Middle East peace process, and have received renewed attention from scholars and policymakers since the 1990–91 Gulf War.¹ Attention has been focused on controlling the flow of arms and military technologies into the region, creating a nuclear weapons free zone, banning chemical and biological weapons, developing weapons-related confidence and security building measures, and freezing the acquisition, production and testing of ballistic missiles.

But the underlying concepts and constraints that might govern an arms control process in the Middle East, and its overall relationship to confidence and security building, have not been examined. Several of the same issues that were elaborated over time in the East-West arms control context have or will appear in the Middle East, and if we are entering the earliest stages of a regional dialogue on peace and security that will unfold over the next few years and decades, attention should be paid to the conceptual and practical problems that the arms control process will encounter. This chapter will explore the concepts underlying arms control in the East-West context, examine the differences and similarities between it and the Middle Eastern context, and trace a possible evolutionary sketch of arms control in the region. Although the immediate prospects for arms control in the Middle East are uncertain, it makes sense to think about the way in which arms control could unfold (and be defined) in the Middle East over the next thirty years, at least to keep the destination or direction in focus.

Three particular issues should be dealt with at the outset, however. First, as noted by Yair Evron in 1977, one central question must be: “Is it possible to achieve arms control in the Middle East in the present political context, or must political change precede arms control?” This argument can be traced back to the debates concerning disarmament in the League of Nations. Evron distinguishes three different views:

"that arms control can be decoupled from politics [and] that arms control agreements and measures are possible even in situations of severe conflict, without concomitant political relaxation."

that arms control and political relationships are linked, but “that agreements can be reached first and may even pave the way for political change."

"that political relaxation must precede arms-control agreements."²

This chapter adopts the second view, and examines arms control as a set cfpractices that actors create as a means to regulate and stabilize conflicts, but which may contribute to the resolution of these conflicts themselves. The fact that sufficient trust does not exist today does not doom the project, as greater trust is a possible result of the arms control process, not a precondition.

Second, one must disentangle the overlapping but distinct processes of arms control and confidence building. On one account, arms control concerns a relatively narrow set of technical measures relating strictly to military matters, and it is a subset of the broader process of confidence and security building measures (which can range into the nonmilitary sphere, as in the Stockholm process). On another account, the two are entirely separate, and the conceptual and practical concerns that are raised with confidence building are not relevant for discussions of arms control (for instance, the issue of trust, which is presumed not to exist in arms control). In this chapter, I will treat arms control and confidence building as overlapping but distinct processes. On one level, arms control deals with weapons and military establishments; on a deeper level (more closely associated with confidence building), it is about the behavior of states locked into an intense security dilemma, and its precise meaning and practice is bounded by underlying structural features of a conflict. Some arms control measures that can be imagined in the Middle East are purely technical, and can emerge in an atmosphere of intense distrust and conflict, while others (such as those concerning notifications of maneuvers, or information exchanges) would explicitly attempt to build trust and be linked to broader confidence building processes.

Third, one must address the widely expressed sentiment that the Middle East is somehow uniquely unsuited to discussion of arms control (or virtually any other confidence building measure covered in the current multilateral talks).³ The simplest version of this argument asserts that the political and security climate is so poisonous that even minimal arms control measures are unimaginable until a revolutionary shift in attitudes has occurred. Aside from neglecting the history of the region (including the Sinai and Golan disengagement accords, and imposed arms control measures), this view overlooks how poor the East-West political climate was in the late 1950s and early 1960s, when arms control began in that conflict. A more subtle variation argues that all issues are political and highly symbolic in the Middle East context, and hence that arms control (understood as essentially a technical mechanism for regulating conflict) cannot make the social and cultural voyage from its European home to the Middle East. This argument ignores the fact that the distinction between technical and political issues evolves over time as a consequence of actors’ interaction, and technical arrangements are often simply those issues for which actors have discovered a shared interest. Nothing in the Middle Eastern experience precludes the emergence of such technical arrangements, even if the sociocultural climate is not presently conducive to viewing issues from this perspective.

The East-West Arms Control Experience: Concepts, Principles and Goals

When the East-West experience of arms control is seen as a thirty-year process of building a shared language between adversaries as a means to develop concrete arrangements (formal or informal) to regulate their military confrontation, the difficulties in directly translating the concept (and its subsidiary ideas) to the Middle East are easily apparent. Arms control has been understood by Western scholars as a historically conditioned set of practices that evolved between suspicious and heavily armed adversaries since the late 1950s.⁴ The concept itself was born against the backdrop of the sterile debates over disarmament of the 1920s and 1930s, and the absence of any serious activity in the field between 1945 and 1955. The term arms control first came into wide use in the late 1950s, and the classic definitions distinguished it from disarmament, which aimed at the reduction or elimination of particular classes of weapons. Arms control was a broader concept, and its underlying goal was the regulation or stabilization of the East-West conflict. One of the earliest discussions of East-West arms control summarized its goals as follows:

to reduce the risk of war;

to reduce the destructiveness of war should it break out;

to redirect the resources devoted to armaments to other ends.⁵

In practice, arms control concentrated on the first goal almost exclusively, since virtually no measures were adopted that slowed the technological juggernaut and the resources devoted to the military remained large. On the nuclear level, many analysts also argued that measures that reduced the destructiveness of nuclear war (by making “limited” nuclear war imaginable) were dangerous and counterproductive.

The way in which East-West arms control evolved as a set of practices was conditioned by the Cold War’s military, political and security contexts. On the military level, the dominant fact was the emergence of a rough nuclear balance of terror by the early 1960s (when both sides acquired intercontinental ballistic missiles, and understood their mutual vulnerability). The frontiers of the conflict were clearly demarcated, and there was a broad consensus (codified in the Helsinki accords) on maintaining the status quo of spheres of influence. The hot aspects of the Cold War confrontation were relegated to the developing world, and some misunderstandings (especially over the meaning of detente in the developing world) did arise here. On the political level, with rare exceptions, a dialogue and open communications were maintained, especially after the Cuban Missile crisis. The Western public at least came to treat periods in which there were no discussions on arms control (such as the Soviet walkout of the Intermediate Nuclear Forces (INF) talks after the deployment of Pershing Is and cruise missiles to Europe) as aberrant The concept erf security that underpinned arms control equated security with stability in the military relationship between adversaries. Alternate conceptions of security that emphasized the shared human interest in removing the shadow of nuclear terror, or in reducing the military burden on society, were marginalized. Within certain boundaries, there was a broad consensus (at least within NATO nations) on the desirability of maintaining a strong defense, and questions of justice (for peoples in Eastern Europe especially) were relegated to the domestic sphere.

Finally, the practice of arms control evolved through distinct stages. At the outset, only marginal measures that were militarily irrelevant could be negotiated (the Antarctic, Seabed and Outer Space treaties). Later, specific military confidence building measures (such as the Hot Line and Accidental Nuclear Launch agreements) were implemented. Measures to cap the strategic nuclear arms race (SALT I, the ABM treaty and, to a lesser extent, SALT II) were then developed. Parallel to this, work on enhanced confidence and security building measures (CSBMs) as a subset of arms control intensified (notification of exercises, data exchanges). Finally, concrete reductions in weaponry (albeit to levels still greater than in the early 1960s) were agreed upon (INF, START, CFE). One could imagine, had the geopolitical context not changed so radically, that the next stage would have involved structural arms control measures, further CSBMs oriented around military doctrines, and perhaps finally technological arms control.⁶ What is worth highlighting is that until the MBFR talks (and later CFE accord) the primary concern of all arms control measures was stabilization of the nuclear dimension of the military relationship between the superpowers: arms control was not about conventional weapons.

The Anns Control Experience in the Middle East

Arms control efforts in the Middle East have not corresponded in many ways to the East-West experience, nor is the context in which they have unfolded similar. One can distinguish three types of arms control measures that have been applied, with varying degrees of success, to the Middle East.⁷ The first, which has no counterpart in the East-West experience, has been external powers’ unilateral and multilateral attempts to regulate the pace of military development through restrictions on arms transfers to the region. Tacit or formal efforts to control weapons supplies to the region or to particular states began with the 1947 unilateral American embargo on arms shipments to the region, which was later formalized in a temporary UN embargo and the 1950–55 Tripartite Agreement.⁸ The Tripartite agreement between Britain, France and the United States was an outgrowth of previous ad hoc arrangements, and attempted simultaneously to maintain their positions of influence in the region while suppressing the nascent arms race between Israel and its Arab neighbors. It was a nonbinding supplier condominium that was actively resisted by Arab Middle Eastern states, and interpreted loosely by the different signatories (since it recognized the legitimacy of arms acquisitions for self-defense). As political conditions changed in the mid-1950s (particularly as the Soviet Union began selling arms to Egypt, Syria and Iraq), it was rendered moot.

Between 1955 and the mid-1970s, the Americans and Soviets issued several declarations urging restraint on arms transfers to the region, but these had no real effect, as these two states, plus Britain and France, increasingly dominated the Middle Eastern arms market.⁹ Between 1964 and 1973, these four states supplied 92 percent of the arms acquired by Middle Eastern states, and between 1976 and 1980, they supplied 85 percent. Some restrictions were imposed on the types, quantities and sophistication of the weapons that client states could acquire, but these were unilateral.¹⁰ By the mid-1970s, after three Arab-Israeli wars, it was difficult to see how these unilateral controls had in any way enhanced regional security. Regional arsenals expanded dramatically as oil revenues removed financial constraints from some states and forced a response by others. The only significant multilateral initiative, President Carter’s Conventional Arms Transfer Talks (1977–78), collapsed precisely when it attempted to deal with the Middle East and other regions.¹¹ Overall, efforts to control the flow of arms to the region became entangled in broader East-West and regional conflicts.

Here matters rested until the late 1980s, when two initiatives (that will be dealt with below), the Missile Technology Control Regime (MTCR) and the Security Council’s Permanent Five accords, again attempted to impose some arms controls on the Middle East. Two observations can be made about these limited efforts. First, in spite of formal agreements on principles, suppliers have been unable to create a consensus on criteria for actually restricting arms transfers to clients as concepts such as balance, destabilizing and defensive have proved notoriously flexible. Second, arms recipients, especially those with financial means and some political or military leverage on external powers, have been adept at undermining or avoiding even the limited supplier restrictions that have been imposed.

The second set of agreements can be considered as regionally based confidence building or risk reduction measures. In this category, one can include the interim agreements in the Golan and the Sinai that were negotiated after the 1973 war, the interposition of the Multilateral Observer Force between Egypt and Israel, and the various other measures (relocation of air bases and so forth) that were part of the Camp David and Egyptian-Israeli peace accords. The post-1973 Ajnerican-brokered agreements between Egypt and Israel (Sinai I and Sinai II) included several elements that can be considered arms control, including: the establishment of a demilitarized zone, limitations on personnel and weapons deployments in buffer areas, early-warning systems controlled by both parties and the United States, the presence of multilateral observer forces, and some limited verification of compliance with these arrangements.¹² The less-ambitious arrangements between Syria and Israel included a separation of forces agreement on the Golan Heights (with the presence of the United Nations Disengagement Observer Force), as well as agreement on their respective zones of influence and action ("red lines") within Lebanon.

Also important here are the tadt and explicit American arrangements concerning weapons supplies to both parties that accompanied the 1979 Camp David accords and subsequent Egyptian-Israeli peace. The United States replaced Israeli airfields removed from the Sinai, provided a large military aid package to both parties ($3000 million to Israel, $1500 million to Egypt), and measured subsequent arms deliveries against the arsenal of the other side, in order to maintain a rough parity. This arrangement does not in itself constitute arms control, but it does demonstrate the potential importance of informal arrangements and the need for regional actors’ acceptance of the control arrangements. It has arguably prevented both sides from more dramatic arms acquisitions, and created some measure of increased regional security.

The third set of measures concerns international agreements that are applicable to the Middle East, particularly those concerning weapons of mass destruction (nuclear, chemical and biological weapons, and ballistic missiles). This includes the Nuclear Non Proliferation Treaty (and related regimes, including the IAEA and London nuclear suppliers’ group), the Geneva protocols and subsequent treaties on chemical and biological weapons, and the United Nations Register of Conventional Arms. In spite of strenuous efforts, the Middle East has been a stumbling block to the near-universality of these agreements. Although Algeria and Israel are the only major states not to have signed the NPT (lesser nonsignatories include Oman, Djibouti and Mauritania), there is great debate about the possible nuclear weapons programs of Iran, Iraq and Libya (as well as recurring concerns over Algeria). Israel’s nuclear deterrent has been widely discussed, and Iraq’s effort to acquire nuclear weapons has been much publicized after the UNSCOM demilitarization experience.¹³ The negotiability of Israel’s nuclear deterrent is a key feature of any arms control discussion in the Middle East, and the imbalance in nuclear potential has made Arab states reluctant to agree to measures that would inhibit their ability to acquire “deterrent” weapons of mass destruction. In particular, they have refused to ratify the 1992 Chemical Weapons Convention (which would prohibit the production, possession and use of chemical weapons) until Israel’s nuclear deterrent is brought under similar control. This follows the earlier reservation issued by several Arab states on their ratification of the 1925 Geneva protocol prohibiting the first use of chemical weapons—ratification did not imply recognition of the Jewish state, which suggests that the nonuse prohibition might not apply to Israel.¹⁴ Likewise, the 1972 Biological Weapons Convention has not gained universal adherence in the region, with Israel and Algeria having neither signed nor ratified the convention, and Egypt and Syria having signed but not ratified it.¹⁵

Finally, in 1991 the United Nations established a Register of Conventional Arms to monitor global arms transfers and weapons build-ups through the voluntary disclosure of export and import information (on equipment quantities and categories) from both suppliers and recipients.¹⁶ The ultimate success of the register is uncertain though, both because previous UN measures requiring voluntary disclosure have not been respected (in particular the military expenditure reporting) and because the link between greater publicity and greater restraint is unclear. As an early-warning confidence building measure, however, the register could have some use.

The Structural Context for Middle Eastern Arms Control

Each of these three categories (the arms trade, regional CSBMs and weapons of mass destruction) has been mooted as the most urgent problem to be addressed in Middle East arms control. Before attempting to assess which is the most appropriate starting point (and why), one must examine how the central features of the regional military, political and geographic contexts have structured and constrained the development of arms control efforts in the region.¹⁷ First, the military context has been one of repeated wars and high levels of conflict, suspicion and distrust. More importantly, the frontiers of the conflict are not clearly demarcated, as within the region (broadly defined) there are a range of overlapping and crosscutting interstate conflicts. Geoffrey Kemp, for example, offers a diagram of the various threats states perceive: in no case can these be reduced to a single, or even two, simple threats.¹⁸ Along with this, the political context includes shifting patterns of political alignment in the Arab world that make the notion of a balance difficult to operationalize (i.e., to what degree must Iraq arm itself against Iran, Israel against Egypt, Jordan against Iraq, and so on). Thus, neither simple bipolar nor stable multipolar models of arms control have been applicable to the Middle East.

A second problematic issue concerns the internal context of military development in the Middle East.¹⁹ Since independence was achieved, weapons acquisitions and armed forces development have been conditioned by the need to respond to internal threats to the security of the regime, and have not been developed and designed solely in response to perceived interstate conflicts. As a consequence, the size and structure of the military establishment, or the relationship between it and society, has been determined in part by regime insecurities and broader state-building projects.

In Syria, regime insecurities have been the paramount consideration. In Kemp’s diagram of interstate conflicts, for example, Syria faces perceived threats from Jordan, Turkey, Iraq and Israel. But from the perspective of the Assad regime, the Muslim Brotherhood in Hama and the anti-Alawite sentiments of various groups have constituted the most concrete threats to the survival of the regime (and therefore to Syria). One response has been that Syrian army bases are situated in two concentric rings out from Damascus: the outermost ring defends the capital against possible external attack; the innermost ring defends the capital against internal threats. The dramatic crushing of the Muslim Brotherhood in Hama in February 1982 by the army also illustrates the way in which internal security concerns were the prime motivation behind the utilization of the armed forces.²⁰ A second response has been to concentrate control among minority Alawi officers: in 1980 Alawis commanded half of all army divisions and controlled all the military intelligence services, although they constitute only about 15 percent of the population.²¹

A similar situation exists in Iraq, where the threats to security stem from the fractured nature of the state itself: from Shia’s, Kurds, and non-Tikritis living within Iraq and in neighboring states. As early as the 1920s, conscription (which of course resulted in a larger armed forces) was implemented as a means to integrate different groups into the Iraqi polity.²² Not surprisingly, these groups saw conscription as a threat to their autonomy, and it was resisted. The army was thus used at various points since 1932 to crush perceived threats to the central state emanating from Assyrians, Kurds and Shia’s. In both Syria and Iraq, either (or both) the legitimacy of the regime or the legitimacy of the state itself has been placed in question at different times.

The obstacles these considerations pose for arms control will be considerable. When the military controls the state, or a particular group depends on military support to control the state, then arms control or confidence building measures that threaten in any way the claim of the armed forces on national resources and priorities will be difficult to entertain. Specific proposals such as basing/deployment restrictions, transparency measures, or restrictions on the size of the military could all impede a regime’s ability to counter perceived internal threats to security. This makes Syrian and Iraqi (and to a lesser extent Jordanian) participation in major arms control agreements remote. Thus when Kemp notes that “far-reaching arms control agreements… will remain elusive until the key regional players realize that they have more to gain than to lose from such a process” it must be realized that the most important players are not always states, and their calculations of gains and losses may be different.²³

A third major issue concerns the global context in which the regional security complex is embedded. This has two aspects: the response of regional states to perceived extra-regional threats, and the role of external parties in the regional security complex. Ever since the first wave of military modernization in the nineteenth century, in which the Ottoman Empire and Muhammed Ali’s Egypt responded to the weakness of their position in the global military hierarchy, Middle Eastern states have acquired arms and built armies as a response to global pressures. The Shah of Iran and Saddam Hussein’s Iraq are contemporary examples of this impulse, as both aspired to enhance their global status. In this sense, the Middle Eastern security complex cannot be insulated from broader developments in other regions, and in so far as regional arms control is perceived as a means of entrenching permanently the inferior status of regional states, it will be resisted.

The second aspect of the global context concerns the fact that all Middle Eastern security arrangements have required external guarantors either (at a minimum) to agree not to upset regional understandings by encouraging defection from the regime, or (at a maximum) to agree to penalize defectors from the regime or provide broader security guarantees. One feature of all Middle Eastern arms control measures to date (even those that have failed) has been the prominent role of external parties. This necessity creates two potential difficulties for arms control: can all the relevant external parties be brought into the control regime; and is there sufficient domestic political consensus among external parties to play a strong guarantor role if necessary (i.e., to punish defectors militarily)? As the war over Kuwait illustrated, the nature of these guarantees will vary according to the perceived interests of the external powers and the character of the regimes being defended. Yet all regional parties to an arms control regime must be confident that the security guarantees will cover them in extremis.

Fourth, the geographic and technological dimensions of the military situation in the Middle East are more complex than in the East-West context. In some cases (Tel Aviv, Damascus, Amman), short distances increase the vulnerability to surprise attack: hence the importance of sophisticated early warning systems, high alert states and rapid response (even first strike) forces. In others (such as Saudi Arabia), small populations and large territories dictate the use of technology as a force multiplier. From an arms control perspective, this suggests that geographic measures (such as deployment limitations, red lines, demilitarized zones, and ultimately, military doctrines) will be of greater significance at an earlier stage in the arms control process. On the negative side, the technological imperatives facing different states suggest that arms control measures would have to be technologically asymmetrical; such arrangements have never been formally negotiated anywhere (although they have been tolerated by “technologically blind” agreements).

Fifth, arms control in the Middle East has been largely moot in the absence of concrete moves to resolve the underlying conflicts between states. This differs from the East-West context, where arms control partly preceded the thaw in political and military tensions, and partly proceeded in the face of an unchanging military threat (on the strategic nuclear level). The difference, of course, was that in the East-West context there was never (since the Berlin and Cuban crises) any plausible political scenario in which either side would resort to force. In the Middle East, the political motivations for war are not difficult to find, even if there is a greater reluctance to go to war than in the past. This linkage to the peace process places severe constraints on the sorts of arms control measures that could be envisaged, as even strictly technical or politically noncontroversial measures designed to “get the process started” and build trust are entangled in complex issues of recognition and status (as illustrated in the earliest stages of the 1991–92 Middle East peace talks).

These structural features of the conflict provide the context for arms control in the Middle East, and suggest a gloomy prognosis. But any possible future arms control measures in the Middle East must at least start by specifying the underlying goals of arms control that are suggested by this context. In addition to the three goals noted above (reducing the risk of war, its destructiveness, or the costs of preparing for it), there are three additional goals of arms control that would play a role in the Middle East:

4. facilitating (or not hindering) any transition from authoritarianism in the regime (which often means reducing the role of the military in society).

5. changing the role of external powers in the region from “client seekers” to “security guarantors."

6. facilitating (or not hindering) the broader settlement of outstanding political issues in the region.

Of course, no specific arms control proposal need address these goals, but they are present in ways that were not important in the East-West context. Pervasive insecurity and the absence of faith in the ability of deterrent policies (up to and including the “ultimate” deterrent) to impose rationality in extremis mean that internal political dynamics cannot be frozen in their present militarized/authoritarian mode. The temptation for external parties to seek advantages and influence in the region has contributed to destructive arms racing as clients used these relationships to gain local advantages, a tendency that must also be curtailed. Finally, in the East-West context arms control was seen by some as a means to freeze the conflict, since progress at resolving it was impossible. But in the Middle Eastern context, a simple freezing of the conflict that failed to address these three goals could easily doom arms control efforts and certainly would not greatly reduce the risk of war.

Arms Control and the 1991–92 Middle East Peace Process

The Middle East peace process inaugurated in the wake of the 1991–92 war in the Persian Gulf included arms control and regional security discussions as one dimension of the multilateral talks. Through the first two rounds of discussions in 1992 (in May in Washington and in September in Moscow), the plan for the talks was unclear, and various parties jockeyed to impose their preferred interpretation of the agenda, as well as to advance specific positions or concerns. Not surprisingly, each of the three postulated starting points or foci for arms control were represented as crucial. The Egyptians argued that the dialogue should focus on eliminating weapons of mass destruction from the region (the agenda), and that the gap between the Israeli arsenal and that of other states should not be widened (the substantive concern).²⁴ The Syrians (who boycotted the two rounds of talks) focused on the fact that Israel produced large quantities of arms for its own forces, which meant, in Syrian eyes, that arms control discussions should not concentrate solely on restricting arms imports. The Syrian substantive concerns were the size of the Israeli arsenal and the fact that the United States had a strategic defense treaty with Israel.²⁵ The Jordanian agenda for the talks advocated the signing and implementation of existing international agreements (the NPT, CWC and Biological Weapons Convention), as a prelude to negotiations on controlling ballistic missile proliferation in the region.²⁶ The Israelis wanted to start the process with confidence building measures, and suggested specific ones concerning a hot line, information exchanges, military visits, advance notice of exercises and so on. They also raised the old issue of the link between disarmament and security, suggesting that real disarmament would only follow peace agreements and take many years.²⁷

From the outset one could detect attempts not only to advance specific bargaining positions, but a desire on the part of all participants to frame the discussions and influence the agenda, and a suggestion of the best evolutionary path for arms control. Virtually all the issues were put on the table: weapons of mass destruction, existing multilateral treaties, arms production and imports, military confidence building measures, and the link between arms control and the peace process. How they would be tackled, however, was the subject of some contestation. The most clear attempts to articulate an evolutionary path and to frame the agenda came from the Egyptians and the Israelis on the issue of nuclear weapons. The Egyptian foreign minister argued that “in the absence of progress to remove nuclear weapons, no disarmament or arms control system can be reached in the Middle East"; while the Israelis argued that “Israel will not discuss disarmament issues at all before confidence building measures between it and the Arab countries have been implemented."²⁸ The conflicts inherent in these various interpretations are clear, but from the perspective of this chapter the discussions were the first attempts to build a shared language between adversaries within which concrete measures to regulate their military confrontation could be developed. In other words, new interstate practices are being created, which will evolve within the structure of the Middle East conflict.

The role of external parties in the first two rounds of discussions reinforces this perspective. The talks were characterized by a study of frameworks for enhancing regional security, based on seminars by American diplomats, who had been involved in East-West arms control negotiations, “to present the concepts and ideas.” In simple terms, the external parties attempted to generalize their practices to the Middle East. As one journalist put it, “the talks will be devoted to lectures on disarmament and confidence building based on the European example."²⁹ The idea that the multilateral talks on arms control represented a learning process for Middle Eastern participants was echoed by the Israeli Defense Minister Moshe Arens and the Jordanian chief delegate to the arms control and regional security committee, Dr. Abdullah Tuqan.³⁰ Given the incompatible positions of the principal parties, progress in arms control will evidently not be rapid, and may even lag behind progress in other areas (such as Palestinian autonomy). But whatever the overall request of the current peace process, this analysis suggests the future trajectory of arms control in the region should be addressed (in conceptual and practical terms) according to the parameters and logic of the Middle East conflict.

An Evolutionary Future for Arms Control in the Middle East

Assuming then, that the Middle East conflict will be regulated by an intermittent but ongoing peace process, one can sketch the stages or categories of arms control measures that could emerge in the Middle East in light of the post-1990 arms control initiatives in the region. The guiding principle of this analysis is that there is no technically correct or best approach to the problem of regional arms control, beyond that which emerges from the expressed concerns of the regional participants (which differ widely at this point). The overriding consideration ought to be facilitating the development of ongoing practices of arms control, not achieving particular predefined outcomes. Hence the proposals discussed below sketch an evolutionary perspective by which arms control could unfold over the next twenty to thirty years.³¹ The starting point is supply-side regulation of arms transfers, the intermediate point is regional military-oriented CSBMs, and the end point is control of weapons of mass destruction. Initial steps are measured not against their immediate impact, but for their potential contribution to the development of arms control practices, to the achievement of the goals outlined above, and against the structural features of the conflict described at the outset. Several current proposals for arms control in the region fail to evaluate their measures against these criteria.

The first set of measures (which have already been implemented to some extent) encompass the regulation by external powers of the development of military arsenals in the Middle East. External suppliers are the source of virtually all arms in the Middle East (with the notable exception of Israel), and thus they have at least some ability to influence regional clients through the exercise of restraint over the types and volumes of weapons transferred.³² In the past, regional states were unlikely to agree on restraints because they could appeal their causes to external patrons.

In addition, there is a body of experience, and some promising current practice, in the area of supply-side control that represent the earliest steps towards formal regulation. The bases for progress are the guidelines and procedures adopted by the Permanent Five (P-5) members of the UN Security Council at two meetings in 1991, and the procedures for the recently established UN arms trade register. The P-5 agreed to exchange information on transfers to the Middle East, to follow common guidelines for their exports and to meet at least once a year to discuss these issues.³³ The guidelines adopted include consideration of whether the transfer meets legitimate self-defense needs or is an appropriate response to potential threats, and a pledge to avoid transfers that might prolong or aggravate existing conflicts, increase tensions, introduce destabilizing military capabilities to a region, contravene international embargoes, undermine recipient’s economies, or support terrorism. The UN register, which received wide approval in 1991 (140 votes in favor), requires states to submit annual data on the numbers of arms imported and exported in seven categories: battle tanks, armored combat vehicles, artillery systems, combat aircraft, attack helicopters, warships and missile systems.

Seen most optimistically, the P-5 consultations and the UN registers could usher in a supply-side Middle Eastern arms transfer regime. However, there is as yet no agreement on the concrete meaning of the operative principles of the P-5 accord, and little evidence that transfers are being restrained by these principles. Progress would require that the two initiatives be brought together, with the P-5 suppliers informing each other in advance of plans to supply weapons in the various register categories, and then attempting to justify (or evaluate) them in terms of the guideline criteria. It should be noted that the ill-fated CATT talks did make progress on precisely this issue: defining military and technical criteria by which to judge types and quantities of arms and to evaluate a state’s eligibility to receive them. It is not inconceivable that major suppliers could develop the kinds of technical and formal restrictions that would be necessary for supplier regulation of arms transfers to the Middle East.

The strength of supply-side approaches lies in their flexibility and informality—no treaties are negotiated, the membership of the club can be expanded easily (the MTCR began with seven, and now has sixteen members), and the terms of the regime can be changed relatively easily.³⁴ The information sharing and consultation can also, over time, enable suppliers to harmonize their national policies, ultimately resulting in a regime akin to the MTCR or Australia group. But this informality and flexibility is also the source of some weaknesses: such arrangements have no enforcement mechanisms; all possible suppliers are seldom included (although this is less of a problem for the most sophisticated weapons); and the regime cannot be made concrete enough to satisfy the desire of regional actors for security guarantees. Since these measures can be adopted without the direct participation of regional actors, some will also take active measures to subvert them. Finally, the experience with the MTCR and the Australia group controls suggests that the codification of informal regime is a difficult task: both of these regimes are highly technical in nature, and they indicate that the level of detail required for actual conventional arms transfer treaties would be great. The most prominent objection to transparency and consultation measures, or even to the control arrangements that might emerge out of them, is that the level and sophistication of armaments in the Middle East is already so high that such controls are irrelevant. This argument presumes, however, that the sole goal of arms control is to reduce the destructiveness of war (goal two), when in fact such measures focus on reducing the risk of it occurring (goal one) and perhaps on reducing the resources devoted to armaments and the negative role of external suppliers (goals three and five). Further, from an evolutionary perspective, if measures such as the P-5 agreements and the MTCR provide the basis for freezing the level of military technology in the Middle East near its current levels, this could at least slow the diffusion of next-generation weaponry (such as that deployed by the United States in the Gulf War) to the region. Such preliminary steps should be the focus of major arms suppliers’ negotiation parallel to the regional peace process.

The second set of measures would emerge more directly out of the peace process, and would encompass regional military-oriented CSBMs that were embedded in broader global measures, or mediated by external actors. The starting point could be relatively simple data exchanges, crisis communication measures (hot lines), and initiatives to discourage surprise attacks (such as prohibitions on concealment or advance notification of missile launches or military exercises).³⁵ The Americans, Europeans or Russians could facilitate these CSBMs by supplying intelligence or data to all parties (as a verification measure). Wide participation in the UN arms trade register could also act as a confidence building measure, as regional states made public their arms acquisitions and arsenals. Such “indirect” transparency measures (i.e., mediated through an international body, or region-wide) would be a prelude to reciprocal CSBMs between states that would require face-to-face negotiation and acceptance. No real contact between states is needed at this stage, and the target of the measures could remain unspecified (i.e., the measure is part of a broader set of practices followed by a group of states). These intermediate measures would reduce the risk of war, and perhaps lay the groundwork for the achievement of goals two, three and four.

These types of CSBMs should be a central focus of the regional peace process, and could be linked to the measures suggested in stage one as states grew to accept the advantages of the supply-side limitations or regulations. The best example here would be the Egyptian and Israeli acceptance of the American policy of balancing transfers to both parties (and to third parties such as the Saudis) since the signing of their peace treaty. Neither party has attempted to upset this arrangement, although they are not always satisfied with the weapons they obtain. Jordan was in the past a willing participant in the American-brokered regime, but after the fight in the mid-1980s over the increasing American reluctance to supply arms, King Hussein moved to diversify his state’s arms acquisitions, signaling a dissatisfaction with the American restrictions. If supply-side regulation included all major suppliers, such defection would be somewhat more difficult, and if financial constraints on states such as Syria and Israel persist, limitations on the opponent’s ability to acquire unlimited quantities of weapons might be welcomed.

The other important regional actors in this scenario will be Syria, Iraq and Saudi Arabia. At some point following full implementation of UN Resolution 687 against Iraq, the embargo on arms transfers will have to be lifted, if the international community wants to avoid creating a resolutely revisionist Iraq. The analogy with Germany of the 1920s and 1930s is not farfetched: the disarmament provisions of the Versailles Treaty were as harsh as those imposed against Iraq, and its diplomatic isolation more profound, yet within a decade Germany was covertly rearming and finding allies among the ostracized.³⁶ This would be a dangerous development, and can only be avoided with some plan to reintegrate Iraq into the regional political system. Any moves in this direction, however, that remained blind to the domestic political situation in Iraq (implicated in goal four above) would fail. In military terms, the rehabilitation of Iraq could only be done in consultation with Syria, Saudi Arabia and the lesser Gulf states (leaving Iran out of the picture) over how to meet Iraq’s minimal military requirements without creating a greater threat to them, and it would present the opportunity to work out some of these tacit reciprocal arms control and CSBMs.

The third set of measures would be more concrete measures that dealt directly with military postures and doctrines, and which had only limited input or participation from external parties. Arms control would start to concentrate on reducing the resources devoted to the military (number three) through the the establishment of demilitarized buffer zones and red lines, basing and deployment agreements, exchanges of military observers, and greater transparency around doctrinal, basing and acquisition decisions. Supplier-recipient arrangements concerning arms acquisitions could become an arms control measure if the process by which Middle Eastern states made arms acquisition decisions slowly became more transparent. Public declarations by defence ministers on the rationale for particular weapons acquisitions could signal an acceptance of informal restraints and even include the foreswearing of certain weapons systems. Although eventually information on the capabilities of weapons systems is made public (often through the American Congressional approval process) specific unilateral declarations that demonstrated restraint would be an important part of the arms control process. Example of possible self-limitations would include the foreswearing of in-flight refueling capabilities, the close linkage of air forces with air defense systems, a concentration on low-mobility weapons systems, range or ordnance limitations on attack aircraft, or reduced electronics capabilities. Many of these issues were aired in the 1992 debate over the sale of seventy-two F-15 aircraft to Saudi Arabia, and such debates might be a prelude for future multilateral arrangements.³⁷

At the doctrinal level initial exploration of the concept of “defensive restructuring” has already occurred, although there are no signs that regional actors are interested at this point.³⁸ While proposals for wholesale defensive defense concepts are almost inconceivable, some small moves in this direction could be imagined, again through the initial medium of unilateral defense policy (and posture) declarations. These could include an explicit reorientation towards “defense in depth” in the case of Saudi Arabia, towards strongpoint defense for Kuwait (since it has neither territory nor the possibility of matching any possible invading force), towards a foreswearing of preemptive or deep-strike measures by Israel, towards a lower-readiness force in Iraq, and so on. In general, what is required is a greater self-consciousness about the process of defense planning in the region, as a precondition to understanding the interaction of worst-case planning scenarios. Declarations do not in themselves increase security, but they can begin dialogue.

If such a regional security dialogue resulted in greater oversight of the defense planning process, this might also contribute indirectly to a civilianization of the armed forces and facilitate the fourth goal of arms control noted above (the transition from authoritarianism). During the 1970s, weapons acquisitions by most Middle Eastern states were not governed by a rational process of threat assessment, but rather by a desire to acquire as many sophisticated systems as money could buy. Regional arsenals of main battle tanks increased four-fold between 1970 and 1985, the numbers of combat aircraft trebled, and the number of armored fighting vehicles and military helicopters increased eight-fold in this period.³⁹ Whatever the motivation behind these decisinos, the interaction of different state’s arms acquisition decisions had a negative impact on regional securiity. For example, the Shah of Iran’s arms buildup, which ambitiously strove for military status on par with France and Britain, did much to trigger the arms buildup in Iraq and fueled the tensions that led to the Iran-Iraq war. Since then, regional arsenals have somewhat stabilized, which at least opens the way to defense planning decisions that acknowledge the impact of arms acquisitions on the regional security environment.

Of course, the availability of money was not the only factor that determined arms acquisitions, and the domestic security role of the military in Syria and Iraq meant that considerations other than external threat assessment helped determine military policy. Any arms control measures that did not take account of the regime-maintenance and state-building functions of the military in these societies would be unlikely to succeed. It is difficult, for example, to imagine Syria under the Ba’ath agreeing to any measures that would reduce the role of the Syrian military in society (such as, for example, reducing the size of the army). Lest this be considered unimportant, the difficulties experienced by President Mubarak in Egypt in reorienting and reducing the role of the military after the 1979 peace treaty highlight the problems that will be encountered.⁴⁰

Only at the end of this process would one directly address the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction in the region, in order to reduce the destructiveness of war (goal two) and perhaps facilitate the broader peace process. Although most analysts put this much higher on the list of priorities (and in fact the first P-5 statement “strongly supported the objective of establishing a weapons of mass destruction-free zone in the Middle East"⁴¹) there are several reasons to suspect that progress towards controlling proliferation will depend on prior progress in arms control. Supplier states can adopt policies designed to slow the acquisition of weapons of mass destruction in the region, but the acceptance of such measures by regional powers is a particularly vexing problem. The Israeli abandonment of its nuclear option is difficult to foresee, unless many other arms control measures of the type outlined above are already in place. The imbalance this creates in the regional security dynamic (and the insecurity this creates for Arab states) must be acknowledged: in most cases states facing a direct nuclear threat have responded with a nuclear weapons program (Pakistan, India, China, Britain and France). One already sees in the Arab response to the proposed CWC an attempt to link different weapons of mass destruction (if only to create a psychological balance of terror). In addition, such agreements would require formal verification and inspection provisions, a process which is considered an anathema by all regional actors at this point. The only hopeful sign is that all states in the region (including Israel) have voiced some support for a nuclear weapon-free zone. Finally, there is good reason to doubt that weapons of mass destruction are the real source of military insecurity in the contemporary Middle East. These weapons (especially nuclear weapons) do create some sort of deterrence relationship and might not significantly increase the risk of war. Premature (and frustrated) efforts to control weapons of mass destruction could become a cloak under which continued arms racing occurred.

The final category of arms controls that could be postulated for the Middle East are actual arms limitation treaties (perhaps analogous to the CFE accords). Although this would be the only form of arms control that would meet goals two and three, the structural features of the Middle Eastern military environment make such measures extremely difficult to imagine, and this sort of agreement is so far in the future as to be presently moot. The asymmetries in actual and potential military strength are so great that the underlying principles on which such agreements could be based are difficult to imagine. Concepts such as “parity” and “symmetry” that played such a large role in East-West arms control are simply not useful in the Middle East, and any formal acceptance of imbalances in status is difficult for any leadership to swallow. Even if some understanding on this matter could be reached, the multiplicity of overlapping threats in the region would make anything short of a comprehensive threat unstable. Saudi arms acquisitions are a response to Iraqi and Iranian military strength, but they could spill over into the Arab-Israeli conflict, and without Iraqi and Iranian participation in formal arms control (which is difficult to imagine), Saudi acceptance of CFE-type counting zones is unlikely. Perhaps the best that could be achieved in this area, then, would be some extension of the current situation in which supplier states informally consult over major arms deals to the region. This ad hoc means by which regional arsenals will be moulded to fit particular doctrines and needs could eventually include input from the regional actors themselves, as appears to be the case today. One current example would be the muted Israeli reaction to the Saudi F-15 acquisition, on the understanding that the United States would respond favorably to Israeli defense needs (and maintain its technological lead).⁴²

Conclusion

The merits of this sketch of an evolutionary path for arms control in the Middle East are predicated on two arguments deployed at the outset: that arms control and political relationships evolve in tandem, and that arms control is not a narrowly technical exercise, but rather one whose purpose is to build confidence as part of a broader peace-building process. The most trenchant critics of the East-West practice of arms control argued that it maintained military establishments unprecedented in peacetime, preserved the nuclear balance of terror intact, and did nothing to enhance justice, peace or security. Arms control was a status quo oriented exercise, which was only acceptable because active measures to change the status quo were too costly or dangerous. While this might have been justified under the shadow of nuclear holocaust, the critics’ case has much merit in the Middle East. If arms control efforts were to concentrate on purely technical measures to stabilize (and perhaps entrench) the existing security situation, their contribution to the peace process would be negligible. Technical measures are important, but their most valuable, if indirect, contribution is to the broader process of political change and security building between communities. Hence specific policy measures should be measured against this standard, and not against their direct impact on the military or security environment.

As a cautionary note, however, the length of time it took to achieve the modest gains of the East-West arms control regime was long, and there is no reason to expect this learning curve to be steeper in the Middle East. Middle Eastern states cannot ‘leapfrog” over the Western experience or compress the stages, for two reasons. First, the crucial learning concerns not the nature of the practice itself (i.e., learning what a CSBM is), but rather the working out of a common language between adversaries (i.e., agreeing among themselves what a CSBM is, and what functions it serves). Second, the evolutionary development of arms control will, as argued above, be quite different because of underlying differences in the political, military and social context. The most important lesson from the East-West experience is that it can be done.

Finally, the Middle East context itself makes the development of a set of arms control practices much more difficult. As framers of the concept of arms control in the East-West context have noted, “the essential feature of arms control is the recognition of the common interest, of the possibility of reciprocation and cooperation even between potential enemies with respect to their military establishments."⁴³ This almost dictates that no state in the region be expansionist (and had the Soviet Union been a genuinely expansionist, rather than merely opportunistic, power it is difficult to see how East-West arms control could have been initiated). Several states in the Middle East can be suspected of expansionist designs, and until the limits of these are clearly established, trust is dangerous and no status quo practice of arms control can begin.

Ultimately, the recognition of common interests must also extend beyond state rulers to elites (especially the military) and to the public in different states, who must prefer the status quo of an arms control regime to the uncertainties and risks of continued military confrontation. Although state leaders in the Middle East may be slowly coming to recognize some common interests, they are assuredly not yet able to act upon them in a concrete way.

I am grateful for the research assistance provided by Karen Mark on portions of this chapter.

Notes

1. See inter alia Geoffrey Kemp, The Control of the Middle East Arms Race (Washington: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 1991); Geoffrey Kemp, “The Middle East Arms Race: Can it be Controlled?,” Middle East Journal 45:3 (summer 1991), pp.441–456; Gerald Steinberg, “Towards Regional Arms Control in the Middle East,” Issues in Science and Technology (summer 1991), pp.63–69; Congressional Research Service, “Middle East Arms Control and Related Issues,” CRS Report for Congress, 91–384F, 1 May 1991; Dore Gold, ed., Arms Control in the Middle East (Boulder: Westview Press, 1991); Alan Platt, ed., Arms Control and Confidence Building in the Middle East (Washington: U.S. Institute of Peace, 1992); Frank Bamaby, “Arms Control after the Gulf War,” Conflict Studies 240 (London: Research Institute for the Study of Conflict and Terrorism, 1991). See also President Bush’s address to the Air Force Academy, 29 May 1991 (and the accompanying White House fact sheet) unveiling his “comprehensive arms control policy for the Middle East."

2. Quotations in this paragraph from Yair Evron, “The Role of Arms Control in the Middle East,” Adelphi Paper 138 (London: International Institute for Strategic Studies, 1977), p. 36.

3. For an overview of this see Raymond Cohen, Culture and Conflict in Egyptian-Israeli Relations: A Dialogue of the Deaf (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990). Some indications of this view can be found in Gerald Steinberg, “Arms Control in the Middle East,” in Encyclopedia of Arms Control and Disarmament, vol. 1 Richard Dean Bums, ed. (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1993), pp. 169–186.

4. For an insightful account of the genesis of arms control, from the “epistemic communities” perspective, see Emmanuel Adler, “The Emergence of Cooperation: National Epistemic Communities and the International Evolution of the Idea of Nuclear Arms Control,” International Organization, 46:1 (winter 1992), pp. 101–46.

5. Thomas Schelling and Morton Halperin, Strategy and Arms Control (New York: The Twentieth Century Fund, 1961), p. 2. See also Hedley Bull, The Control of the Arms Race (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1961); Daedalus, special issue on arms control, 89:4 (fall 1960).

6. Some of these measures are still possible, although in a radically different form. See, for example, Keith Krause, “Post-Helsinki Conventional Arms Control: The Qualitative Dimension,” Arms Control, 12:2 (September 1991), pp. 211–230.

7. For a survey of previous initiatives, see Steinberg, “Arms Control."

8. See Paul Jabber, Not by War Alone: Security and Arms Control in the Middle East (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981); Shlomo Slonim, “Origins of the 1950 Tripartite Declaration on the Middle East” Middle Eastern Studies, 23:2 (spring 1987), pp. 135–149.

9. Specific proposals were mooted by Moscow in 1956–58 and 1967, and by the Americans in 1963, 1967 and 1971. The most notable proposal was discussed at the 1967 Soviet-American Glassboro summit. For details see Evron, pp. 4–8.

10. On American and Soviet attempts to regulate their arms transfers to the Middle East, see Keith Krause, “Military Statecraft: Power and Influence in Soviet and American Arms Transfer Relationships,” International Studies Quarterly, 35:3 (September 1991), pp. 313–336. Figures from United States, Arms Control and Disarmament Agency, World Military Expenditures and Arms Transfers (Washington: ACDA, various years).

11. On the CATT see Barry Blechman and Janne Nolan, The U.S.-Soviet Conventional Arms Transfer Negotiations (Washington: Johns Hopkins Foreign Policy Institute, 1987); Congressional Research Service, Changing Perspectives on U.S. Arms Transfer Policy, a report for the Subcommittee on International Security and Scientific Affairs, Committee on Foreign Affairs, House of Representatives, 97th Congress, 1st session.

12. See Evron, “Arms Control,” pp. 20–21, 31; Brian Mandell, “Anatomy of a Confidence-Building Regime: Egyptian-Israeli Security Cooperation, 1973–1979,” International Joumd 45 (spring 1990), pp. 202–223; William Quandt, Decade of Decisions (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1977), pp. 224–229, 271–276.

13. On the Middle East in general, see Avner Cohen and Marvin Miller, “Nuclear Shadows in the Middle East: Prospects for Arms Control in the Wake of the Gulf Crisis,” Security Studies 1:1 (autumn 1991), pp. 54–77; Leonard Spector, “Nuclear Proliferation in the Middle East,” Orbis, 36:2 (Spring 1992), pp. 181–198. On the Iraqi program, David Albright and Mark Hibbs, “Iraq’s Nuclear Hide-and-Seek,” The Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists (September 1991), pp. 14–23; David Albright and Mark Hibbs, “Iraq’s Bomb: Blueprints and Artifacts,” The Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists (January/February 1992), pp. 30–40.

14. Kemp, Control of the Middle East Arms Race, p. 132.

15. Arms Control Reporter, 1992, 860.A.4.

16. See United Nations, “General and Complete Disarmament: International Arms Transfers. Transparency in Armaments.” General Assembly Resolution 46/36L (9 December 1991); United Nations, “General and Complete Disarmament: Transparency in Armaments—Report on the Register of Conventional Arms,” General Assembly Resolution 1/47/342, 14 August 1992.

17. For other discussions along these lines see Richard Darilek and Geoffrey Kemp, “Prospects for Confidence and Security Building Measures in the Middle East,” in Arms Control and Confidence Building, Platt, ed., pp. 25–29; Dore Gold, “Unique Political Military Conditions in Middle East Arms Control,” in Arms Control in the Middle East, Gold, ed., pp. 101–115.

18. Kemp, Control of the Middle East Arms Race, pp. 17–18.

19. For general work exploring the concept of “regime security” see Mohammed Ayoob, “The Third World in the System of States: Acute Schizophrenia or Growing Pains?,” International Studies Quarterly 33 (1989) pp. 67–79. For examples of the same limited focus on external threats to security that Kemp presents, see also “Building Toward Middle East Peace,” working group reports from a conference on Cooperative Security in the Middle East, Moscow, pp. 21–24 October 1991 (published by the Institute on Global Conflict and Cooperation, University of California); Shai Feldman, “Taking Note of the Arabs’ Threat Environment,” in Arms Control in the Middle East, Gold, ed., pp. 17–26.

20. For a graphic account of the destruction see Thomas L. Friedman, From Beirut to Jerusalem (New York: Anchor Books, 1990), pp. 76–105.

21. Yahya Sadowski, “Patronage and the Ba’th: Corruption and Control in Contemporary Syria,” Arab Studies Quarterly 9:4 (Fall 1987), p. 444.

22. Details from P.J. Hemphill, “The Formation of the Iraqi Army, 1921–33,” in The Integration of Modern Iraq, Abbas Kelidar, ed. (London: Croom Helm, 1979), pp. 88–110. The armed forces increased from 3, 500 in 1922 to 11, 500 in 1932 (independence), and doubled again by 1936.

23. Kemp, Control of the Middle East Arms Race, back cover.

24. See the letter from Dr. Ahmed Esmat Abdel Meguid, Egyptian minister of foreign affairs, to the United Nations secretary-general, 16 April 1991, reprinted in Congressional Research Service, 110–113, which details President Mubarak’s proposal; Foreign Broadcast Information Service (hereafter cited as FBIS), NES-92–092, 12 May 1992, pp. 11–12.

25. See FBIS, NES-92–093, 13 May 1992, pp. 42–43; NES-92–107, pp. 34–35. This concern was echoed in some Palestinian quarters. FBIS, NES-92–180, 16 September 1992, pp. 9–10.

26. FBIS, NES-92–106, 2 June 1992, pp. 37–38. The Jordanian position on ballistic missiles mirrored the Bush proposal.

27. Information from an interview with Israeli Defense Minister Moshe Arens in FBIS, NES-92–096, 18 May 1992, p. 32. Labor leader Yitzhak Rabin (before the June 1992 elections) also reiterated his acceptance of the ultimate goal of making the Middle East a nuclear-weapons-free zone, while making clear that disarmament would be a long way off. FBIS, NES-92–078, 22 April 1992, pp. 27–32.

28. For Egypt’s foreign minister’s statement see FBIS, NES-92–178, p. 14 September 1992, 14; for the Israeli claim see FBIS, NES-92–099, 21 May 1992, pp. 25–26. The author of the Israeli story, Reuven Pedatzur, also notes that off-the-record Egyptians appear to have accepted that Israeli acceptance of the nuclear-weapon-free zone proposal would be far in the future.

29. FBIS, NES-92–096, 18 May 1992, pp. 2–3.

30. FBB, NES-92–096, 18 May 1992, p. 32; FBIS, NES-92–106, 2 June 1992, p. 37. Dr. Tuqan described the talks as “basically a seminar approach for mutual familiarization of terms in this field."

31. Two articles that also adopt such an evolutionary perspective (although many others implicitly suggest one) are: James Goodby, “Transparency in the Middle East,” Arms Control Today, May 1991, pp. 8–11, which focuses on CSBMs; and Kathleen Bailey, “Arms Control for the Middle East,” International Defense Review, April 1991, pp. 311–314, which argues that regional arms control should start with a Middle Eastern “INF treaty."

32. See, for a discussion of influence relationships, Krause, “Military Statecraft."

33. The communiques of the two meetings and the “Guidelines for Conventional Arms Transfers,” are reprinted in United States, Arms Control and Disarmament Agency, World Military Expenditures and Arms Transfers 1990 (Washington: ACDA, 1991), 23–24B. China has suspended its participation in light of the American sale of advanced aircraft to Taiwan.

34. That is, more easily than the terms of a formal treaty. Members of the MTCR are exploring its expansion to cover shorter-range and smaller-payload systems.

35. Measures in this category and the following one are discussed in Evron, “Arms Control,” pp. 17–21; Darilek and Kemp, “Prospects for Confidence,” pp. 34–39; Goodby, “Transparency in the Middle East"; and Thomas Hirschfeld, “Mutual Security Short of Arms Control,” in Arms Control in the Middle East, Gold, ed., pp. 27–37. These authors generally do not distinguish the two categories of measures as I have here.

36. See, on the covert rearmament, Barton Whaley, Covert German Rearmament 1919–1939: Deception and Misperception (Frederick.: University Publications of America, 1984).

37. See “Saudi F-15XP configuration will limit long-range offense,” Aerospace Daily, 21 September 1992; “Saudi F-15s to get modified radars,” Defense Week, 21 September 1992. Earlier restrictions accepted by the Saudis included agreement not to base the aircraft at Tabuk, within striking range of Israel.

38. See Carl Conetta, Charles Knight and Lutz Unterseher, ‘Toward Defensive Restructuring in the Middle East,” Research Monograph, Project on Defense Alternatives, 1 February 1991. This is a classic example of the wholesale “exportation” of Western arms control concepts (that have not even been applied in the West!) without any sense of the path one must follow to get there.

39. Actual figures for the 16 states stretching from Egypt to Iran are:

1970
1985

Main battle tanks
2,980
17,509

Combat aircraft
1,081
2,980

Armored fighting vehicles
3,275
26,348

Military Helicopters
208
1,726

Data from the International Institute for Strategic Studies, The Military Balance (London: IISS, various years).

40. Robert Springborg, Mubarak’s Egypt: Fragmentation of the Political Order (Boulder: Westview Press, 1989), pp. 95–134; Robert Satloff, Army and Politics in Mubarak’s Egypt, Policy Papers, no. 10 (Washington: Washington Institute for Near East Policy, 1988).

41. ACDA, WMEAT 1990, p. 23. The summer 1992 initiative by President Bush also concentrated on nuclear weapons as the first step. FBIS, NES-92–138, 17 July 1992, p. 20.

42. FBIS, NES-92–180, 16 September 1992, pp. 28–29.

43. Schelling and Halperin, Strategy in Conflict, p. 2.

13
Can the Media Mediate? Mass-Mediated Diplomacy in the Middle East

Gabriel Weimann

I did my best to help by briefing die journalists on every shuttle on a ‘background” basis—meaning I could be identified only as a “senior officer.” Usually I invited them up to the conference area soon after we took off from one location to another. I rarely gave details of the actual negotiations, but I strove hard to explain accurately the issues … As the shuttles went on, my journalistic companions developed a vested interest in a successful outcome.

Henry Kissinger

The New Diplomacy and the Mass Media

"Diplomacy is as old as the hills” argues Merchant in his review of the history of modern diplomacy.¹ But during the twentieth century a new factor has shaped the face and functions of modern diplomacy: the mass media. In his introduction to the concept of “new public diplomacy,” Eban wrote:

Any discussion of changes in the diplomatic system must begin with the most potent and far-reaching transformation of all: the collapse of reticence and privacy in negotiation. The intrusion of the media into every phase and level of the negotiation process changes the whole spirit and nature of diplomacy. The modern negotiator cannot escape the duality of his role. He must transact business simultaneously with his negotiating partner and his own public opinion.²

In fact, the idea of open, public diplomacy was suggested by Woodrow Wilson in the first of his Fourteen Points, published in 1919. He argued that "diplomacy shall proceed always frankly and in the public view."³ In modern democracies, open diplomacy is ensured by two mechanisms: the submission of all agreements to the legislature for approval, and the constant coverage by the mass media. However, there is a constant conflict of interests between the diplomats and the journalists because what one seeks to conceal the other seeks to reveal. Diplomats argue that the extensive coverage may be very harmful for international negotiations: “The hard truth is that the total denial of privacy even in the early stages of a negotiation has made international agreement harder to obtain than ever in past history."⁴

Assisted by fast developing telecommunication technologies, satellites and computerized electronic networks, the news media can, and have reported every breaking conflict in any remote corner of the “global village,” as well as the attempts to negotiate its settlement. This created a new mode of diplomacy, a media-oriented diplomacy, and a new source of pressure on diplomats: the exposure to the cameras and consequently, to public opinion. This has resulted in a growing frustration among diplomats and politicians who have found the media involvement damaging the delicate work of diplomatic negotiations. Morgenthau expressed it very clearly:

To publicize such negotiations is tantamount to destroying or at least impairing the bargaining position of the parties in any future negotiations … It is for these reasons that in the free market, no seller will carry on public negotiations with a buyer; no landlord with a tenant; no politician with his fellow politicians. How then are we to expect that nations are willing to do what no private individual would think of doing?⁵

The critics of mass-mediated diplomacy highlight the advantages the public gains by keeping the negotiations as discrete as possible, arguing for “the right of the people not to know.” Furthermore, they question the quality of mass opinion. Walter Lippmann, for example, argued that mass opinion may be harming the complex art of international diplomacy which should be left to the mature judgment, professional skills and specialized knowledge of those trained for this art:

Public opinion compels governments which usually know what should be wiser or more necessary or more expedient to be too late or too long with too much, too pacifist or too bellicose in war, too appeasing in negotiation or too intransigent. Mass opinion has a growing power in this country but it has shown itself to be a dangerous master of decisions when the stakes are life and death.⁶

If public opinion sometimes leads diplomatic negotiations astray against the better judgment of the professional negotiators, the inevitable conclusion may be to limit the public access to the diplomatic process by restraining media access, at least at certain crucial stages of bargaining. As Eban suggested: “One method of defusing the anticipated anxiety of public opinion is to delay disclosure of commitments until there is a good chance of getting public acceptance of them."⁷ Yet, this option challenges basic principles of the democratic system, and leads to a series of questions on who will decide about the needs of secrecy and discretion and when to apply them. Henry Kissinger, known for his own use of mass media tactics, noted this dilemma: “To what extent must a national leader follow his conscience and judgment, and at what point should he submit to a public mood, however disastrous for the nation or the peace of the world he considers it to be? The question admits of no abstract answers. The extreme cases are easy. The dilemmas arise in the grey area where the national consensus is itself vague and likely to lead to a debacle."⁸

However, while debating the issue of limited media access, the functions of the media in terms of confidence building during political and diplomatic negotiations are often overlooked. Communication scholars have documented various ways in which the media can contribute to bridging political gaps by serving as mediators, monitoring the process, creating a public pressure for solutions, promoting confidence among the sides involved, and celebrating in a ceremonial way the public commitments for peaceful conflict resolution and its conclusion. In his book on Mass Communication and Conflict Resolution, Davison reviews various functions and contributions of the mass media and concludes: “Surprisingly little thought has been given to the positive functions that mass communication might play in connection with these processes, although the negative implications of publicity have been dealt with extensively."⁹

In the literature on confidence building there are some acknowledgments of the importance of the media, but little systematic examination of the various aspects of the media’s involvement. Let me propose a model of potential functions and dysfunctions of media coverage, using both a systematic model as well as illustrative examples. Such a model will lead us to examine instrumental and practical suggestions and options for the role of mass media in diplomatic resolution of international conflicts in general, and confidence building in the Middle East in particular.

Functions and Dysfunctions of Mass-Mediated Diplomacy

The process of confidence building and conflict resolution are commonly perceived as consisting of several stages. When examining the role and contributions of the mass media to these processes, one must make a clear distinction among the various stages as they involve different media functions and dysfunctions.¹⁰ These stages include:

Stage 1. Setting the Stage: This is the entry stage that involves initial contacts between the disputing parties (or with a mediator), and building initial confidence and credibility.

Stage 2. Identifying the Issues: At this stage, both sides indicate their guiding principles and determine the priority of issues on their agenda.

Stage 3. Bargaining and Negotiating: Interest-based bargaining involves assessing how these interests can be met by available options, and assessing the costs and benefits of various options.

Stage 4. Reaching an Agreement This is the stage of achieving agreement regarding various aspects of its actualization, including procedural steps to operationalize the agreement.

Stage 5. Ratification and Anchorage: This is the ceremonial, formal stage that often involves the approval of legislation bodies, and includes international endorsement as well as formal commitment-inducing procedures.

In each of the stages, the mass media’s presence and coverage may have important effects, negative and positive. Table 13.1 presents the various functions and dysfunctions according to the stage of the negotiation process. A brief explanation of the suggested effects follows the table, using examples from the history of the Middle East conflict.

The Functions of Media Involvement

At the “setting the stage” phase, the media may play a very important role. First, the media may serve as the initiator of the process, suggesting the option of peaceful resolution or direct negotiations. As Davison notes:

A major function of communications in activating one of the mechanisms for peaceful solutions is to issue reminders that these mechanisms are available, that they have been used successfully in the past, and that they might be applicable in the present. While diplomats and politicians already are aware of the availability of various avenues for settling disputes, reminders from the mass media will make it more likely that they will be explored.¹¹

If not the original initiators, the media may speed up the process of setting the stage: the American media dictated the rapid pace of events before and during Sadat’s visit to Jerusalem. Even on his way to Israel, Sadat was interviewed by the leading anchors of American television (Walter Cronkite, John Chancellor, and Barbara Walters), all invited by Sadat to join him for the flight to Israel. Even before the plane landed, the diplomatic dialogue had begun via the microphones of the American television networks. A more recent example is Rabin’s announcements following his victory in the Israeli elections of June 1992. A day after the elections, Rabin used the media to inform the world of his plans to freeze the Israeli settlements in the occupied territories and to establish autonomy for the West Bank Palestinians (within eight months). These announcements were warmly welcomed by Arab leaders, American officials and most Palestinians. On the day he introduced his cabinet in the Israeli Knesset, Rabin made another confidence building gesture: he invited any Arab leader to come to Jerusalem and expressed his willingness to go ("today or tomorrow") to any Arab capital, for peace negotiations. A week later, Rabin was invited to Cairo as the guest of the Egyptian President Mubarak, who refused to invite the former Israeli leader, Shamir.

Table 13.1 Functions and Dysfunctions of Mass-Mediated Diplomacy

STAGE
FUNCTIONS
DYSFUNCTIONS

Setting the stage

initiation

mobilization

ceremonial start

premature exposure

overheat

Identifying the issues

expressing expectations

mutual learning of expectations

overload

extreme opening positions

distortion

Bargaining and negotiating

mediation

persuasion

monitoring

overexposure

dramatization

“performances”

Reaching an agreement

pressure

“prestige-conferral”

face-saving

revealing the “prices”

Ratification and anchorage

ceremonial sealing

public commitment

reassurance

Misinterpretations

Backfire

A latent, but important, function of the media at this stage is its ceremonial role. Elihu Katz introduced the term “media events,” referring to the “high holidays” of the media, events that are broadcast live to huge audiences worldwide.¹² Classified as media events were such events as the moon landing, John F. Kennedy’s funeral, the royal wedding in England, the Pope’s first visit to Poland, the World Olympics and Sadat’s visit to Jerusalem.¹³ Katz, Dayan and Motyl studied Sadat’s visit as a media event, arguing that “Sadat’s arrival in Jerusalem and most of his activities during the visit were televised live to Israel, Egypt, and much of the West, placing this event alongside the handful of other events that have electrified the world."¹⁴ As in other media events, the media were not only covering the story but performing the priestly role of master of ceremonies as well; creating a unique “sense of occasion,” a special atmosphere of historical event and emotional highlight.

The ceremonial, historical atmosphere of a media event not only galvanizes public opinion, it also affects the political leaders and the negotiators. The charged, emotional and ceremonial coverage transcends the formal procedures and cultivates oneness and vision. In the case of Sadat and Begin, it appears that the media event’s message of “the making of history” affected the negotiators:

We believe that the two leaders experienced a sense of liberation, a freedom of action that released them, at least briefly, from the control of their bureaucracies, their political parties, and their traditional reference groups. There is evidence that both Begin and Sadat went beyond the boundaries that their foreign ministries would have permitted them … We suggest that the occasion was so electric, the opportunity so historic, the messianic mood so pervasive that Begin and Sadat could act as they did … The consciousness of being live on television, acting as principles in a world drama, had something to do with their iconoclasm.¹⁵

The crucial buildup of trust, familiarity and confidence among the peoples and the negotiators is another function of the media, carried from its ceremonial role at the opening of negotiation throughout the following stages. Stagger in his Psychological Aspects of International Conflict, highlighted the psychological barriers involved in negotiation that can lead to a “dialogue of the deaf,” when the partners are not sufficiently informed about each other’s needs and expectations.¹⁶ The exchange of information at the “identification of issues” stage is often carried out by the media either by reporting the parties needs and priorities or, even more significantly, by the published interpretation and analysis. If each side in a dispute is willing to acknowledge publicly, in both its own media and in the international media, that it understands the position of the other side, even while neither accepting nor sharing it, confidence is likely to be facilitated. This is the finding of a study on the India-Pakistan territorial conflict in 1965.¹⁷ An analysis of editorials in the elite newspapers of India and Pakistan revealed that both sides acknowledged publicly the opponent’s position and this acknowledgment resulted in more efficient and rapid dialogue between the two nations. This informational role of the media is more crucial when the two parties have no channels of communication between them. In the Middle East all the countries involved in the conflict address each other through the media. They exchange signals and information through their own media systems or international channels. Edward R. Morrow’s parallel interviews with Nasser and Ben-Gurion, or Walter Cronkite’s interviews with Sadat and Begin are good examples of such an exchange.¹⁸

During the negotiations and bargaining stage the mass media can contribute to the process in various ways. One of them is the flow of information and signals; informal acceptance or rejection of proposals without a formal, direct acknowledgment. This mode of indirect communication among the negotiators may eventually facilitate incremental convergence, and development of consensual formulas and compromises. Davison highlighted the informational role of the media at the negotiation stage: “Mass communication channels can help to ensure that all parties to a negotiation, or a conflict, have as large a pool of shared information as possible… On occasion, the press may be able to bring to the attention of the mediator useful items of information he would not otherwise know about."¹⁹

The use of mass media as channels of communication involves the leaders as well as their constituencies. Figure 13.1 illustrates a relatively simple case of two nations and, yet, many complex communication patterns emerge.²⁰

A common focus is on the leader-to-leader communication, but the media may be activated for other links as well. One of the important functions of the media in confidence building is to provide a channel of communication between leaders and the people of the other nations over the heads of their leaders (for example, leader A to constituency B). Katz and his colleagues argue that Sadat used the media to speak directly to the Israeli public and create a liaison that established trust and even admiration. Moreover, they argue that this could be a tactical move by Begin: “One can argue that Begin invited Sadat to come to Israel to talk over Begin’s head in order to persuade Israelis to release their leader from the hard line he traditionally followed."²¹ In a similar vein, Munir Nasser observed that Sadat was talking primarily to the American public over the heads of both Israelis and President Carter.²² After Sadat’s trip to Israel, pollster Louis Harris confirmed that Sadat’s popularity among Americans had risen dramatically. Harris said he had never seen such a remarkable surge upward, virtually overnight.²³

The media also contribute to the interconstituency communication. They allow the audiences in each country to have a closer look at their former enemy, and even create sympathy. Following Sadat’s visit, teams of Israeli and Egyptian reporters were allowed, for the first time, to visit each other’s country. The result was a flood of positive reports that introduced the human side of each nation, the “man in the street” and his desire for peace. Israelis and Egyptians were introduced to each other through the mass media. The importance of mutual trust and confidence building should not be overlooked: several studies have emphasized the significant role played by interstate confidence in general, and in the Middle East in particular.²⁴ The mass-mediated images of the parties that cross political boundaries and historical animosities can shape, build or destroy mutual confidence, both at the leadership and the public levels.

Figure 13.1 Communication Channels in Interstate Relations

Finally, the media have important functions at the ratification and anchorage stage. Again, the ceremonial contribution of the media has political significance: the public commitment of the leaders involved in the negotiations (and often a third party) serves as a ceremonial commitment-inducing procedure, and serves to enhance international legitimacy and public support. In fact, the media coverage, heightening the historical value of the event makes the formal ratification almost unnecessary. The mass-mediated signing of the agreement creates a powerful mobilization of public opinion. The signing of the Camp David accords in Washington, 17 September 1978, was a media event, staged for the media and orchestrated by the media. In front of reporters, cameras and microphones, all linked to global communication networks and satellites, the three leaders, Carter, Sadat and Begin signed the agreement. They shook hands and embraced, each positioning for the media in gestures that had powerful messages. The pictures, brought live to millions all over the world, spoke more than a thousand words and formalized the peace agreement more than its many articles and legal formulations: “Agreements, once reached, are more likely to be observed and remembered if the press is able to keep attention focused on them."²⁵

The Dysfunctions of Media Involvement

The contributions of the mass media to interstate negotiations have been frequently overshadowed by the harm caused by such “open diplomacy.” Abba Eban argued that the basic need for some discretion in this process requires the exclusion of public (i.e., mass media) access:

The exclusion of the public from negotiation is not an absolute principle of diplomacy, but it is reasonable to regret the total eclipse of secrecy. There has hardly been a success for international conciliation in our time without the option of secrecy having been used at a crucial stage of the negotiation process. Many breakthroughs in conciliation would have been impossible if the negotiators had not found at least temporary shelter from public scrutiny.²⁶

Very often the competitive, charged atmosphere of news-making leads to an “overheated” coverage that focuses on dramatic features, and may lead to extreme reactions, ranging from anxiety and fear to overjoy and unrealistic expectations. The emotional coverage prior to Sadat’s landing and during his visit in Israel swept the nation with thrill, fear, suspicions, and happiness. The Israeli media cited “military intelligence sources” who expressed suspicions that Sadat’s visit may be a “tricky move.” A controversial statement was released in the name of the chief of staff of the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF), Mordechai Gur. It noted the possibility that Sadat’s intended visit might be a ploy to divert Israeli attention from the extensive Egyptian maneuvers which were taking place at the time, and even a potential Egyptian attack. The Israeli press was involved in a heated debate about the possibility of deception, while thrilled with the idea of the visit itself.

The historical visit of Sadat, followed by Begin’s visit to Ismailia, Egypt, did become stunning, global media events. Yet, in terms of political negotiations, not much progress was achieved. In his Diplomacy of Surprise, Michael Handel reviews the declarations and publicized positions that made both sides suspicious and wary.²⁷ He reminds us how the Israelis were alarmed by media quotations from past declarations and interviews, including Sadat’s interview with James Reston of the New York Times:

Reston: Will the Arabs be prepared to recognize Israel as a state?

Sadat:  What we are prepared to do is specified in the Security Council resolution. Do not ask me to establish diplomatic relations with them; that will never happen.

Reston:  Never?

Sadat:  Never.

Reston:  Even if you are able to solve the problem of withdrawal to the pre-June 5th borders?

Sadat:  Never, never, never!²⁸

The “open diplomacy” that followed the first visit yielded no political fruits. It illustrated the problems associated with mass-mediated presentation of issues: overload, extremism, and distortion. In fact, the frustration of President Carter from the futile open diplomacy led him to invite Sadat and Begin to the presidential vacation facilities at Camp David, Maryland in July 1978. The participants were confined to the strictly guarded wooded retreat, proceedings were secret, and the media were excluded.

During the bargaining and negotiations, media exposure may exert a pressure on the negotiators to show “performances” and thus prevent the necessary concessions and compromises. Moreover, the need for drama and “action,” often result in overdramatized coverage of the negotiations and a search for “crisis,” “conflicts,” and “disagreements."²⁹ The thirteen days of bargaining at Camp David were evidently days of disagreements, crises, arguments, threats, and clashes (between and within the parties), documented in the memoirs published by the negotiators. For example, Carter described a clash with Begin: “He was angry and so was I” and “I became angry and almost shouted.”³⁰ American officials referred to the “rollercoaster” atmosphere at Camp David, with ups and downs, and moods of euphoria followed by severe depression.³¹ At one point in the process, Sadat, exasperated by Begin’s uncompromising stand, packed his bags and told Cyrus Vance of his decision to leave. And yet, despite the sometimes harsh exchanges of threats and dissatisfactions, the media were not informed about it and consequently the public was unaware of the difficulties until the agreement was announced.³² Later, the two parties acknowledged the mediating contribution of President Carter: at the signing of the accords, Begin told the worldwide audience that “President Carter worked, as far as my knowledge of history is concerned, I think that he worked harder than our forefathers did in Egypt, building the pyramids."

Once an agreement is achieved, media coverage and especially publicized interpretations may threaten its public acceptance and support. The reports reveal and emphasize the “prices” or the concessions, igniting the opposition from within and/or the counterpressures of other nations or parties. The threat of backfire is more evident when the reports are misinterpreting the actual agreements prior to a detailed and cautious presentation by the negotiators. Eban examines the threat of misinterpretation:

If the media force diplomats to reveal their concessions before explaining the advantages for which they are made, they virtually ensure that prospects of peace will be lost in waves of domestic antagonism. The desire of diplomats to delay revealing their negotiations until full results are known serves die human cause more than the ambition of journalists to put everything on immediate record.³³

Some Practical Implications

Given the constraints under which commercial media currently operate, there appear to be several courses of action that might enable them to make a greater contribution to confidence building in general, and in the Middle East in particular. These suggested methods are based on past experience, communication theories and research, the revealed complexity of media functions and dysfunctions, and their variance across the stages of the negotiation process.

Recognizing the Media’s Role in Confidence Building

Data on mass media consumption in the Middle East (see Appendix A on the exposure to press in Middle Eastern nations) reveal the size of the audiences exposed. In most Arab countries the main sources of news are the press, radio, and television.³⁴ Television is ranked as the most important source, followed by radio and press. But in Lebanon, where literacy is high, television ranks third behind newspapers and radio.³⁵ Surveys also revealed a high exposure to foreign radio stations such as the BBC, the Voice of America (VOA), and Arab stations from other countries (see Appendix B). The Israelis are heavy consumers of the mass media: about 85 percent of the Israelis read at least one newspaper every day (a third of them read two or more dailies), and about the same percentage reported watching the daily television news bulletin ("Mabat") and listening to at least one news broadcast on the radio.³⁶

A “Stepwise Campdavidization”

By “Campdavidization” I mean a controlled access of the media, dependent upon the stage of negotiations. As the media’s ceremonial role is crucial for the early “setting the stage” phase, it appears advisable that the opening stage should turn into media event. This may enhance prestige and build confidence, publicize commitments to peaceful solution, and promote the “sense of occasion” that may lead the public and the negotiators toward more reconciliatory atmosphere. The next stage involves the identification of the issues. Not only can media analysis and interpretation not be denied, but the mass media also serve as a prenegotiations instrument of mutual learning and exchange of information.

A different mode of operation is suggested for the bargaining and negotiation stage. At this phase, scholars of diplomacy and negotiations would agree with Eban’s conclusion:

In some cases, such as the Austrian State Treaty and Trieste, the privacy was secured by abstention from spectacular summit diplomacy, leaving the agreements to be hammered out by patient diplomacy conducted by skilled ambassadors. In others, such as the Egyptian-Israeli agreements at Camp David, a measure of secrecy was obtained by ensuring physical seclusion. President Carter simply extended an invitation to the negotiating parties and withheld it from representatives of the media, who could do little more than congregate below the hilltop whiling away the hours in apprehensive speculation.³⁷

The parties in the Middle East experienced several attempts to negotiate solutions to the conflict. All of them, except the Camp David negotiations, were conducted with full media presence and coverage. None of them, except the Camp David negotiations, yielded a settlement or agreement. Even while these lines are being written, the series of Middle East peace conferences which started in Madrid in 1991 are suffering from overextensive media coverage.³⁸ The negotiators are constantly interviewed, before and after every meeting, and are unable to conduct a fruitful dialogue with the total media scrutiny of every move, statement and remark. It stands in sharp contrast with the special conciliatory atmosphere of Camp David, as described by Blitzer: “The informal, relaxed atmosphere was conductive to the development of as much personal contact between the Israeli and Egyptian officials as possible. It enabled them to explore as many options as could be devised during the talks, on the spot, or beforehand."³⁹

Once an agreement has been achieved, the media’s presence is again highly functional. It will act as “prestige-conferral” mechanism, as a mobilizer of international recognition and support, and as a forum for public presentation, discussion and even debate on the agreement. The media may provide the stage for both ceremonial sealing as well as public debate and interpretation. The “Stepwise Campdavidization” is not suggesting censorship of any kind. It does suggest, however, limiting media access at one critical and fragile stage, the delicate work of bargaining.

Training Journalists and Diplomats

In what may seem to more sceptical students of confidence building as a naive approach, Davison suggests educating journalists to increase their contribution to interstate understanding. He argues that such journalism education may improve the quality of reporting conflict resolution:

Commercial mass communication could be influenced more directly through the education of journalists. Journalism education is here used to mean not only study in journalism schools but also the many formal and informal processes through which reporters, editors, and executives at all stages of their careers develop new ideas and explore new possibilities … Journalism education can make those in the profession more widely acquainted with research on ways mass communications can work for or against international understanding.⁴⁰

Empirical evidence presented to journalists may serve to illustrate convincingly to them the impact of their coverage on the prospects for peace. For example, in a study of the press reports on the Berlin and Cuba crises in 1961, Gould found that the press linked these issues to each other, and even linked them to the American presence in Turkey and Italy. This “conspiracy theory” suggested by the press resulted in a growing sense of crisis in the public and a lower international trust.⁴¹ A study of editorials in the London press found that the reporters and editors were not aware of the full range of possibilities for a peaceful resolution of an international conflict.⁴² Greater awareness of the possibilities on the part of reporters and editors might make a difference in the form and content of their coverage.

Empirical Research

Conflict resolution has been extensively studied. The Middle East conflict and Arab-Israeli peace negotiations provided scholars and researchers with rich databases and cases to test their theories. These studies usually highlighted the distinctiveness of the Arab-Israeli conflict even when compared to other conflicts in the Middle East.⁴³ And yet, little attention has been paid to the empirical study of the role of the mass media in the Middle East peace processes and peace stabilization. In a conference held in Jerusalem in 1989 on future direction in media research, several scholars called for what they termed “start-to-finish” research, or “research that begins with the producers and journalists of the news, continues with the product they manufacture, and terminates with the audience."⁴⁴

Recent research may illustrate the potential and direction for such work in the area of conflicts and the media.⁴⁵ It integrated two research strategies required for policy-making regarding the media, the public and the peace process: (a) monitoring the media coverage; and (b) studying its effects on the public, the negotiators and the outcomes.

Monitoring media coverage. The sociological literature refers to three central dimensions of conflicts: their complexity, intensity and solvability. Cohen, Adoni and Bantz applied a content analysis of the television coverage of social conflicts in five countries (United States, the Federal Republic of Germany, Israel, South Africa and the United Kingdom). They found that coverage was not emphasizing solvability, but in fact the contrary. The television news in all five countries tended to present a very pessimistic view of the conflicts’ solvability. In terms of call for resolution, the most frequent theme was “nobody calls for resolution” (58.7percent of the total sample). The state of negotiations was most frequently presented as “none taking place” (59.4 percent), the “willingness to compromise was most often suggested as “nonexistent” (83 percent), and the outcome of the conflict was mostly presented as “no results” (81.7 percent).

Studying the effects of coverage. The analysis of the media coverage should be related to the effects on the public’s attitudes, perceptions and confidence. For a longitudinal analysis, a series of surveys timed according to the stages of the process could yield a useful database. Its analysis, through procedures such as time-series analysis, should relate measures of coverage to changes or stability in the public’s attitudes. This strategy can provide accurate measurement of media’s contribution to dependent variables such as confidence, optimism, reconciliatory attitudes, images of the other party, and interstate trust. The numerous studies which documented the media’s power in creating, shaping and changing public images should encourage such research strategy.⁴⁶ Cohen, Adoni and Bantz found evidence supporting the impact of television presentations on the public perceptions in the specific domain of conflicts. They used surveys in the five countries they studied to examine individual perceptions regarding the conflicts and then related these perceptions to consumption of mass media news. This method can be applied to more specific conflicts, and can provide the strategy for the long awaited “start-to-finish” research in the area of mass media and conflict resolution.

… And Some Obstacles

There are, however, some serious obstacles which may limit the contribution of the mass media to the confidence building process. These obstacles include: (1) The nature of the “media environment” which is highly competitive, and charged by ratings, circulation, and advertising revenues. Any request to lower dramatization, to cool down the reports and to avoid tension buildup is likely to be confronted with the news values of an industry dominated by a tough competition. (2) The media in the Middle East: in most of the Middle Eastern nations, the media are not free. The level of governmental control varies across the countries but a total freedom of the press is scarce. Such control may confine the media’s role in this process to voice and disseminate the official perspective. (3) The self-perception of journalists as “gatekeepers": many journalists will see no reason to apply such value judgment as “contribution to confidence building” or “securing and stabilizing peace.” The implementation of such functions stand in sharp contrast with their concept of objective practices. (4) The nature of newsworthiness: the predictors of newsworthiness are favoring crisis, conflict, and clash over peace, understanding, and reconciliation.⁴⁷ When it comes to the peace process, disruptive events like conflicts, clashes, and crises will be more newsworthy than the routine, slow and difficult work of peacemaking. (5) Media manipulation: The media are often used by the negotiators’ parties as tools in the political bargaining. They may be manipulated, fed with disinformation or distorted reports and “leaks."

Conclusion

The developing theory and research on mass communication process and effects has not been systematically related to the area of international conflict resolution. This paper has presented a model to analyze the functions and dysfunctions of mass-mediated negotiations and has applied it to the Middle East conflict. The model’s demonstrated applicability and efficiency in the case of the Middle East conflict clearly indicates the importance of the mass media in every stage of confidence building and stabilization of peace in the age of “open diplomacy.” It should be acknowledged that the media can mediate but can also harm both the mediation and the process of confidence building among the leaders and the constituencies involved. Such recognition should put the media’s functions and dysfunctions in these processes on both scholarly and practical agendas.

Notes

1. Livingston Merchant, “New Techniques in Diplomacy,” in The Dimensions of Diplomacy, E.A.J. Johnson ed. (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1964), pp. 117–135.

2. Abba Eban, The New Diplomacy (New York: Random House, 1983), p. 345.

3. President Wilson attempted a tactical revision of his “open diplomacy” idea. Indeed, in a meeting with the Senate in 1918 he declared: “When I pronounced for open diplomacy I meant not that there should be no private discussion of delicate matters but that no secret agreement should be entered into and that all international relations when fixed should be open…"

4. Eban, The New Diplomacy, p. 347.

5. Hans J. Morgenthau, Politics Among Nations, Fifth Edition (New York: Knopf, 1978), p. 543.

6. Walter Lippmann, The Public Philosophy (Boston: Little and Brown, 1955), p. 20.

7. Eban, The New Diplomacy, p. 353.

8. Henry Kissinger, Years of Upheaval (Boston: Little and Brown, 1982), p. 45.

9. Phillips W. Davison, Mass Communication and Conflict Resolution (New York: Praeger, 1974), p. 41.

10. Various models of the negotiation process are presented in the collection edited by William I. Zartman, The Negotiation Process (Beverly Hills: Sage, 1978); See also L.N. Rangarajan, The Limitation of Conflict (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1985); and Christopher W. Moore, The Mediation Process (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 1986).

11. Davison, Mass Communication and Conflict Resolution, p. 41.

12. Elihu Katz, “Media Events: The Sense of Occasion,” Studies in Visual Anthropology 6 (1980), pp. 84–89; Elihu Katz and Daniel Dayan, “Media Events: On the Experience of Not Being There,” Religion 15 (1982). pp. 305–314; Daniel Dayan and Elihu Katz, Media Events: The Live Broadcasting of History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992). A classification of media events and their attributes is also provided by Gabriel Weimann, “Media Events: the Case of International Terrorism,” Journal of Broadcasting and Electronic Media 31 (1987), pp. 21–39.

13. President Sadat’s visit to Jerusalem was covered by unprecedented number of broadcasting and news organizations, mobilizing about 1,550 journalists, 580 from the United States alone. The live broadcasting of the entire visit was relayed to Israel, Egypt and the Western broadcasting organizations, which supplied their own commentaries and experts, and were hosted by Walter Cronkite (CBS), John Chancellor (NBC), and Barbara Walters (ABC). According to Dayan and Katz, the audiences to the broadcasts included almost all Israelis, about 3 million Arab viewers who watched the Israeli television from across the border, 50 million Arab radio listeners and 30 million American viewers.

14. Elihu Katz, Daniel Dayan and Pierre Motyl, ‘Television Diplomacy: Sadat in Jerusalem,” in World Communications: A Handbook, G. Gerbner and Marsha Siefert eds. (New York: Longman, 1983), pp. 127–136.

15. Ibid., p. 134.

16. Ross Stagger, Psychological Aspects of International Conflict (Belmont: Brooks and Cole, 1967), pp. 161–162.

17. Bhaskara N. Rao, Indo-pak Conflict: Controlled Mass Communication in Interstate Relations (New Delhi: S. Chand, 1972).

18. Katz, Dayan and Motyl, “Television Diplomacy: Sadat in Jerusalem", p. 130.

19. Davison, Mass Communication and Conflict Resolution, pp. 42–43.

20. Based on the twenty-eight-channel model devised by Harold Sprout and Margaret Sprout, Foundations of International Politics (Princeton: Van Nostrand, 1962). See also Phillips W. Davison, International Political Communication (New York: Praeger, 1965).

21. Katz, Dayan and Motyl, “Television Diplomacy: Sadat in Jerusalem", p. 130.

22. Munir Nasser, “Sadat’s Television Diplomacy: A Model of Media Manipulation,” unpublished manuscript, University of the Pacific at Stockton, 1979.

23. Wolf Blitzer, Between Washington and Jerusalem (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), p. 233.

24. For a review of these concepts, see David B. Dewitt, “Confidence and Security Building Measures in the Middle East: Is There a Role?", in Conflict Management in the Middle East, Gabriel Ben-Dor and David B. Dewitt, eds. (Lexington: Lexington Books, 1987), pp. 241–260.

25. Davison, Mass Communication and Conflict Resolution, p. 44.

26. Eban, The New Diplomacy, p. 353.

27. Michael Handel, The Diplomacy of Surprise: Hitler, Nixon, Sadat (Harvard: Center for International Affairs, 1981), pp. 241–297.

28. Quoted from the New York Times (28 December 1970).

29. Studies on “newsworthiness” or the factors that turn events into news have revealed the attraction to negative events, the dramatic and “unexpected” occurrences, the focus on prominent people and on conflicts. For example, see Johan Galtung and Mari H. Ruge, “The Structure of Foreign News,” in Media Sociology, J. Tunstall ed., (London: Constable, 1970), pp. 259–298.

30. Jimmy Carter, Keeping Faith; Memoirs of a President (New York: Bantam Books, 1982), p. 349 and p. 374.

31. Blitzer, Between Washington and Jerusalem, p. 222–223.

32. Thus supporting Abba Eban’s argument that “one method of defusing the anticipated anxiety of public opinion is to delay disclosure of commitments until there is a good chance of getting public acceptance of them,” The New Diplomacy, p. 353.

33. Ibid., p. 354.

34. William A. Rugh, The Arab Press (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1987).

35. Ibid., p. 151–152.

36. Rates based on the annual surveys conducted by the Israeli Advertisers’ Association (IAA) and published in Otot, the IAA’s monthly, 1991–1992.

37. Ibid., p. 353.

38. The ceremonial opening of the peace conference in Madrid, Spain, satisfied all the requisites of a media event, including live broadcasts, and the presence of kings, prime ministers and presidents. Yet, the negotiations themselves, complicated enough by the multitude of issues, parties and interests, were subjected to additional pressure: constant and instant media coverage. Some of the negotiators themselves complained about it: Benjamin Netanyahu, then the Israeli vice minster for foreign affairs, interrupted one reporter’s questions about “options and concessions” by his own question: “Do you really think we can negotiate this way, through the media?"

39. Blitzer, Between Washington and Jerusalem, p. 219.

40. Ibid., pp. 62–65.

41. Loyal N. Gould, The ENDC and the Press (Stockholm: Swedish International Peace Research Institute, 1969).

42. Alan Coddington, “Policies Advocated in Conflict Situations by British Newspapers,” Journal of Peace Research 4 (1965), pp. 36–48.

43. See for example Michael Brecher and Patrick James, “Crisis Management in the Arab-israeli Conflict,” in Conflict Management in the Middle East, Gabriel Ben Dor and David B. Dewitt, eds., pp. 3–28.

44. Akiba A. Cohen and Charles R. Bantz, “Where Did We Come From and Where Are We Going? Some Future Directions in Television News Research,” American Behavioral Scientist 33 (1989), pp. 135–143.

45. Akiba A. Cohen, Hanna Adoni and Charles R. Bantz, Social Conflict and Television News (Newbury Park: Sage, 1990). Data came from two waves of content analysis (in 1980 and 1984) of news programs in US networks (ABC, CBS and NBC), Israel (IBA), West Germany (ARD and ZDF), South Africa (SABC) and United Kingdom (BBC).

46. For detailed reviews of theories and findings on mass communication effects, see Don F. Roberts and C.M. Bachen, “Mass Communication Effects,” in Mass Communication Review Yearbook (1982), D.C. Whitney and E. Wartella, eds., pp. 29–78; and Elihu Katz, “On Conceptualizing Media Effects,” Studies in Communication 1 (1980), pp. 119–141.

47. Galtung and Ruge, “The Structure of Foreign News,” pp. 259–269.

Part Five
Reflections About Confidence Building in the Middle East

14
Towards a Confidence Transformational Dynamic

Howard Adelman

Introduction

Confidence building measures (CBMs) and confidence and security building measures (CSBMs) are conceptions born in the Cold War and carry with them the flavor of military hardware in their acronyms. The former are intended to avoid the inadvertent use of weapons of mass destruction because of misunderstandings and miscommunication about the actions of either of the contending parties in the Cold War. The installation of the telephone hot line between Washington and Moscow was an example of a CBM. CSBMs have a more positive connotation since they are directed towards replacing distrust with trust through human contacts and institutional practices that reduce the level of suspicion and replace it with practices that build mutual understanding. The Helsinki accords were an example of a CSBM. CBMs are measures adopted to reduce the risk that arms will be used by the structural-functional institutionalization of behavior. CSBMs refer to such practices as cultural exchanges which develop social contacts and encourage psychological changes.¹

CBMs and CSBMs have three common characteristics. Both are directed primarily at the leadership of conflicting states rather than the broader public. Both are premised on state/state or bloc/bloc conflict in which contending military forces face each other, measures presumably applicable to the Israeli/Egyptian or Israeli/Syrian conflicts rather than the intercommunal conflict between the Israelis and Palestinians.² CBMs and CSBMs also have a static connotation, not by ensuring a power balance is maintained through an ever escalating arms race, but by stabilizing a security regime and preventing inadvertent escalation. Instead of the Berlin Wall which divided the parties and shut them off from one another, engendering further suspicion and ignorance, CBMs and CSBMs build channels of communication to increase contacts and trust.

Though I will later return to the distinction between CBMs and CSBMs when I differentiate between idealist and sceptical realist settlement theorists, generally I will simply refer to both types of measures as confidence building measures or CBMs. Further, at a time when the secretary-general of the United Nations has called for far greater reliance on CBMs³, the thrust of this article will suggest that the focus of CBMs on interstate struggles, reinforcing the status quo and concentration on the attitudes of leaders and elites, make them less relevant to the majority of existing and developing conflicts which are largely interethnic and intercommunal.⁴

This article will set forth preconditions for developing a theoretical model of confidence transformational dynamics (CTDs) aimed at the broader public rather than just leadership elites, and intended for use in intercommunal as well as interstate conflicts. In cases of intercommunal conflict, where issues of mutual recognition of the legitimacy of the other are in question and when there are also disputes over territory, where we are concerned with the real ground of politics and not just the head space of either party, in situations where existential questions and turf wars are central to the conflict, engendering confidence is much more difficult and complicated than the position depicted by traditional CBM theorists.⁵ A CTD must be oriented to action and process to replace the relatively static character of CBMs.

My hope is that a depiction of fundamental preconditions for developing a confidence transformational dynamic aimed at the broader public and applicable to intercommunal and not just interstate conflicts, where legitimacy and territorial questions are at the heart of the dispute, will allow us to go on and develop the model of the dynamic itself which can be used not only in preventing the resort to force by substituting nonviolent modes of mediating disputes, but in assisting in transforming a relationship altogether as a precondition of mediation being effective in the first place.

Instrumental and Nonnative Rationality

CBM theory is dependent in its application on instrumental rationality and positivism.⁶ The focus has been on tools, measures, and rational instruments to prevent an outbreak of irrationality. The presumption is that the two opposing parties have a common goal—the prevention of the resort to violence, the establishment of better understanding and the willingness to develop common instruments to reach that goal.⁷ They may have different interests, so that instruments have to be adopted which, at the very least, do not threaten and, preferably, help advance those interests.

Both adversaries pursue competing interests; in the case of a strictly competitive situation, they evaluate the same consequences according to inverse series of preferences, no matter whether the value systems correspond or not… Those acting do not only wish to gain control technically over a specific field of events by means of scientific prediction, but also to gain control over situations of rational indeterminacy.⁸

There is a fundamental assumption about a common value behind CBMs to shelter CBM theorists from the hailstones of cynics who trot out geostrategic and geopolitical thunderbolts, and, in addition, insert the perfidy of the gods of war and the opposing myths that drive the warring factions. CBMs, at the very least, are underpinned by pragmatic presumptions. John Dewey⁹ asked, “What shall we do to make objects having value more secure in existence?” In addition to preventing the resort to violence as a goal, at the very least, there is a fundamental basic value shared by both parties—the self-interested desire to survive in a given situation by minimizing risk.

The parties may have different value systems, but at the very least they must share the common value of survival. In addition to seeking better understanding, there must also already be an understanding that both parties will keep their word, at least with respect to the confidence building measures themselves. In other words, both adversaries must share other values—honesty and integrity—which allow the differences to remain unchallenged and the interests to be advanced or at least not jeopardized. In sum, both parties must give priority to the value of survival as a goal and the values of honesty and integrity in achieving that goal.

The normative values and political interests of the rival parties were seen as immutable givens while common instruments were developed to pursue a mutually agreed upon goal, leaving values immune and, hopefully, fostering interests. Those instruments are objective processes which are neither affected nor affect the fundamentally different values of the two contending parties. There is an implied normative preference for instrumental rationality as the mode of advancing peace, thereby ruling out from participation in the process those who have a faith which fundamentally rejects the priority of instrumental rationality (religious fundamentalists and those who reject the legitimate right to exist of another way of life), those who would use instrumental calculation to serve self-interest and power ambitions without any agreed-upon value norms whatsoever (Saddam Hussein), and those whose interests are so divergent and contrary that any peace process would entail a negative result for either or both parties. If one or the other party become net losers in the process, the adoption of the measures of instrumental rationality are inapplicable.

Which instruments are to be adopted in advancing the cause of CBMs? Those which will be most effective and timely in advancing the goal of avoiding violent conflict while least likely to threaten the differential value systems or the divergent interests of the two contending parties. Thus, although instrumental rationality presumes that norms are culture bound and need not effèct cooperation between the conflicting parties in areas of mutual interest, such as the avoidance of the resort to violence to settle disputes, the whole process presumes a common value system not only based on the desire to survive and on communication norms of integrity and truth, but also on the belief that both parties have to adopt common operational norms (efficacy and timeliness).

Thus, CBM theorists require both contending parties to use instrumental rational devices and presume the contending parties share a basic desire to survive, rational communication norms and instrumental operational norms to implement the CBM strategy.

What are those tods to be directed towards? Convincing the other party that you are rational and do not intend to resort to instruments of mass destruction which will blow yourself and your enemy, as well as the ground on which you both live, to smithereens; convincing the other party that you are committed to the use of nonviolent means, which are intended to be put into effect, rather than the instruments of war to resolve conflict, including among those means the values of honesty and integrity as well as efficaciousness, at least with respect to the commitments about the CBMs. But there may be an additional message that a party engaging in adopting CBMs may wish to communicate or may believe is necessary to communicate—convincing the other that you are governed by goodwill. Commitment, rationality, even goodwill—the presumption is that these three are already present in a pure form and need only be communicated and maintained though rational instruments which are both effective and timely. In other words, a sphere of values is shared. Those values go beyond a shared goal in survival and shared communication and operational norms. They presume “enlightenment.” They presume commitment and moral rationality, which together add up to a goodwill, as a transcendental condition of engaging in CBM discourse at all. They presume membership in a common Kantian world.¹⁰

CBMs are based, at one and the same time, on an indifference to values, but also, at the very least, on the priority of instrumental rationality, a shared basic value attributed to survival, a presumption of shared communication and operational norms and, in the end, perhaps a Kantian goodwill which may or may not be recognized by all or most CBM theorists.

Ambiguities and Paradoxes

The Cold War presumed that the other party was governed by bad if not an evil will, that each will was committed to conquest or destruction of its rival and not mutual tolerance, and that the mind-set of the contending party was fundamentally different and, therefore, irrational. There is a separation of pure and applied reason, a separation of theoretical from practical reason and the latter from its presence and exhibition in the real world, and knowledge itself from commitment and that commitment from the tools necessary for its execution. Instrumental reason tacitly assumes committed reason but builds its premises as if reason, goodwill and commitment all belonged in one container which itself was divided into three separate compartments. The container had then been stored in a warehouse and forgotten while CBM theory proceeded on the normative assumption that technical procedures which reduced the risk of violence were not only desirable, but the essence of rationality. The theory frequently presumed goodwill and conveniently forgot this assumption. It also forgot the assumption that the Cold War had been premised on bad will governing the actions of the adversary.

CBM theory presumed a commitment to the use of nonviolent mechanisms to resolve disputes, but the Cold War had been premised on the assumption of a readiness to use violence and the communication of such readiness to the other party in order to make deterrence, based on the strategy of mutually assured destruction (MAD), credible in order to prevent the other party from resorting to the use of such instruments in the form of a first strike. The Cold War had been premised on the ultimate irrationality of the ideology of the rival power.

In other words, to begin to adopt the measures required by CBMs, at one and the same time, one had to forget the basic premises of the Cold War and presume their opposite, but then forget, or, at the very least, not allow the presumptions of goodwill, commitment and rationality on the part of the other party in the conflict to be exposed lest those assumptions undermine the credibility of using mutual deterrence. In effect, CBMs were the complements to the paradox of deterrence, a doctrine in the nuclear age based on communicating to one’s enemies the willingness and utility of utilizing nuclear weapons while recognizing all along that if they had to be used, they would be useless and had failed in their deterrent function. For their use was, at one and the same time, premised on the assumption that they would never be used, while one had to communicate a readiness to use them if their deterrence quality was to remain credible.

A fundamental illogic also underpinned CBMs. There was a presumption of goodwill, commitment and rationality on the part of the other party in a conflict situation premised on the bad will, commitment to violence and irrationality of the other party. Instrumental rationality in these extreme cases not only brackets normative considerations so that their critical examination does not disturb the faith in the progress of empirical science and its instrumental products, but operates in a schizophrenic manner as if the normative premises underlying the use of violent instruments were absolute and had one character, while the normative premises underlying the use of peaceful instruments were just as absolute, but of the opposite character.

The assumptions underlying CBM theory are summarized in Table 14.1.

The Three Schools

Theorists dealing with CBMs tend to divide themselves into three dispositional positions which correspond to three schools of decision theory concerning conflict negotiations: idealists, sceptical realists and cynical realists.

The idealists presume all parties in a conflict are capable of acting as morally rational agents. They assume that the contending parties are not governed primarily by the pursuit of wealth and power. In any case, wealth and power are not worth the risk of mutual destruction. Further, survival entails change and adaptability, and therefore a willingness to entertain a transformation of one’s own society, not reification of the status quo and the determination to preserve what one has. It is not a sociobiological imperative to survive of a Hobbesian sort which seems to be the most fundamental and basic value. Nor is it a conscious determination to hold onto one’s goods, power, or beliefs. Humans are essentially rational and moral creatures.

Although rationality and morality may be at the center as a necessary precondition of resolving conflicts, for idealist CBM theorists, the most important matters which require initial attention may be appearances, peripheral issues which affect the context, the attitudes, the style in which the negotiations are conducted. For appearances and impressions may prevent the underlying normative rationality of the contending parties from emerging. Appearance counts. Style may initially be given more emphasis than substance in the belief that, through style, credibility is developed. Overall performance to build credit, an intangible reserve that can be built up over time in order to serve as a cushion in the event of upcoming hard times, may be more important than any specific substantive change in policy or direction, for style creates confidence when the tough issues are encountered.

If everyone acted rationally as a morally autonomous agent, all parties in a conflict would be winners. For idealist CBM theorists, a confidence building measure is an action which is both positive and not a disadvantage to either side. Positive-sum game strategies take the parties from a zero-sum framework (detente and mutual deterrence based on MAD in the Cold War context), or even a negative-sum strategy (the escalation of the arms race), and try to place the parties in a positive-sum framework.¹¹ The effort is placed on developing alternative, parallel developments which will fit into a positive-sum game scenario to displace the current prevailing strategies.

Table 14.1 CBM Assumptions

Values
Goals
Tools

}
survival
avoid violence
reason

}

Rationality
}
integrity and honesty
understanding
communication

}

norms

}

}
efficacy and timeliness

operational norms

Will

commitment of at least a modicum of goodwill versus: bad will, bad faith and irrationality

Strong positive-sum strategies are founded on developing mutual trust between the contending parties in the conflict through contacts and exchanges that initially side step the central issues in the conflict. When there is a sufficient degree of such trust, then institutional mechanisms can be put in place to restrain behavior, further reduce fear and reinforce trust.

The much more modest positive-sum strategy of the sceptical realist school tries to develop an institutionalized impartial system of constraints on all parties as they pursue their individual self-interest so that the rules of the game are developed, penalties and incentives put in place and institutional arbitrators assigned to perform roles that, in the best situation, discourage the parties from resorting to negative-sum games by the clear constraints on the parties if they do resort to such destructive behavior.

For sceptical realists, what counts is not style, but how the antagonist will perform when “push comes to shove” and what constraints on irrational responses will be in place. For the sceptical realist dealing with confidence building measures, the underlying geopolitical and geostrategic constants will come to the fore during a crisis, but what counts is the institutionalized constraints put in place to control and limit behavior during the bad times. Confidence building is not about the subjective feeling of trust but about the objective conditions that engender trust, that is, controlling the factors which produce legitimate fear, both the underlying unchanging realities and the rules or norms according to which the conflict is waged. Confidence building is not about building credit during the good times, but preparing for instability when it inevitably rears its ugly head.

A constrained maximizer is ready to cooperate in ways that, if followed by all, would yield outcomes that she would find beneficial and not unfair, and she does cooperate should she expect an actual practice to be beneficial. In determining the latter, she must take into account the possibility that some persons will fail, or refuse, to act cooperatively.¹²

For constrained maximizers, it is reasonable to cooperate in arrangements that do not meet the standard of full rationality and fairness. The actions of a constrained maximizer are based on a calculation of the strategies others are expected to employ rather than what is desirably ideal.

The initial goal of the CBM sceptical school is simply to avoid outcomes unfavorable to either party. In other words, there cannot be losers. You may stay even or preferably gain, but neither party must or need suffer a loss. Sceptical realist CBM theorists try to create positive-sum games and deal with issues which are of mutual benefit and matters of enlightened self-interest to both antagonists. Sceptical realists seek to transform the game from a zero-sum game into a positive-sum one, even if the positivity envisioned is somewhat modest compared to the idealists.

In the modest effort to transform a zero-sum strategy, the effort is made to moderate fear of the other with institutional constraints that mitigate but do not reduce the fear, and, at the same time, provide subjective trust with an objective reference. One party is not asked or expected to trust the other. Rather each party is asked to vest a degree of trust in the system itself which is structured so that it pays neither party, acting in its own self-interest, to breach the constraints. The fear of the other is only reduced to the degree mediating objective constraints are put in place to provide a solid basis for trust.

If there is no communication, even in areas where there is no conflict of interest, the contending parties will each try to maximize differences in their favor rather than maximize the results.¹³ To engage in collaboration that would lead to better results for both parties, rather than the efforts to continually maximize results in favor of oneself, requires communication. Communication is the key to managing conflict.¹⁴

A sceptical realist envisages the contending parties, through communication, changing the rules of their conflict. They believe negotiations can put in place constraints to prevent a negative-sum game (wherein both parties are losers, but the winner loses the least). For Pareto optimal results under mutually agreed constraints, at least one contender would be better off without any damage to the position of the other. More technically, under conditions of Pareto-optimality, the contenders would obtain a security level at a status quo point (which the contending parties can be respectively sure of obtaining) and there is no better position that the contending parties could jointly achieve or there is no better position which all potential contenders could achieve individually taking into account the bargaining positions of the individual contenders.¹⁵

Pareto-optimization has been applied to traditional balance-of-power strategic thinking, on the assumption that no positive gain can be made, but that the “best” solution is one where neither contender can get a larger payoff than by establishing a balance such as that presumed in deterrence theory. The balance-of-power Pareto-optimality has been criticized by those favoring theories of conflict resolution rather than theories of strategic conflict, not by criticizing Pareto-optimality, but by arguing that Pareto-optimality is best achieved by some settlement of the conflict rather than a balance of power. This is because the balance of power is inherently unstable (particularly in the nuclear age which has little tolerance for perturbations) and because that balance of power serves only the interests of the powerful elites and not the populations which they rule. Settlement theorists argue that the balance of power does not approach Pareto-optimality. Only a reasonable settlement rather than a power-enforced settlement or establishment of a balance can approach Pareto-optimality given the diversity of actors (specifically, the potential for proliferation and the participation of rogue states or players).

Settlement theory is fundamentally either a form of game theory with two or more agents who do not belong to a common world of reason but are driven by different goals except that they have the ability to communicate with and, therefore, influence one another. Alternatively, settlement theorists of Pareto-optimality (the idealists) presume the contenders will be governed by a “higher rationality” wherein each contender’s action is governed by a Kantian categorical imperative to act in such a way that if everyone acted in that way, it would serve each parties interest.¹⁶

In the theory of peace negotiations, both schools of thought believe in normative constraints to action. They differ in the roots and function of those constraints. In the idealist CBM school, the constraints are inherent to oneself as a human and the function of the constraints is to achieve Pareto-maximization by a settlement rather than a conflictual strategy.

In contractarian theory of the neo-Hobbesian variety, Pareto-optimization is based on less than the ideal. But without moral constraints the reality is that both will be losers; the greater loser will lose much less than if that party chooses to operate within the normative constraints, and is more likely to gain. The object of peace negotiations is to translate a negative-sum game into a process of Pareto-maximization by accepting the reality of unchanging conflicts and altering the rule constraints under which the conflict takes place. But the region of Pareto-maximization is much more restricted than it is for the idealist school. By convincing the contending parties that each has more to gain from reducing the level of conflict than from the status quo or the escalation of the conflict, a settlement can be reached.¹⁷

To achieve Pareto-optimality where constraints must also be put in place and where what is considered optimal will vary with the constraints introduced,¹⁸ requires unanimous consent. Thus, although the region of Pareto-optimality will be much more restricted than that envisaged by the idealist advocates of CBM theory,¹⁹ there is a utopian assumption underlying the sceptical realist position as well as the idealist one.

To put it more bluntly and crassly, the foundation for CBMs is a lie, perhaps a noble lie in Platonic terms, but a lie nevertheless. More politely, to work, CBMs require John Rawls’ assumption of a “veil of ignorance,” even if Rawls would not depict that veil in quite the same way as the sceptical realists would.²⁰

Is discourse rooted in a common morality or is discourse rooted in self-interested actors in conflictual situations who are forced to interact in resolving the basic prisoner’s dilemma with which they start? Or is a third alternative more basic—that individuals and societies in interaction can best be understood in terms of differential power relations and through strategic thinking and the best that can be achieved is a balance of power on the basis of conflict strategy theory?

The various rational strategies for peace negotiations depend on the same affects—fear and trust—but they play different roles. The negative-sum scenario presumes that the self-interest and power ambitions of both parties are primary. The balance of fear of the other and trust in your own capacities guides the rational calculus. Trust in the other and activities which reduce self-confidence are misguided.

Those pessimistic about the utility of CBMs need only dèpict the geostrategic and geopolitical realities and changing circumstances that make the employment of CBMs appear to be utopian dreams or grave risks in the face of fundamentally conflicting interests. The cynical realists believe that the conflict is over only when it is over and one of the parties has clearly lost and is no longer in the game. The point of the game, of which peace negotiations are but a part, is to make sure your side loses less than the other side during the conflict so that when the other party goes broke or surrenders or quits the field and there is no longer conflict or competition, your own party is free to make positive gains. In other words, peace negotiations are merely an aspect of a negative-sum game; the moral constraints are either alternative tools in the same game or they are constraints which allow the other party to be defeated without having the players destroyed at the same time.

Negative-sum strategies presume that peace negotiations are merely an aspect of the conflict. Diplomacy is simply war fought with other instruments. For example, if the other side is induced to recognize the principle of human rights, not because they believe in human rights, but as a condition for benefiting economically, at the very least the other side will be subject to embarrassment because of its hypocritical behavior, and/or the totalitarian hold of the state will be weakened to the degree even limited human rights are permitted; the stranglehold of the state, on which its success depends, will be critically weakened. But it is a mistake to deceive oneself that such moves mean that the game is dramatically different and that both parties can come out winners. In peace negotiations, war and conflict remain the primary reality.

For the cynical realists there are no constraints that any third party can introduce to control bad behavior in a time of crisis, in part because the bad behavior is a constant part of the equation in those segments on the other side who are intractable enemies regardless of any credit built up or any international constraints put in place. International constraints are ephemeral; there is no self-interest to take the risks to enforce them in a crisis. The confidence and security for a party to a conflict can only be found in the security the party finds and builds for himself. Everything else is a chimera. Therefore, negotiations between parties are fine, but the only results that can be applauded are ones which strengthen your own security.

Without envisaging an ideal, utopian rational unity all humans or even changes in the rules of the conflict, the cynical pessimists could simply depict the heritage and practices of unscrupulousness and perfidy on the part of the leadership of one or several of the opposing forces. The cynicism is reinforces by an analysis of the extremist convictions of oppositional factions who are immune to rational instrumental appeals, the fanatics in the opposite camp who always had the power to dictate the agenda and undermine goodwill and commitment at the very least. The cynical pessimists then go on to suggest that the so-called moderates are fronts, willing or unwilling dupes or Machiavellian masters, using their own contrast with fanatics as a ruse to manipulate public opinion and the rest of the world while they, in fact, utilize these fanatics to advance their own cause. In other words, if the opposing forces did not share common communication and operational norms or fundamental common moral premises and a basic normative rationality, CBMs are inapplicable. Further, even negotiations to establish constraints, so that both parties would not be losers (they would continue to fight, but on the economic and ideological battlefield rather than the military one), would be a waste of time since it is not possible to make a contract with the devil. Negotiations are but part of the same struggle. In a conflict situation of this type, both parties would inevitably be losers; the only point of negotiations is to ensure your party losses less than the other side.

In other words, the premises of positive sum CBM theorists are dependent on either a subjective idealist Kantian metaphysics of morality and politics, or the possibility that conflicting interests could be brought under a common rule regime to maximize the contender’s interests in spite of the conflict between the parties. That is, both idealist and sceptical realist CBM schools were premised on some form of rationality as fundamental. Cynics could seed any idealist or game-theoretical CBM proposal with doubt by raising the unchanging conflicting perspectives and interests of the contending parties and the different rules under which each party operated. Put another way, CBMs rooted in game theory could only advance if the settlement strategy was constructed on the myth that both parties would gain rather than one party losing by adopting these tools; neither system was at risk in the assumptions of CBM promoters. In opposition to the cynics who argued that this was impossible, the “sceptical” developers of game theory simply asserted that the rules of the game would also have to change, and that would require both the consent of all parties to the conflict and, therefore, alterations to the rules by which at least one party operated. Advocates of CSBMs tended to be more Kantian and idealistic and presume that all parties in the conflict were guided somehow by a higher morality and rationality.

Thus, when we depict the respective schools in which CBM theorists seem to easily fall, the stress on both consciousness and institutions tends really to be on one or the other depending on the school to which one belongs—a positive consciousness for idealists, a stress on institutions for critical realists and on negative consciousness for cynical realists. Further, the idealists seem more concerned with affects than cognitive information, while the cynical realists stress the primacy of a committed will, particularly of the fanatics and extremists who seem unmoved by any sympathy for the other side and undaunted by any cognitive factors. It is the sceptical realists who place the stress on cognitive factors. Thus, although CBM and CSBM theory in general stresses an interplay among cognitive, emotional and commitment factors, in fact there is a stress primarily on only one of them depending on the school to which one adheres in advocating or criticizing CBMs.

The corollary is that while, in general, CBM theory takes cognizance of a plurality of voices on both sides of a conflict, the tendency when engaging in applying CBM theory is to take only one of those voices as the dominant one which the measures are intended to affect. Idealists focus their attention on agents or the group that has already indicated some sympathy with the antagonist. There is then a willingness to seek measures which will reinforce this basic recognition. Sceptical realists are primarily concerned with those agents driven by self-interest but willing to cooperate to maximize that self-interest; there is no need for any initial sympathy by an agent for the position of the antagonist, merely a concern with his/her own security and the utility expected from cooperation in comparison to a situation where no one cooperates. What actions can be taken which can increase that security and which will not result in losses? Cynical realists are simply concerned with the tactics of a checker or chess game, that whatever losses suffered in the negotiations, the result will be eventual victory for themselves and defeat for the enemy. In other words, CBM theory talks about a plurality of voices, but, in fact, when the theorists are broken up into their various schools, they are in fact attending only to one voice as the other voices recede into the background.

The differences between the approaches of the three schools dealing with theories of peace negotiations are summarized in Table 14.2.

Table 14.2 The Three Schools

CBM THEORISTS

STRATEGIC THEORISTS

Idealists
Sceptical Realists
Cynical Realists

Agents
moral rational
self-interested
power-driven

Took
style—build trust
system of constraints
balance of power

Trust
subjective
objective
subj. & obj. re own capacities

Stress
possitive consciousness
institutions
negative consciousness

Game
strong possitive
modest possitive
negative sum game

The contradictions between what CBM theory claims for itself—that it is dynamic rather than static, comprehensive in including both consciousness and institutions and the effects of communications on them both, that it recognizes that political agents are not homogeneous and that within each agent cognitive, emotional and evaluative elements interact—and how CBM theory is articulated, therefore emerges in the analysis of the competing schools within the body of CBM literature.

Thus, although in general both consciousness and institutions are stressed by CBM and CSBM theorists, in fact, the idealists seem more concerned with CSBMs, with positive measures to increase human contact and understanding, with consciousness itself. The critical realists are concerned with institutions, with negative constraints to punish misbehavior during a crisis or at least anticipate such behavior. A critical realist, therefore, agrees to constrain the direct pursuit of her own self-interest only if she calculates that the other parties in the cooperative enterprise are similarly disposed. The cynics, like the idealists, stress consciousness and the inability of institutions lacking a foundation in a directive will to counter any negative consciousness effectively.

Contextual and Temporal Relativity

All the instrumental rationality strategies outlined above are but reifications of different responses to various types of conflict, each predominating at different times and places. Thus, for Muslims in Bosnia-Herzegovina, it would be unrealistic to presume a positive- or even a zero-sum strategy as a satisfactory framework; a negative-sum strategy may be the most appropriate model for rational decision making in such a context. For it is quite clear that the Serbs, and perhaps the Croats, do not seem interested in anything but eliminating the Muslims as a party to the game. The will of the international community to introduce an impartial authority into the conflict is limited to humanitarian efforts and economic sanctions which have been largely ineffective and were introduced too late to make a difference to the process of ethnic cleansing. The facts on the ground, not institutional and political constraints, will probably determine the outcome.

In the Croatian-Serbian conflict, a modest positive-sum strategy may be more realistic with the intention of permitting both parties to survive as political entities. What is at stake is the territory gained or lost. Moral constraints will allow a loss or gain in territory to occur with a minimal loss of life and some limitations on the use of terror and torture to achieve gains.

A strong positive-sum game strategy was applicable to and used by the parties in the Israeli-Egyptian talks at Camp David. Sadat’s bold visit to Jerusalem set the stage for that type of diplomacy by displacing fear with a modicum of trust as the primary operating affect in the conflict. Whatever losses each party had to bear as a result of the negotiations and eventual agreement, those losses were outweighed by the benefits. Further, the major constraints introduced were not third-party ones, though these types of constraints, such as financial aid and the stationing of American troops in the Sinai, were designed as reinforcing mechanisms to constraints agreed upon by the parties which were designed to reinforce trust and reduce fear.

All scenarios operate in a conflict situation to different degrees. The choice of the primary strategy depends on the appraisal of the mixture of affects (that is, passions not interests) behind the behavior of those on the other side, and a self-critical perception of the affects motivating one’s own actions, the latter being very important if a party is playing the role of mediator. Passions, not interests or cognitive skills, are primary.

On the cognitive level, the dynamic does not presume that the game being played is either a strong positive, weak positive or negative-sum transformation of a zero-sum game. Nor does it try to minimize the extent to which the conflict is essentially a negative-sum game resistant to modest positive-sum game strategies or the possibility of a strong positive-sum strategy gradually displacing a zero-sum strategy. Transforming the situation from an incompatible conflict cannot take place without first dealing with the conflicting passions and transforming their destructive dynamic interplay. The balance of the paper will depict the basic character of interethnic conflicts which must be understood as a condition for developing a confidence transformational dynamic.

Conflicting Passions

Whether or not interstate conflict theory fits into a model of instrumental rational actors whose behavior needs modification by means of self-legislated norms or imposed constraints, interethnic conflicts over land and status do not. For groups willing to sacrifice their lives over turf and recognition of themselves as a self-standing nation with their own right to self-governance, it is the principle of self-legislation itself that is at stake. Instrumental rationality presumes the contending parties are self-legislators; the object of negotiations is merely to reconcile the competing interests and norms of legislators whose goals happen to be in conflict. But each party recognizes the other as a legislator of its respective destiny. In mfraethnic conflicts, this is precisely what is at stake in the conflict. Each party denies the other the right to be a self-legislator.

For every legislated system of law, as an authoritative method of resolving conflicts, must rest upon an ultimate rule of who is recognized as the sovereign authority to make that law. In other words, what is at stake is which group or set of groups is to be recognized as the ultimate authority. When a constitution begins with, “We the people,” in opposition to claims that an absolute monarch or the dictatorship of the proletariat as represented by a party and, in Leninism, its leadership, it is critical that recognition be given in the first instance to who the people are.

The problem is even more complicated. For it is often in the struggle for independence, in the struggle for recognition by others, that the members of one’s own group come to discover and endorse the postulate that its group is and should be recognized as a self-legislator. War and conflict, then, are not simply ways of advancing self-interests, nor even merely the only route to gain recognition and independence, but become techniques of stirring up the passions of the members of the group so that they will recognize themselves as an independent self-legislating body politic. The process of self-discovery in the pursuit of a sovereign self-legislating status is, frequently, reinforced by conflict and leads the group as a whole to demand recognition and to demand that individuals, who are part of the group, engage in acts demonstrating their willingness to sacrifice their lives to obtain that recognition.

The pursuit of recognition does not start with the demand that one party should be the ruler rather than the other, although this is often how it is portrayed, particularly when sovereign European monarchs fought one another in the seventeenth century. The process begins at least one step earlier, with the recognition that ruling is an essential ingredient of the self. The process begins with the problem of self-recognition, the recognition that the self is constituted, embodied and expressed in the land. The land is our land and is to be developed for you and for me who are part of the group. The land is the external expression of the sovereign self and needs to be owned and controlled by that self which should govern that land. Without land, there can be no body politic. Without a self which constitutes itself as empowered to rule that land, there can be no politicking over the body.

But even this expression demands we go back a further step to understand why the self sees itself as a ruler, and, further, a ruler over land. Some authors have rooted this pursuit of ruling in the nature of masculine sexuality. Ruling entails power. Power entails domination of another. Domination—the masculine prerogative and burden of power—is seen as central to culturally constructed masculinity, a form of consciousness which sees all human interaction in terms of winning or losing. In other words, game theory of any kind plays into, as well as with, this conception of power. “Killing and being killed, threatening others and risking death, standing tall and refusing to blink—these measures of personal fearlessness celebrate masculine power."²¹

That is why from this perspective, the pursuit of power is fundamentally a life and death struggle and not one of mere survival. If the conflict is read through the eyes of a cynical realist, then only two outcomes are possible. In one alternative, in the long term, if not in the short, one party must be defeated and allowed, at best, only a qualified right of self-determination. One ethnic group loses its right to be considered a sovereign nation. In the second alternative, the two parties govern themselves by the rules of instrumental rationality and divide the turf between them so that each is recognized as a self-governing sovereign nation in their own right. The latter, however, usually only occurs where two or more nations already recognize each other as autonomous self-legislating communities (Norway/Sweden, Czechs/Slovaks, the different nationalities of the former USSR), and the only real issue is whether each is better off yoked together within a common state or each is better off to have a state of its own.

But where one ethnic group fears it will be subordinate to another and will not be accorded any fundamental right to self-determination, then a life and death struggle is instigated between the subordinate and the dominant group.

This theory, that the basic root of conflict resides in an inherent quest for power over others, has deep roots in intellectual history. But there are other theories. There is the Greek view that what is fundamental to humans is the quest for knowledge, not power, and the leisure to pursue that interest and release from working and caring for land so that one can engage wholly in intellectual pursuits. There is also the biblical view that, in the Garden of Eden, men had that leisure. But with that leisure came the most profound ignorance of all, the absence of knowing the other and knowing one’s own body. The Garden of Eden, rather than being simply a state of perfect bliss while detached and adopting a scientific standpoint and engaging in the most basic scientific enterprise of all, naming, was, in fact, a state of blissful ignorance in which the self denied its embodiment and pretended it was a detached spirit without sexual passions and desires, without the biological need to engage in intercourse and produce children.²² This chapter is not the place to defend such a basic theory of conflict, but the preconditions for a theory of conflict resolution set forth in this chapter presumes this biblical theory of the source of conflict.

In this biblical interpretation, internal conflict begins with sexual politics. External conflict is not a by-product of sexual conflict, but an aftereffect. And even then, it is not an inherent sexual drive per se which leads to conflict, but the desire to be recognized as a spiritual being, as a disembodied being, to achieve recognition as “the chosen” in the eyes of the Supreme Ruler of the universe. This internal conflict is only externalized in fraternal warfare when two males conflict once families are formed, children arrive and humans are engaged in labor and establishing a way of life. External conflict begins with the willingness to sacrifice the material products of one’s labor to gain recognition as the appropriate way of life in a given turf. Conflict begins not with runaway passions no longer under the control of reason or the control of an absolute divine authority, but with Cain and Abel, each willing to sacrifice the best fruits of his labor to gain recognition as primus inter pares. Conflict does not begin with the pursuit of power over land but with the willingness to risk proprietary ownership for recognition of the self (collective or individual) as chosen by a higher authority. For a group to become and be recognized as a self-legislating authority has no other worldly authority to provide that recognition. Until a higher international authority is in place to perform that function, history, God or the fates of war make that determination.

It is often said that farmers and cowboys can’t be friends. One demands an open range. The other requires fenced land. The two economic ways of life of the herdsman and the farmer are incompatible. This is one reason Cain, the farmer, and Abel, the herdsman, were in conflict. They contested the dominant rules which would govern property relations and expression; no earthly higher authority existed to adjudicate the dispute. To the extent that tradition, divine authority or precedent favored one way, the dynamic of history might favor the other.

The story is, however, incomplete. For the economic conflict over the economic body is merely the externalization of another conflict, the desire of each party to be recognized as the self-legislator in that turf. It is a question of which political body is to be recognized as the expression of the people’s will—the monarch, a body which inherited its authority, or a parliament, one which was elected. (In Russia in 1993, the “monarch", Yeltsin, was elected by the people, while most members of parliament achieved their positions by appointment.) In other words, the external conflict will have a parallel internal one over who the elect are and how they are chosen to determine the economic way of life of that group. That is why the confidence transformative dynamic cannot merely appeal to a leadership or elite, for who that elite is or which elite is to be recognized, is an inherent part of the conflict.

Who is to be recognized as the self-legislating authority has three very different dimensions—who are the people whom the legislators represent, who are the legislators and how are they were made the elect, and what fundamental way of economic life are the elect to protect and develop.

The problem is can one build confidence and trust between such apparently incompatible wills, particularly when it is not clear whose will is being expressed, which political body has the mandate to express that will, and what embodiment in material form, what economic way of life, is to be adopted as the manifestation of that will?

At this point, the propensity is to adopt the viewpoint of the cynic and sink into despair at the thought of any “rational” model of resolving such disputes. However, what we must understand is that if the exercise were merely left up to the combatants in such cases, the fight to victory of one party over another would be the only path. But third parties can and do play a role. However, if the role they are assigned already presumes a compatibility of interests that can overrule any passions, the instrument of peaceful reconciliation will merely be eaten in the jaws of the contending forces. For the third party cannot allow each party to remain as, it is but must shape and alter the consciousness of each of them so that the game is first transformed from a negative-sum game to a positive-sum one, a game in which sceptics and idealists can compete for the most appropriate role to play. Then the third party cannot simply be an instrument which leaves undisturbed the passions and clashing wills. Nor can the third party conceive itself as merely playing the role of the detached, objective listener who merely allows each party to articulate his/her respective position, as if the articulation alone will allow a path of light (and right) to emerge to direct the route out of the clash.

The role of third party cannot be that of a passive medium to ascertain the ‘truth’ that resides between seemingly incompatible positions, or an active instrument to forge a compromise which might sacrifice truth and right altogether on the alter of expediency. Nor do unending written studies of the way the instrument of mediation works help, for, as I have tried to indicate throughout this paper, the mediator is just as likely to be wrong about which instrument of reconciliation is most appropriate given the nature of the conflict. Further, if third parties resign in light of this recognition of the seeming incompatibility between the contending forces and the probabilities that any external instrument applied to the conflict will more likely complicate the tensions rather than ease them, inducing Cain to go for the throat of Abel because the third party seemingly favors Abel, then we surrender to the pathway of despair and cynicism.

The task is to define the role of the third party as a transformative agency which sets out to alter and reshape the consciousness of the contending forces while appearing as a passive mediator merely allowing the conflict to be transformed to one where sceptical realists and idealists can play the role of transforming the conflict into a positive-sum game. The first responsibility of the mediator is to transform the game so that mediation itself can play a role.

Thus, this article is directed at mediators as well as the theoreticians dealing with confidence building and will hopefully provide an abstract framework for them to develop their practical work in reconciling the positions of contenders in a conflict.

Notes

1. I have always mixed up CBMs and CSBMs. I usually assume that CBMs, because of the emphasis on confidence and the absence of a reference to security, would refer more to those measures concentrating on subjective consciousness, on trust and distrust built on the basis of human contact, while CSBMs connote externalities—reductions in arms, treaties, or concrete institutions designed to reduce the likelihood of war. But it is CSBMs that usually refer to the development of practices, such as cultural exchanges, while CBMs refer to measures to reduce the risk that arms will be used. The confusion boils down to the fact that the ordinary language connotation suggests one thing, but each normally refers to the opposite of what it connotes. CBMs connote a shift in consciousness but refer to structural-functional institutionalization of behavior. CSBMs connote reductions in armaments but refer to social contacts and psychological changes. This may also explain why the terms are frequently used interchangeably or often reversed in meaning.

2. The secretary-general of the United Nations, Boutros Boutros-Ghali, in his report in the Fall of 1992, An Agenda for Peace (an analysis and recommendations on preventive diplomacy, peacekeeping and peacemaking), depicted confidence building measures as follows: “Mutual confidence and good faith are essential to reducing the likelihood of conflict between states (my emphasis). Many such measures are available to Governments that have the will to employ them. Systematic exchange of military missions, formation of regional or subregional risk reduction centers, arrangements for the free flow of information, including the monitoring of regional arms agreements, are examples” An Agenda for Peace (New York: United Nations), p. 13. Cf. also Boutros Boutros-Ghali, “Empowering the UN,” Foreign Affairs, 17:5 (1992–93).

3. Tapio Kanninen, an officer in the Department of Political Affairs of the United Nations, who served as secretary of the task force which assisted the secretary-general in drafting the report, An Agenda for Peace, noted in his analysis of Boutros Boutros-Ghali’s report that the S-G “called for greater reliance on confidence-building measures.” “An Agenda for Peace: A Comprehensive Approach to the Maintenance of International Peace and Security” (Germany: Der Überblick, forthcoming, 1993), p. 3.

4. “The world is now racked by about 34 civil wars. It is estimated that the number will rise to about 46 in the next few years. Paradoxically, while internal conflicts are expanding, the international community has remained rooted in a system developed to prevent interstate conflicts.” International Alert, New and Emerging Conflicts in the New World Order: The Role of International Alert, Conference Report (1992). “While yesterday’s war was frequently a war between nations, today’s war is typically a war within a nation, initiated by rebels who either want to secede from union, assume leadership, have a greater degree of autonomy, or have a greater role in the management of their country.” International Negotiation Network, Introduction, State of World Conflict Report (1991–92).

5. Boutros-Ghali recognized that “most of the new (peacekeeping) operations have been set up to help implement negotiated settlements of long-standing conflicts, as in Namibia, Angola, Cambodia, El Salvador and Mozambique. Namibia was a colonial situation but each of the other four has been an internal conflict, albeit with significant external dimensions, within a sovereign state of the United Nations.” “Empowering the UN,” (p. 90). Boutros-Ghali, in response, has called on the international community to rethink the concept of absolute and exclusive sovereignty while recognizing that the fundamental sovereignty and integrity of the state remains central (pp. 98–99). What makes the issue so difficult is the adherence of the international community to the fundamental foundation stone of state sovereignty while recognizing how sovereignty has been weakened in the face of the rise of nationalism and the prevalence of civil conflicts, on the one hand, and the impact of globalization on the other.

6. “…instrumental rationality is all of rationality. The content of one’s ultimate ends cannot be assessed as rational or irrational. Rationality lies in adopting appropriate means, in an uncertain world, to whatever substantive goals one might have. Instrumental rationality here means rationality in the pursuit of ultimate ends which are accepted as given.” Allan Gibbard, Wise Choices, Apt Feelings: A Theory of Normative Judgement (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1990), p. 10.

7. CBMs are a critical aspect of negotiation strategies in conflict situations. Those larger negotiation strategies presume “back-and-forth communication designed to reach an agreement when you and the other side have some interests in common that are shared and others that are opposed.” Roger Fisher, and William Ury, Getting to Yes: Negotiating Agreement Without Giving In (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1981), p. xii. The book describes a negotiating process based on fair standards to reconcile conflicting interests.

8. Jürgen Habermas, Theory and Practice (Boston: Beacon Press, 1973), p. 272.

9. John Dewey, The Quest for Certainty (New York: Putnam, 1960), p. 43.

10. In a Kantian world, normative discourse is possible because humans are all rational, that is, possess pure practical reason which is founded on the principle that the only thing good without qualification is a good will. Laws and rules of conduct are legitimated insofar as they are based on the autonomous will of free and equal moral persons. Thus, morality and politics are fundamentally normative, as distinct from social theory rooted in a notion of self-interested rational choice.

11. For an analysis of game theory see, John Von Neumann and Oskar Morgenstem, The Theory of Games and Economic Behavior, 2nd ed. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1947); J.C.C. McKinsey, Introduction to the Theory of Games (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1952); and Duncan R. Luce and Howard Raiffa, Games and Decisions (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1957). More recent references include J.W. Friedman’s Oligopoly and the Theory of Games (Amsterdam: North-Holland, 1973); J. Maynard Smith, Evolution and Theory of Games (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982); and R. Axelrod, The Evolution of Cooperation (New York: Basic Books, 1984).

12. David Gauthier, “Maximization Constràined: The Rationality of Cooperation,” in Paradoxes of Rationality and Cooperation: Prisoner’s Dilemma and Newcombe’s Problem, Richmond Campbell and banning Sowden, eds. (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 1985), p. 79. See also David Gauthier, Morals by Agreement (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985).

13. Cf. Alvin Scodel, J. Sayer Minas, Philbum Ratoosh and Milton Lipetz, “Some descriptive aspects of two-person non-zero-sum games,” The Journal of Conflict Resolution, III:2 (1959), pp. 114–119; and Part II, by J. Sayer Minas, Alvin Scodel, David Marlowe and Harve Robinson in IV:2 (1960), pp. 193–197.

14. Cf. Volume II, Number 1, a special issue of The Journal of Conflict Resolution on attitudes and communication, 1958. In another special issue (II:3, 1958) devoted entirely to a seminal essay by Thomas C. Schelling on, “The Strategy of Conflict: Prospectus for a Reorientation of Game Theory,” the paper dwelt on the need to form mutually consistent expectations and the structural elements and moves required with respect to threat, enforcement and the capacity to communicate. Conflict management and settlement strategies could not be based on situations of pure conflict or zero-sum games, for conflict rarely occurred unmixed with mutual dependence as well.

15. Pareto-optimality was a contribution of an Italian mathematical economist, Vilfredo Pareto (1848–1923) who offered a logical case for economic liberalism as a system of free trade which provided maximum social benefit.

16. Cf. Anatol Rapoport, N-Person Game Theory: Concepts and Applications (Ann Arbour: University of Michigan Press, 1970), especially pp. 305–306.1 would contend that actions rooted in self-interest cannot inherently be Kantian. Thus, John Rawls’ neo-Kantian A Theory of Justice, a procedural adaptation of the categorical imperative based on the presumption of the individual as an autonomous free and equal moral being, can be contrasted with a neutral game-theoretical model, such as the one developed by Bruce Ackerman in Social Justice in the Liberal State.

17. To situations of enhancing cooperation, Robert H. Frank has applied a version of neo-Hobbesian constraint theory by putting a positive premium on honesty through socially institutionalized scrutiny for dishonesty, thereby, enhancing the outcomes for each of the participants. Passions Within Reason: The Strategic Role of the Emotions (New York: Norton, 1988). Allan Gibbard, Wise Choices, Apt Feelings: A Theory of Normative Judgement (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1990), generalizes the same basic model by deeming all norms to be constraints to enhance instrumental rational behavior which will serve cooperative purposes and, hence, enhance the outcomes for all.

18. Cf. Ragnar Frisch, “On Welfare Theory and Pareto Regions,” International Economic Papers, 9 (1959), pp. 39–92.

19. This position was, to my knowledge, first put forth by James M. Buchanan in a book he wrote with Gordon Tullock, The Calculus of Consent (Ann Arbour: University of Michigan Press, 1962), and in a paper he wrote, “The relevance of Pareto optimality,” The Journal of Conflict Resolution VI: 4 (1962), pp. 341–354.

20. The veil of ignorance provides an indirect approach to negotiation when a direct approach to negotiate an arrangement based on any principles of perfect justice would (and does) obviously lead to an impasse. Instead of asking what is desirable and undesirable under such principles, each party merely puts forth its preferred option under a veil of ignorance that purposely excludes self-interest and presupposes self interest is not a consideration. As Rawls states it, “I assume that the parties are situated behind a veil of ignorance. They do not know how the various alternatives will affect their own particular case and they’re obliged to evaluate principles solely on the basis of general considerations.” Taken from A Theory of Justice (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), p. 136. That is, the contending parties must decide based on general facts about economics and politics and psychology rather than the specific relative economic, political or military position of each party vis-à-vis the other party or their own or the other party’s psychological makeup. In other words, they do not make a contract on the basis of protecting their own particular interests or from the perspective of their biases, but on the basis of the general situation. Of course, for John Rawls, the veil of ignorance was an assumption about any individual’s choice as equally rational and in the same situation when agreeing to the original social contract in creating the basic structure of society.

21. Roger S. Gotlieb, “Masculine Identity and the Desire for War: A Study in the Sickness of Power,” in Rethinking Power, Thomas E. Wartenberg, ed. (Albany: State University of New York, 1992), p.279.

22. Cf. my article, “Of Human Bondage: Labor, Bondage, and Freedom in the Phenomenology,” Hegel’s Social and Political Thought: The Philosophy of Objective Spirit (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1979).

15
Confidence Building and the Peace Process in the Middle East

Gabriel Ben-Dor and David B. Dewitt

Introduction

This volume began by reflecting rather broadly on the meaning and content of confidence building. Although we did not review the existing conceptual literature, we drew from it systematically in a conscious effort to explore its applicability to and usefulness for the resolution, or at least more positive management of the longstanding Arab-Israeli conflict, acknowledging the intertwining of the inter-state and Israel-Palestinian conflicts.¹ As this volume is about to go to press (early March 1994) the Israeli-Arab and Israeli-Palestinian peace process has received yet another “shock,” the third major one since we first gathered the authors together in April 1992. At that time, their mandate was to explore the conditions under which confidence building measures could facilitate bringing the principal parties to the negotiating table. In this charge we were moving well beyond the CSBM literature which emanated from the CSCE experiences and focussed almost exclusively on arms control procedure and process.

Rather than starting from the position of acknowledged legitimacy of states and their boundaries and seeking ways to prevent unintended consequences of what might seem to be either provocative or merely suspect military actions, as was the case in Europe from the early 1970s, our agenda was to analyze the current situation of the principal actors and the political-security context of the region with the purpose to define how to get the parties to the table.² What instruments (procedures) were available or could be created that would affect sufficient change at least in the process, if not the substance, of the political situation to get the parties to take the political risks attendant with seeking a negotiated resolution to the multi-faceted dispute? Further, our working assumption was that opportunities for functional cooperation or at minimum policy initiatives in non-military functionally specific areas (environment, water, population movements, economic exchange, etc.) could be linked directly to confidence building procedures affecting the perception of political calculation and intent, and thereby the issue of the use of armed force. Although the alignments were not symmetrical politically, economically, or militarily, thereby making confidence building that much more difficult, we postulated that it was in fact these asymmetries which argued in favor of the functional broadening of the confidence building process and instruments.

In April 1992, as indicated by the initial drafts prepared by the authors, there was much searching but only slight optimism. All agreed that much depended on a range of outcomes which were as yet uncertain, including but not limited to: the Israeli elections, the American elections, the political stability and economic development of Russia, the growing strength—both in a military as well as political sense—of Islamic radicalism throughout much of the Middle East including Gaza and the West Bank, the ability of existing Arab regimes to address issues of fundamental economic and social development both within and between states, and the general concern over both conventional and nonconventional arms transfers and indigenous weapons capabilities. Of note was that, with the exception of substituting Russia for the USSR, none of these factors were new or unique. What was different was the context: for the first time since the founding of the state of Israel the Middle East no longer was in the shadow of the competitive politics of the Cold War. Further, although there had been numerous wars during that period between Arab as well as Islamic states in which neither Israel nor either of the then superpowers were involved directly, the world had just a year earlier borne witness to an inter-Arab war in which extra-regional powers, in coalition with Arab and non-Arab states, faced off against the invading Arab state of Iraq. In this case there was no doubt that the United States was the predominant military force and political leader, and that it was acting at the request of and in coordination with core Arab states. In addition, in this situation in which Israel was a secondary target of Iraq, Israel acquiesced to the politics of the coalition forces and did not take any action other than civil defence. Hence, the political and military security context was different qualitatively and in its uncertainty.

The first shock came with the announcement of the US secretary of state James Baker during his visit in the region shortly after the Gulf War to the effect that, under the co-sponsorship of the United States and the Soviet Union, Israel, the core Arab states, and the Palestinians would explore opportunities for multilateral as well as bilateral meetings aimed at seeking negotiated solutions to their complex and long-standing animosities. This process formally got under way in Madrid in October 1991. Over the next 18 months, through changes of government in the United States and Israel as well as the violent parliamentary challenge to the Russian government of Boris Yeltsin and the growing strength and brazenness of radical Islamic movements, these evolved into direct face-to-face negotiations, and though at times stalled for a variety of reasons, they nevertheless continued.

The second and still more dramatic shock came with the announcement from Oslo on 9 September 1993 that the Declaration of Principles and the document on mutual recognition by the PLO and Israel would be officially and simultaneously signed in Washington on 13 September. The declaration of principles between Israel and the PLO was designed to undertake direct discussions leading to the establishment of Palestinian self-rule, beginning with Gaza and Jericho. These two agreements were assumed to be the result both of the domestic pressure faced by the new Israeli government caused by their perceived failure to move the process along as initially promised and of Arafat’s perception that his lack of concrete gains was enhancing the strength of his opponents within the Palestinian movement. Thereafter, trusted emissaries of these two principals met in secret negotiations facilitated by the late Johan Holst, then Norway’s foreign minister. The Washington ceremony which brought to the world’s attention the initial results of this secret effort began an entirely new “third track” to the Arab-Israeli diplomatic process—direct negotiations between Israel and the PLO with a specified timetable leading towards an interim stage of Palestinian autonomy in Gaza and an area around Jericho but with a clear acknowledgement that further movement would then occur incrementally as negotiated. This was followed by the Cairo agreement of 13 February 1994 brokered by the strenuous efforts of Egyptian President Mubarak.

These two diplomatic and political shocks, therefore, while clearly not bringing this subregion of the Middle East to a level of political recognition, economic and cultural interchange, or military stability that had existed in Europe in the early days of the CSCE, nevertheless had moved the process giant steps forward. Political risks associated with these two major moves obviously had been calculated as necessary given the potential outcome and, conversely, the costs of not trying. That is not to suggest that each party went into the process willingly. Future scholars likely will explore the issue of “coercive diplomacy” in this period.³ Rather, consciously and with purpose or not, as each of the parties entered into one or both of these processes, they endured varying degrees of risk. Each regime or leadership was exposed: the centrality which “the evilness of the Zionist entity” plays in the domestic as well as regional politics of most Arab and Islamic regimes; the profound and pervasive issue of long-term acceptance of Israel in the region, and the more immediate security concerns of facing 22 hostile Arab states and Iran, radical Islam, and most vividly “the terrorist PLO.” To further complicate the political calculations, each principal actor faced domestic competitors—opposition as well as coalition parties in Israel, challengers to Arafat in the PLO, and combinations of dissidents, radical Islamic activists, or waiting successors in each of the Arab states—offering different “solutions” including the complete denunciation of and withdrawal from the process.

The third shock came early on the morning of 25 February 1994, when an American-born and educated physician, a follower of the extreme Kach movement for a greater Israel, and a resident of the orthodox Jewish West Bank settlement of Kiryat Arba, murdered thirty Muslims at Ramadan prayers at a holy site in the neighbouring Palestinian town of Hebron. This horrific act was a stark reminder that extremists in both camps were actively attempting to derail the peace process. In the five months following the signing of the Oslo declaration, more than 35 Israeli Jews and at least as many Palestinians had been murdered by Arab activists opposed to the Arafat-Rabin initiative. These killings, along with other attacks, spilled over from the occupied territories to within the Green Line. Further aggravating the mounting tension in Israel was the resounding silence coming from the Palestinian leadership. This escalation in violence against Israeli civilians received neither immediate nor unconditional condemnation from any major Palestinian figure, reinforcing the perception that Hamas and dissidents within the PLO were challenging Arafat’s leadership and his control over the Palestinian movement and their participation in the peace process. The Hebron massacre led to widespread condemnation by all parties in the Knesset (though not by the few hundred members of the extreme settler movement) as well as others in the international community. Arafat, other Palestinian leaders from the West Bank and Gaza, and political elites from throughout the Arab world demanded that Israel accede to new conditions concerning the settlers and the protection of Palestinians before they would agree to any resumption of the post-Oslo, post-Cairo talks. The Arab League requested the placement of UN troops as guarantors of Palestinian security, as well as a delay in any further sessions of the American-led bilateral and multilateral talks until this issue was resolved.

These conditions and demands were refuted by the Israeli government based, among other things, on the observation that Israeli civilians were still the target of Palestinian attacks, that neither Arafat nor any other Palestinian leader had unconditionally condemned and taken action to prevent such acts, and that in principle extremist actions should not be allowed to derail the process regardless the affiliation of the perpetrators. The Americans as well as all other non-Arab participants in the post-Madrid multilateral talks called for the resumption of meetings. Washington, with Egyptian assistance, was particularly strenuous in its efforts to resume the Israeli-Palestinian talks, not allowing the timetable for the Gaza-Jericho first phase to be seriously delayed. In the meantime, the Israeli government established a five-person investigating committee chaired by the chief justice of Israel’s Supreme Court with another Israeli jurist and a highly respected West Bank Palestinian judge. This public inquiry has a sweeping mandate to explore both the proximate and antecedent conditions which allowed the Hebron massacre to occur.

This shock is an unfortunately vivid example of what we, in our previous writing, have identified as the issue of not allowing extremist actors and events to be legitimized and thereby in effect act as a “spoiler” and potentially have a veto over the larger confidence building process. Immediate and unconditional condemnation, where appropriate coupled with initiatives to prevent any reoccurrence, are essential to marginalize the event, to delegitimize the perpetrators, and to seek forms of cooperative preventive measures. These responses thereby will enhance confidence by recognizing that it is in the mutual benefit of both (or all) parties to manage the process, to constrain “outliers,” to control the agenda, and hence to increase certainty and marginalize extremists. An issue which therefore must now be addressed in the confidence building literature is whether a shock to the existing system can act not only as a catalyst for change in a situation of chronic conflict⁴ but also whether the impact of such an occurrence can be managed as an opportunity to enhance confidence building rather than lead to a degradation of the situation with a possible return to the former heightened animus and distrust?

We now turn briefly to the events which have transpired since September 1993.

The Oslo Declaration of Principles, 13 September 1993

The Israel-PLO agreement of September 1993 caught most experts by surprise. It was, at the very least, unexpectedly radical in the mutual recognition of the two parties. The willingness of the PLO to go along with the Israeli autonomy plan on a limited basis was as surprising as the willingness of Israel to cede the domination of the autonomous territories to the PLO. Each side had considered the other as the very archetype of the implacable enemy with which no compromise was ever possible or permissible.

The breakthrough is of theoretical importance as well. Obviously, we would like to know more about what makes implacable enemies change their minds so drastically over such a short period of time. In general, the issue of timing is of crucial importance.⁵ While it is relatively easy to predict that certain patterns would occur over the long run simply due to the logic of the situation, it is much more difficult to predict when this development would occur, never mind the substance and direction of change. Precise timing is not something that ever will be predictable, but even an approximation is very difficult.⁶

Research on confidence building measures already has shown the value of secret as well as quiet versus public diplomacy. Diplomacy away from public scrutiny is given heightened importance when domestic political considerations affect the freedom of political leaders to make decisions and, in turn, complicate the relationship to external actors.⁷ In this case both secrecy and relative freedom from domestic constraints were salient, yet they do not, in and of themselves, explain the time element. While it is not hard to see that the two parties had obvious domestic difficulties with their respective constituencies and were looking for something dramatic to improve their positions, it is not clear what made them believe that the breakthrough inherent in such public recognition of the enemy would be good for domestic political purposes. We do know that a period of several months of secret negotiations ensued. We have relatively little information as to what really transpired between the parties during these months and to what extent, for example, the issue of domestic constituencies explicitly appeared on the agenda.

Even more interesting is the question of consciousness in terms of confidence building. Obviously, the parties did not concern themselves with relatively low levels of instrumental or procedural confidence building. Hence, the more simple gestures known from the literature were not evident in the early stages of the negotiations. Nevertheless, the secrecy of the negotiations under the auspices of the trusted mediator, in this case the foreign minister of Norway, evidently played an important role in building confidence between the parties. So did references to internationally accepted concepts and documents such as United Nations Security Council resolutions 242 and 338. One senior Israeli official declared privately that “we had not engaged in CBMs.” His reference was neither to the broader conception of CSBMs referred to in our opening chapter nor to the narrower, more conventional forms of military CBMs, but only to CBMs on the level of gestures and symbols intended to improve the quality of life, including a sense of hope for a new future, of the inhabitants in the territories.

It is important to understand how the parties got together in the first place, trusting the other to show up, negotiating about an agreed-upon agenda, and making quick political capital out of the situation without embarrassing the other party. Then there is the question of secrecy. While both the Israelis and the PLO had a vested interest in secrecy, one could never be sure that this was strong enough to prevent an intentional or even inadvertent leak which may have led to a quick termination of the talks under unhappy circumstances. Further, the entire process of announcing the results of the talks and then signing the relevant documents was a carefully crafted series of steps which again could easily have degenerated into squabbles and embarrassment for one or both parties. This did not happen. It is hard to believe that this did not happen by chance, or that simply the good will of the parties was so overwhelming as to preclude this possibility altogether. So it behooves us to search for the mechanisms that established a measure of trust sufficient for a successful conclusion of this stage of negotiations.

Still more important is the question of confidence building in the more advanced stages of the negotiations. Granted that the document on mutual recognition was the most dramatic part of the initial phase of the negotiations because it represents such a radical break with the past in the case of both parties, and particularly of Israel. However, the real difficulty comes when one analyzes the Declaration of Principles which addresses the practical ingredients of the settlement based on a quick implementation of the autonomy plan, first in Jericho and the Gaza Strip. It is obvious that the initial document left a very great deal uncovered, and indeed the most basic questions about its practical and concrete implementation made clear how much was left out. This may have been due to the element of time and more particularly to the understandable wish not to jeopardize the chances of a quick breakthrough by getting bogged down in endless detail. On the other hand, it also signifies confidence in the possibility of reaching a future understanding on issues that at the moment seem intractable.

This is evident in more ways than one. First, there are questions of defining the areas under negotiation. Israel submitted an understanding of the Jericho area as being about 25 square kilometers, while the PLO spoke of 350, a huge difference by any standard. The Israeli understanding of the entire process was one of redeployment whereas the Palestinian interpretation was that of a withdrawal, yet the original document left this question open to both interpretations. In the past, such difficulties and gaps in basic issues used to keep parties apart, while in this case they preferred to go ahead notwithstanding the basic difficulties. So it stands to reason that there were some mechanisms to allow for confidence in the future, even though these may not have been publicly explicit. In addition, there were even bigger issues that were consciously postponed.

Postponement in itself can and should be considered an important device of confidence building. In the past, when very big issues divided the Israelis and the PLO, the logical consequence was the rejection of accommodation on the grounds that the differences were much too great on most basic issues. This time, the conclusion was entirely different. Accommodation was reached on those issues on which the parties could find agreement, while realizing that a full agenda remained on which agreement at this point was not only not possible, but any attempt to force one would be so premature as to possibly bring about an end to the entire process. They concluded that the importance of reaching an agreement now was so great that if issues remained that were not soluble at this time, they simply had to be postponed no matter how big these issues were.

The items that have remained are indeed so substantial as to make it easy to understand why in the past they caused the rejection of accommodation. The present agreement leaves open the question of the Palestinian state (meaning whether or not the autonomous entity would indeed grow into an independent state), as well as the question of the right of return for Palestinian refugees. It consciously postpones the question of Jerusalem which is of enormous emotional and religious significance and which more than once in the past has presented insurmountable obstacles. There also are interim solutions to such concerns as the future status of the Israeli settlements and their 130,000 inhabitants as well as the gamut of questions related to Israeli security concerns, among them demilitarization and possible deployment of Israeli forces in some parts of the Palestinian entity in the future. While the present agreement calls for the beginning of negotiations about the resolution of these issues after a two year transition period, there is little immediate hope for finding a simultaneous breakthrough on all or even most of them.

However, the point is that there has been an agreement to disagree on basics, and at the same time to define a time frame at the end of which the issues will be dealt with in a formal manner. This in itself signifies a degree of confidence in the adversary who is expected to come to the table to negotiate about the resolution of outstanding differences, if not necessarily in good faith then at least in good time and good order. In general, the ability to agree to disagree and then to restrict the disagreement into a mutually accepted time frame is an excellent strategy for making progress in conflict management and resolution, but it is very difficult to develop.⁸ After all, conflicts are supposed to be about issues, and when these prove to be intractably difficult to handle, we tend to shy away from the complexity of the process and come to terms with the existence and the continuation of the conflict in its more or less traditional patterns. Yet the present example is a very good demonstration of one of the principal findings of this book; namely, that process and substance can and should be distinguished and that this distinction is of significance in both theoretical and empirical terms.⁹

Opponents of confidence building as a principal approach to the study of conflict resolution argue that the need is for resolving the issues rather than for confidence building, because the resolution of issues is the best and perhaps the only way to build confidence that is lasting and of permanent value. Confidence building is argued to be not that valuable because it does not deal with substance, and substance always means the issues that keep the parties in the conflict apart. Hence the conclusion from this approach is that the time and energy invested in confidence building is wasted and rather can be invested with greater effect in conflict resolution in the classic sense, namely issue-oriented processes. Yet we have seen that in many cases this approach just does not work in the rough-and-tumble of real world conflict. The issues are just not ripe or amenable to resolution, while the parties to the conflict do recognize that the cost of pursuing the conflict along the lines of intensity then existing is prohibitive. Hence, they may perceive that something can and should be done about reducing the intensity of the conflict even if the majority of the issues at stake cannot be resolved in the near future.

Further, as we previously have suggested, confidence building is not devoid of substance. It is not merely procedures and process, though instrumentality is a crucial approach in seemingly intractable (zero-sum) situations. Confidence building can use opportunities to move cooperatively on issues of substance which are not intractable and are amenable to political accommodation as a means to create expanded boundaries of political discourse, to establish evidence of commitment (a track record) and thereby trust, and hence indirectly to create a new and more elastic or adaptive contextual environment. Ultimately, if coordinated and managed properly, one can establish a more resilient sense of legitimacy to the confidence building process. This is one way of understanding why the Declaration of Principles and the prior post-Madrid process have held in abeyance many of the issues declared by one party or another as being nonnegotiable. This also is the potential value of the parallel multilateral talks.¹⁰

This situation signifies a willingness to make concessions, but not necessarily the major ones needed to bring the arguments about the basic issues to an end. In other words, the parties are aware of the harm contained in the present structure of the relationship with the adversary, even if it is not yet possible to do away with the nucleus of the adversarial relationship by doing away with the problems that divided the parties in the first place. As a result, we are precisely in the situation envisaged in the theoretical chapters of this book which have argued that the first and perhaps most important requirement of a positive experiment in confidence building is the recognition of the importance of a relationship qua relationship even apart from the issues. The sensitivity to a relationship and the willingness to improve it by investing resources (time, energy, skill and inventiveness, among many others) is a critically important component of conflict transformation, and of course by analogy we can see this point in many non-political conflict situations as well. The mutual willingness to invest in the relationship is in and of itself a great contribution to confidence building. After all, what could be more confidence inspiring than the knowledge that the enemy cares about its relationship with you, even when it is not able to concede that which made you enemies a long time ago?

In addition, when there is a chance for improving a relationship, there is also hope that improving the process will facilitate the ability of both parties to deal with the issues which so far have proven to be insoluble. A period of time during which a learning process improves communications between the parties and teaches them to appreciate each other’s fears and concerns better may allow for a transformation of the way in which the difficult issues are regarded.¹¹ Such a transformation may open up new possibilities and utilize the positive achievements of the transitional period for a better and more efficient attack on the core issues in the future. In other words, the inability to resolve problems now is not only not allowed to prevent an agreement, but it is also considered something that may change over time with the very act of reaching an agreement on whatever it is possible to agree at the present time.

This is clearly an important part of the confidence building process. There may be an argument whether this is a conscious act or a mere coincidence. This argument may be more interesting for the theoretician than for the practitioner. For the latter it is the result that counts, whereas for the former it is a significant question whether or not the steps taken were intended to cultivate and develop the relationship or rather were part of the process to secure results. Hence the measure of confidence gained was merely a byproduct of that primary effort. In the present case it is obvious that there was a great deal of effort invested in cultivating the relationship itself. Progress on the issues was limited and both parties recognized that it could not be otherwise. Hence, the decision to deal with the other side in a highly structured framework had to be a matter of investing in the future relationship.

Of course, some confidence building measures that could have been of great significance were missing, even though they would have made eminent sense. From the Israeli point of view much was made of the need to put an end to the Arab boycott which had been one of the historical symbols of Arab enmity to Israel and of the dedication to restrict and harass it. Also, Arab countries supporting the process were expected to establish diplomatic relations with Israel, thereby signifying the end of the period of animosity and isolation. These two steps did not take place in the initial stages. Moreover, PLO chairman Arafat explicitly called on the Arab countries not to rush any normalization of relations with Israel until the latter would complete its withdrawal from all the disputed territory in favor of the requested Palestinian state. From a Palestinian perspective, a more explicit statement by Israel concerning the future of the West Bank and Gaza Jewish settlements and on refugee-related issues would have been helpful. More fundamental still would have been an Israeli declaration acknowledging of the legitimacy of Palestinian national aspirations for an independent state.

This difficulty is instructive because it takes us back again to the process-substance dichotomy. From the Israeli point of view, allowing the Palestinians to gain some control over some of the land in question was substance, whereas the psychological steps of recognition and putting an end to isolating the adversary is more a matter of process. From the Arab point of view, however, recognizing Israel and enhancing its legitimacy by putting an end to the boycott and establishing diplomatic relations with it is very much a matter of substance, and in fact the most important political asset that the Arabs control in the conflict. This has been known for many decades and certainly in a practical way since the Egyptian-Israeli peace negotiations in the late 1970s. So in this case, too, the difficulties remained very serious, although some steps were taken to try to find a way out of the dilemma. One major example is that of Morocco, a strong and active supporter of the peace process. The King of Morocco hosted the Israeli prime minister and foreign minister in a highly publicized visit enroute home from the signing ceremony in Washington, thereby expressing support and contributing to confidence building, yet doing so in a way that was neither irreversible nor would give away negotiating cards irretrievably.

The Second Stage of the Israeli-Palestinian Peace Process

By January 1994, developments in the peace process were not encouraging. The process appeared to be stalled, and one wondered to what extent any of the early optimism remained, even among those initially responsible for the breakthrough. The reasons for this pessimism were varied, but included: that it had not been possible to meet the December deadline for beginning the Israeli withdrawal; that the general security situation in Israel had not improved, but if anything had deteriorated; that the success of the radical elements in many acts of terrorism on both sides of the Green Line led to an increasingly widely-held perception in Israel that the agreement did not pay and that it may not work in the long run either; that there are so many disagreements on basics, even as the implementation phase just begins, that the idea of postponing the most difficult and divisive issues to the indefinite future is itself problematic;¹² that in Israel, and possibly in some quarters of the Arab world and even in the west, Arafat’s leadership was viewed as increasingly weak and hesitant, and constantly challenged by others who are able to slow down the process;¹³ and, that disagreements over the results of the Cairo meeting between the Israeli team led by Shimon Peres and the Palestinian team led by Abu Mazen over the issues of the passage across the borders of the autonomy were devastating.¹⁴

Of course, one must always have a sense of perspective. Plans to convene the Israeli-Palestinian security meetings again in Taba were carried out, and on the basis of the understandings (but not “agreements") of Cairo the process continued. What effect the 25 February murders and ensuing disturbances both in the territories and by Israeli Arabs will have on these and related meetings is still too early to tell, although further meetings have been postponed by the PLO with resumption linked to Israel’s acceptance of a set of new conditions concerning the Jewish settlers. Then again, if we recall the experience of the Israeli-Egyptian negotiations of 1977–79, it will be clear that while time is of the essence, negotiations can extend well beyond the initial time frame. Time is a fundamental variable: it is elastic and as such can be used as both a constraint and inducement. Time also can be divided into periods of varying length, discrete and separate, overlapping, concatenated. Each construction has its own meanings, uses, and implications for agenda setting and process. It is good to remember that the original visit by Sadat to Jerusalem took place in November 1977, while the signing of the peace treaty between Israel and Egypt was consummated only in March 1979, and this after weathering a number of crises. The process got stuck once after Prime Minister Begin’s visit to Ismailia in January 1978, and from then on, despite a number of efforts to get it back on track, it was never really in order until the Camp David conference began in September 1978.

As is well-known, the Camp David conference was about to break down on a number of occasions, and it took not only the resolve of the parties, but also the personal commitment and involvement of the president of the United States to bring it to a successful conclusion by employing, among other things, the intensity of time compression which enhanced the perceived urgency of both parties reaching an honorable and reasonable conclusion. However, even then, ten months after President Sadat’s original initiative, it was touch and go, and things got stuck when it came to the practical implementation of the agreement achieved in Camp David. And again, it took a trip to the Middle East by the US president, and a great personal diplomatic effort on his part, to bring about the signing of the formal peace treaty, which took place only some five months after Camp David. Hence the entire process took almost one-and-a-half years, even though there had been momentum and substantial involvement of the United States in the critical stages. We also must keep in mind that the issues involved were less complicated than in the present process.

The Sinai desert never carried serious religious or historical significance for Israelis and the possible threat from the Sinai to the state of Israel was fairly easily neutralized via the demilitarization and inspection mechanisms. For Egypt, the importance of the Sinai was political and psychological, and though significant, it cannot be compared to the importance of parts of Palestine to the Palestinians. It makes sense to remember that in the final analysis the complexity of the issues in the earlier process was much less than it is now. Therefore, now there is little reason to expect a quick consummation of the process, when this was not the case earlier. While there are advantages to the present Israeli-Palestinian process being a truly bilateral one, it also lacks the force of active American mediation which was a principal factor in expediting matters between Israel and Egypt which also began bilaterally.¹⁵ Not well understood is the issue of whether, and if so how, conducting the multilaterals which deal with functional issues (water, arms control, refugees, economics, environment) simultaneously with the bilaterals affects the other. Given the numerical combinations of possible “successes” and “failures” in negotiations, how might this be viewed from the perspective of systematic confidence building in an effort to stabilize the political context even if many significant issues remain unresolved?

Among other points worthy of attention is the importance of mediation in both acute and protracted international conflicts in which cultural differences eventually also get to play a major role. Even though Egypt has provided its good offices as a mediator in the post-Oslo talks, patience is required since Egypt cannot be expected to carry the same weight as the Americans. In light of this, it is encouraging that the talks have not broken down, and that neither of the two parties is sufficiently impatient to stick to deadlines too religiously. What effect the Hebron massacre will have remains unclear. One immediate response by the United States was to invite both parties to reconvene immediately, moving the venue of the negotiations from the Middle East and Europe to Washington. We can argue that each party has confidence in the other, at least to the extent of believing that the process has reciprocal importance so that the talks will not end over issues related to time. Also, the commitment of the parties to the process and to the ideas contained in the declaration of principles is constantly stressed. This can be considered a confidence building measure of sorts since it creates a common language and a common point of reference. This is more functional than arguing about the truths or untruths of ancient history, and hence makes a positive contribution to the process.¹⁶

As mentioned before, the Israelis and the Palestinians established a committee explicitly dedicated to confidence building measures, and thereby underscored the popularity of the concept. However, a closer look at the committee’s work shows that those who established it adopted the old and narrow definition of the term. The committee discussed such matters as the release of Palestinian prisoners by Israel, which is indeed an important issue in its own right, but not necessarily the most important ingredient of confidence building. Perhaps there is a misnomer here. The agenda of the committee was a narrow one, reflecting a restricted interpretation of the concept of confidence building, while both politicians and the relevant publics took it for granted that there had already been a profound process of confidence building. This process consisted of the agreements and undei standings accomplished in the secret contacts leading to the public agreements concluded in Oslo, and these were understood to imply the broader, more explicitly political concept of confidence building. This meant in practice that the important issues of confidence building were reserved to the political negotiations, while the committee ostensibly charged with confidence building dealt only with a limited range of humanitarian gestures. It was as if both the public and the politicians made a distinction between the process, on the one hand, and gestures intended to build confidence on the other, as if these were not a truly integral part of the process.

While this is a legitimate interpretation of the concept, it is an unnecessarily narrow one. Its harm lies in the fact that by narrowly restricting the notion of confidence building to specific committees dealing with gestures, it misses the opportunity to transform the thinking of statesmen—and indeed their constituencies as well—in the sense of making their set of political concepts richer by constantly emphasizing the need to consider how their deeds and actions impact on the level of confidence between the parties. This would add an extra dimension of flexibility and enhance the general insight into the relationship with the adversary or the negotiating partner. There is every reason to believe that this importance is demonstrated once again in the case of the Palestinian-Israeli peace process.¹⁷

The diversity and complexity of the issues pertaining to confidence building allows us to be more critical towards the conventional concepts of the confidence building tradition. In the past, much emphasis was attached to the need and possibility of exchanging people and ideas across boundaries as a major device for building trust between peoples and not just between governments. Of course, this tradition goes back at least to the days of the late stages of the Cold War in Europe, and in Israel it has always been a principal component of the Israeli doctrine of peace in the Middle East. This tradition played a big role in the ultimate structure of the peace treaty between Egypt and Israel, and even in the present negotiations between Syria and Israel this broad Israeli definition of peace is very prominent, and involves serious disagreements between these two countries, reflecting the traditional attitudes to peace over the past few decades.

The Israeli-Palestinian case is somewhat different, as the Israelis and Palestinians have known each other in a profound way, and contacts between the two have been nothing if not extensive. Of course, everyone will realize that these contacts have not been symmetrical, as they came into being during years of fighting, and in recent years the contact has been one of a strongly armed occupying power against a population in revolt. However, this is not all. Tens of thousands of Palestinians have worked in Israel and have learned to know Israeli society, including language, culture and everyday habits, better than any of the other Arabs. They have absorbed many of the concepts and habits of Israeli society, including notions about democracy and open communications, even as many of them bitterly oppose what Israel stands for politically. Similarly, tens of thousands of Israelis have had extensive economic contacts with Palestinians and have learned about Palestinian society first-hand. So if anything, a formal treaty between Israel and the PLO will not open up new contacts between the two peoples, but rather it is likely to decrease the volume of these contacts.

According to the literature, the extensive contacts in the recent past should have built a measure of confidence between the parties.¹⁸ Little of this has been in evidence, even though the contacts have served at least to allow each of the two parties to learn something about the strength and determination of the other. Beyond that, it is not dear to what extent this relative familiarity with the other party has facilitated the negotiating process, if at all. The bulk of the Palestinian negotiating team is made up of the leadership of the PLO in Tunis, which is a different entity than the Palestinians in the territories, at least in its political habits and culture. In any case, it does not appear that contacts in this case have made a major contribution to the confidence building process, and it is possible that this ingredient has been exaggerated, more out of faith than out of genuine analytical error.

Confidence Building in the Syrian-Israeli Peace Process Since Geneva, January 1994

The negotiations between Syria and Israel have been quite different than the ones between Israel and the PLO. Syria is a relatively strong state in Middle Eastern terms, even though it suffers from endemic insecurity. This in turn stems from its occasional isolation which has to do with the radical positions traditionally taken by its leadership, as well as the fragile ethnic makeup of the state, and the heritage of its powerful neighbors in the past being able to affect the outcome of conflicts inside Syria. Still, Syria is easily one of the strongest states in the region, and as such cannot be compared with an organization like the PLO which is in an incomparably weaker position in every way.

Rumors about an impending settlement between Syria and Israel had been the order of the day throughout 1993, long before the details of the secret negotiations between Israel and the PLO became public knowledge. Signals were sent by Israel almost from the very inception of the Rabin government in 1992 when the Israeli Prime Minister declared that his government considered UNSC resolution 242 applicable on all fronts, including the Golan Heights. This declaration was of considerable significance, if we bear in mind that Israeli law had been applied by resolution of the Knesset to the Golan Heights in late 1981, a parliamentary move which was supported by a majority of Labor. Also, public declarations by various Israeli governments (including spokesmen from Labor) as a rule tended to emphasize the importance of maintaining the Golan as part of Israel for security purposes.

Then newspapers started to report that secret negotiations were under way between Syria and Israel. Eventually these reports made the point that the negotiations themselves and progress in them were made possible by the turning of the comer by both parties: by Israel in acknowledging the need to withdraw and by Syria in acknowledging the need to make peace. From the Israeli point of view, these rumors gained credence when Prime Minister Rabin started to declare that the depth of the withdrawal from the Golan would be equivalent to the depth of the peace that Israel would be offered by Syria. While some observers considered this as a radical challenge to Syria, most could detect a major change in the traditional Israeli line. The idea of security based on territory, even in the midst of continuing strife, was slowly being abandoned, in favor of security based more on peace, even at the cost of large-scale territorial concessions.¹⁹

Still, something seemed to go badly wrong. The Israelis kept arguing that they were unable to receive a clear indication as to what type of peace Syria was willing to make, and at what pace. The unwillingness of the Syrians to make this clear and public led Israel to the conclusion that a breakthrough with Syria was not imminent, yet a breakthrough is what they needed and wanted. Something drastic needed to be done, and soon. This is the background to the decision to explore seriously and dramatically the Palestinian option, even while the change towards Syria was being implemented. And when the breakthrough on the Palestinian front became a reality, this put the Syrians on the spot. They were taken by surprise, and felt betrayed.

The feeling of betrayal was not only on account of the moves made by Israel while reportedly in the middle of business-like negotiations with Syria, but also on account of the secrets kept from them by their Palestinian allies for whom they felt that they had made so many sacrifices for decades. Yet the new situation came into being by a move that involved both the Palestinians and the Israelis, as well as some parties that facilitated the negotiations, among them such key Arab actors as Egypt and Morocco. This fit well the old Syrian feeling of not only being betrayed, but also of being isolated and left to fight for themselves against Israel, while others pursue their selfish interests, regardless of the explicit ideological commitments voiced in public.

In the past, such feelings of betrayal and isolation usually led the Syrians to take an even more assertively radical stance, and certainly did not make them more flexible or reasonable in multilateral regional talks. However, this time the entire constellation was different. The global political structure had changed. The collapse of the Soviet Union took away the main pillar of support from the classic rejectionist strategy and made the radical-rejectionist alternative to the peace process unpalatable and impractical. The strong international support for the Israel-PLO accord did not allow Syria to condemn and oppose it openly and unequivocally. Hence, it started to speak with a double voice, criticizing details and strategies, while not totally opposing in political terms the entire idea. And to show injury or offense would have made Syria more isolated, just at the time when changing international realities and the country’s need for a foreign orientation created new opportunities for more economic contacts and openings in order to modernize Syria, allowing it to play a more conventional role in international society.

This need to engage the broader international community was not necessarily ideological. There was increasing recognition that the collapse of communism in Eastern Europe, and particularly in a country such as Romania (which had resembled Syria to a considerable extent) was a signal that could not be ignored. The impact of world-wide changes (easily available and accessible on the airwaves to the citizens, and not in a way that could be easily subverted by communications technology) was such that a revolt could be expected in the foreseeable future, should the country fail to open up for more participation and more economic progress, making life for the citizens more satisfying in both political and economic terms. This could not be done in isolation from the principal power in the world and its allies which could play the most important economic roles in the possible better future of Syria. The President of Syria seemed to decide—he would later label it a “strategic decision"—that betrayed or not, he would have to continue to pursue peace with Israel, and moreover, that he would do so publicly.

Significantly, this decision was communicated (unlike in the cases of Sadat and Arafat) not to Israel but to the United States. This certainly inspired confidence between Syria and the United States, but not between Syria and Israel. The press conference in Geneva in January 1994 in which Asad and Clinton announced the breakthrough witnessed the exclusion of Israeli journalists, at the insistence of the Syrians, hardly the step calculated to inspire confidence in the party with which peace was to be made as a matter of “strategic decision.” This series of steps lacked the direct approach taken earlier by the Palestinians and the Egyptians. Asad did not try to speak to the Israeli public and did not try to gain points in Israeli public opinion by creating a favorable climate for a settlement, thereby forcing the Israeli government to make progress at the insistence of its own domestic constituency. All this despite the fact that internal debate in Israel time and again emphasized the trustworthiness of Syria as proven by the twenty years of scrupulous adherence to the disengagement agreement on the Golan Heights.

On the other hand, the Israeli government also reacted fairly coldly to the opening from Geneva. The euphoria of the earlier breakthroughs was missing, and instead the high cost of making a settlement was emphasized. The domestic constituency was taken into account only as an obstacle. It is true that the public campaign in Israel for supporting the settlers on the Golan Heights was very visible, managing to make itself felt all over the country via signs, stickers and banners, much more so than in the case of the settlers in the West Bank.²⁰ In addition, the support for the Golan settlers was strong inside the Labor party as well as in the opposition, and several active Labor Members of the Knesset were among the leaders of the Golan lobby. Finally, due to the bad historical memories of Syrian attacks on Israeli villages inside the Green Line prior to 1967, opposition to a withdrawal from the Heights was vigorously opposed by many inhabitants of Northern Israel who would have nothing to do with the West Bank controversy.

All this made for a difficult domestic climate, particularly at a time when the interim settlement with the PLO was stalled and losing momentum in the public at large. More than anything, the possibility of a Golan settlement was a matter of confidence. There were no emotional historical ties involved on the Israeli side, and all came down to basic considerations of military security. The Israeli government was appropriately declaratory: security would be enhanced by peace more than by territory; there would be demilitarization; there would be international inspection and perhaps presence; there would be no return of the Syrian military to the Heights to threaten Israel; there would be a gradual withdrawal allowing the peace process to mature and each stage monitored and verified. All this was understood by the public, but still questions were asked as to the trustworthiness of political agreements of this kind, in the face of grave doubts and dangers, in case the settlement did not work after all. The public debate was uncomfortable from the point of view of the Israeli government. Prime Minister Rabin surprised even his own close associates by announcing the commitment to hold a referendum before major withdrawal would be agreed upon.

This announcement was useful for building Israeli public confidence in the government, but it certainly did not look good to the Syrians. On the public level, they argued that it was contradictory to international law to hold a referendum on the future of territories conquered from another country. On the less public level, they began to wonder just what Rabin had in mind. Would he negotiate a lengthy settlement, and then have it cancelled due to his inability to get it through a referendum? This concern was strengthened when Rabin announced that only the final package would be brought to a vote, which means that the entire process of negotiations would take place in the shadow of the need to have the whole package approved at the very end. While there had been the precedents of Camp David and the peace treaty between Egypt and Israel which had been approved in the Knesset, a Knesset vote is not a national referendum. Where the government does not enjoy the confidence of the Knesset, it has to step down, but so long as it exists it is assumed to have the support of the majority of the Knesset. Public opinion, as measured in a referendum, is a much more volatile and unpredictable entity.

To make things even more sensitive, the Israeli Prime Minister started explaining that one major objective of the referendum was to make sure that the Syrians understand the need to “persuade” public opinion in Israel that the peace they are offering is sincere, and that the cost for this peace is reasonable. While this objective is more than acceptable and makes eminent sense, to announce it and to elaborate on it in public creates a new set of problems. Certainly the Syrian President up to that point seemed to care little for public opinion in Israel, and consistently had preferred to speak to various other audiences and constituencies, thereby failing to capitalize on the opportunity to build more confidence with Israel. However, this had been his deliberate choice, due to his preferences, in the light of his reading of the evolving map of international politics. To force him to revise his strategy by announcing publicly that the Israeli government is taking steps to make him change his policy made no sense, other than to infuriate all concerned on the other side (reportedly not only the Syrians, but also the US officials involved).

Mr. Rabin, had been known for many years as a person who likes to lecture in public on the hidden objectives of his negotiating strategy, as exemplified by his statements in the mid-1970s while negotiating the interim agreement with the Egyptians (known also as “Sinai II”). This time he certainly seemed to step on sensitive toes, and it contributed nothing to confidence building, especially since he preferred to spring this as a surprise move, which, once announced, became an official commitment that was simply irreversible. It did seem to contradict the idea of confidence building by negotiations and sharing basic information, but since the Syrians started to use public opinion in Geneva in January 1994 without coordination with Israel, apparently the Israeli prime minister felt that he could afford to reciprocate more or less in kind. However, this kind of exchange went counter to the philosophy of confidence building.

Almost inevitably, the impression was created in Damascus that calling for a referendum was somehow stacking the cards against the negotiating partner, and creating a new and uncertain component in the process. In response, Israeli officials voiced their conviction that the referendum will not hinder the process, but in fact will make a positive contribution to it by enhancing the legitimacy of an outcome which will require major concessions on the part of the state of Israel. Perhaps, but when these declarations were made, much criticism was voiced in Israel arguing that this already assumed the positive outcome of the voting, thereby biasing the domestic process and jeopardizing its fairness. What could emerge is a clear case of domestic political considerations visibly intruding into the process of international negotiations, possibly making things much more difficult. Furthermore, by becoming an integral part in the process, the parties then learn to manipulate domestic politics to their own advantage. However, precisely because such manipulations are so obviously unpredictable, it is understandable that they tend to undermine confidence.

The issues on the Golan itself also involved confidence in a much more salient way than practically anywhere else. As no national or historical attachments were claimed in Israel, the main considerations raised were security, both in terms of direct military threats to Israeli territory as well as Syrian capacity to disrupt Israel’s water supply by controlling the main tributaries of the Jordan river, which, after flowing into the Lake of Galilee, is a crucial part of the main water reservoir system in Israel. In the Middle East water is life, and fighting for water is as common as historical or ideological conflicts. The government of Israel undertook to persuade public opinion that it was possible to make sure that no threat to Israel’s military security or water supply would be forthcoming, even without a direct Israeli military presence on the Heights. This argument, which is crucial to the future outcome of the negotiations, is the one which involves questions of Syrian intent and confidence building so prominently.

The idea was to substitute political agreements and a mutually agreed upon set of security measures for the military occupation of the past 25 years. Military occupation is the ultimate unilateral way of managing security, whereas political agreements are the exact opposite. The heart of the political alternative would be the belief that a set of agreements will survive for a length of time, and will in fact be stable enough to allow the end of military occupation. In other words, you must believe in the honest intentions of your negotiating partner and be convinced about this partner’s capabilities to sustain that commitment. Therefore, intentions became important, and Israelis started looking for unambiguous signs that the Syrians truly meant business. The signs were there, but they were still rather ambiguous. The signs were sent to Washington more than to Jerusalem, which is not something to underestimate, but clearly not as good as the “real thing.” And on such questions as to whether the agreement would “stand on its own feet, "²¹ there was a lack of clarity.

Eventually, the Israeli prime minister reported that the Syrians were committed, that the agreement would “stand on its own feet,” and thereby that substantial progress had been made.²² At this important stage of the negotiations, when the formal meetings between Syria and Israel just resumed in Washington, there came the news about the accidental death of President Asad’s son. The president of Israel, who, just like Asad, is a former combat pilot who lost a son of his own, hastened to send his condolences to his Syrian counterpart while on an official visit in Turkey. In addition to the human gesture there was the idea of building confidence via such public steps calculated to add to the ego of the Syrian president, who was called by his Israeli counterpart a “courageous” leader, and was given a whole series of accolades in public. One may well wonder whether this is the correct way of going about confidence building, but in any case the effort was made.

The real issues of confidence on the ground were increasingly thought of in terms of third party services. On the Israeli side, it became obvious that the relationship between the Golan Heights and the national security needs would continue to dominate the negotiations even as the willingness of Israel to withdraw became more and more evident. Hence, the requirements for devices and strategems to bypass the need for direct occupation. First, there were suggestions to use long term leases as the way to assure a minimal Israeli presence for purposes of intelligence and for making sure that Syrian troops would not return to threatening positions on the Heights. However, difficulties with this approach soon became clear and alternative ideas were raised, most importantly the placing of third party forces—invariably meaning the United States—on strategic areas on the Heights.²³

American leaders themselves started hinting at this possibility soon after the highly publicized meeting in Geneva in January 1994. This was congruent with the tendency of the Syrians to take steps intended to please the leadership of the United States, which to many, if not most, Israelis, seemed the single most important Syrian consideration in taking the steps toward peace. Hence, it seemed logical for Israel to use this as a stepping-stone for an American presence that would resolve many of the questions of confidence on the ground. In addition, there was the successful example of the American-dominated multinational force in the Sinai which could serve as an attractive precedent from the Israeli point of view. Since this would involve a strong American commitment, exemplified by physical presence on the ground, the complete process would be institutionalized under American leadership, much like the later stages of the Egyptian-Israeli peace negotiations. No one could tell whether this ultimately would be acceptable to Syria, but certainly this was a convincing demonstration of the importance of third parties in confidence building in chronic conflicts with acute flare-ups in which a single outside actor possess the capabilities and the strategic interests sufficient to sustain a credible political commitment to the process.

Conclusion: Avenues for Future Research

This volume has attempted to clarify the notion of confidence building and to examine its applicability to the Middle East in general, and the ongoing peace process in the region in particular.²⁴ Of course, limitations of space and other resources have prevented the editors from exhausting all the intellectual challenges inherent in the complexities of the topic. Certain countries of potential importance, such as Iraq,²⁵ have not been studied, although Iraq is an interesting case of a radical actor in the system, and as such it may constitute an interesting ‘limiting case study’. Likewise, Iran,²⁶ a key regional actor does not appear in the volume, even though its recent history has been full of instructive sets of constantly shifting relationships with many different constellations in the regional political arena. In addition, a study of such international factors as the United Nations, the European Community and perhaps NATO would also have been in order, particularly on the assumption that the involvement of external actors and institutions²⁷ in the peace process in the Middle East has been particularly intensive, and is likely to continue to be so in the future as well.

Even the relationships that have been studied should be analyzed in the future with more explicit orientations to confidence and security building processes, conceptions and measures. Because this has been a pioneering volume, basically laying the groundwork for an integration of the notion of confidence building into the study of Middle East politics, it has been possible here to make only the first tentative steps in the necessary direction.²⁸ However, in the future analysts should pay more attention to the explicit orientations of the various countries in the region to the threats incorporated in their notions of security, and the resulting degrees of freedom, or lack of freedom, in each country in terms of security perceptions. Failing this type of analysis, it is almost impossible to determine to what extent in a given case it is possible to expand degrees of freedom and flexibility in policy making by confidence building measures. The studies that we do have here present evidence pointing to the unique characteristics of each major relationship between Israel and its three important neighbours, Egypt, Syria and Jordan. In each case a different type of relationship eventually has been institutionalized, and in each case confidence building measures of some sort appear to have played an important role. But a comparative study between the three is necessary to see to what extent the theoretical notion of confidence building in fact appeared more or less explicitly, and to what extent the model of confidence building used in each case has some value as a source of lessons in other cases in the future.

Clearly, the formal peace process and the eventual peace treaty between Egypt and Israel²⁹ are quite a different type of political arrangement with the unwritten rules of the game followed by Israel and Syria in Lebanon,³⁰ and the entire set of surreptitious understandings between these two countries. And both differ from the Jordanian-Israeli relationship which is full of secret understandings, and of many instances of quiet, but enduring acts of cooperation in the everyday administration of the West Bank and the matters arising from this complex state of affairs. One has to recognize the uniqueness of each case, but then the question still arises to what extent these cases have something in common in a way that does not defy theorization and conceptualization.

One key question that is raised by these examples in a salient way is the question of public as opposed to secret diplomacy. The chapter on media and communications raises this issue in the appropriate context, but the implications are very broad indeed. One needs to compare the practical cases, though, to allow some theoretical generalizations, and the existing knowledge on this does not allow much theoretical progress at the moment. Specifically, at least two major contending views can be cited. According to the one, going public with negotiations is in itself an important confidence building measure because it is more or less irreversible, and because it speaks directly to the mass constituency of the other side. On the other hand, another approach argues that given the pressures and realities of Middle East politics it is unrealistic to expect open diplomacy to withstand the numerous rejectionist and obstructionist forces active against peace, so that in many stages of the process secret diplomacy is very much in order. It is difficult to reach a dear-cut conclusion on this controversial issue. Obviously, more research is needed, on more cases, to reach such a conclusion. The chapter in this volume is based predominantly on the Sadat experience. However, several other cases have to be studied before a reasonably confident conclusion can be envisaged.

Of course, much depends on the process itself. The present peace process in the Middle East is a complex forum of bilateral talks between pairs of actors, as well as a series of multilateral talks with heavy external participation. This raises the structural question of external involvement in confidence building measures in acute conflict situations, particularly as far as regional conflicts are concerned. In the specific case of the Middle East today, not only is the present peace process very much a phenomenon of global interest and involvement, but also primarily a product of external interest and involvement. It is highly likely that it would not have come into being, at least not at the present time, without such globally important events as the 1991 Gulf War, and the ensuing activist policies of the United States administration of the time. Indeed, the parties themselves often consider the process primarily an American obsession or ambition, and much of what they do in the process can be considered more in the nature of strategy vis-âvis the overwhelming reality of American power and influence than a genuine gesture towards their opponents or partners in the conflict itself. In the introduction, we already have raised the possibility that this strong orientation to one key external actor in itself may create a common set of values or at least a common language about the issues. This raises the possibility that this emerging language, with its terms, notions, concepts and ideas in itself may become a mediating mechanism, and perhaps ultimately a confidence building measure, in the process of conflict management.³¹

Still, this is a novelty. The original theory and practice of confidence building started from the premise of a more or less stable deterrence relationship, which needed further attempts at reducing the risks of unintended and undesired consequences. This in turn raised the necessity of moving toward enhanced transparent, and thus focused on the creation of mechanisms to further the goal of inspiring greater trust and avoiding accidents. However, this is not the situation in the Middle East at all. The relationships are neither bilateral nor stable (whether between states or blocs), but rather multilateral and unstable. Hence much of the ambition for confidence building and the desire to institutionalize this into security arrangements does not organically stem from the wishes of the parties themselves, but rather from the wishes of outsiders who assume that such measures will enhance peace and impede or reduce the threat and the use of force. Granted, these ‘outsiders’ represent the institutionalized resolutions of the world community, and are driven by the only superpower left in the world today. Still, the question arises as to the limits of such external initiatives.

We have a significant literature that deals with the limits as well as the possibilities of superpowers attempting to influence their clients in the Middle East to follow policies desired by the superpowers. Of course, this literature demonstrates fairly persuasively how difficult it is to impose such policies even on small powers when the policies are perceived to contradict vital national interests.³² On the other hand, in such cases at least there is the perception that the policies desired by the superpower are important to its vital national interests. However, in the case of trying to build confidence between parties in a regional conflict this is obviously not the perception, which means that the motivation of the regional actors to toe the line is even more limited. So many subtle and creative moves are indicated. Yet there is little literature on these possible moves, because the practise of applying notions of confidence building to the Middle East is so new and so short. The importance of describing and analyzing possible strategies³³ for such situations clearly emerges from this volume as an item of priority in the research agenda of the future.

There will be scholars who will argue that this will never work. Specifically, the argument will be that the local antagonism inherent in the indigenous political traditions of the region are so strong and violent that no amount of external manipulation will do. One school that argues this is associated with the interpretation of Middle Eastern history whereby the process of creating national states that are territorially based is still very new in the area.³⁴ This means that the process is far from completion, and that while we are in its midst, we are to expect further violent conflict, domestically as well as externally. Followers of this school of thought will point to the large military establishments in the region and to the relatively high incidence of violence in domestic politics. One then may well ask how it is possible to expect confidence in the various regimes, and to this is added the question of stability.

Many knowledgeable observers of Middle East politics argue that instability of regimes in the area is and will continue to be endemic, because the regimes lack legitimacy.³⁵ It follows that the prospect is always for radical transformation, not just change of personalities or even parties, but of entire ideological and political structures. In turn, this creates the very real possibility that one’s negotiating partners may not be around for long. Such a state of affairs by definition destabilizes the negotiating process and calls for measures, perhaps externally based, to create some kind of safety net for promises and agreements that may be conceivably the victims of regime changes.

Of course, peace is ultimately between peoples, but negotiations are conducted between governments. The two do not necessarily correspond in the Middle East today. Moreover, massive and apparently popular movements such as Islamic extremism openly and violently challenge the peace process, its premises, deliberations, legitimacy and very existence. This massive challenge unquestionably helps undermine the faith of the parties in the process. The literature does not know of any parallels to this state of affairs in the original European experience. It is not possible to ignore its broad and profound implications. This raises the question of domestic constraints on confidence building in a region torn by political instability and polarization. This volume has studied the politics of rejectionism, but in a future effort to further our understanding of confidence building, the relationship between such major domestic constraints and the confidence building process will have to be studied in greater detail, perhaps in some comparative perspective. It is certainly clear that as the peace process develops further, such factors loom larger and larger. Needless to say, it is possible to make the obverse argument as well, namely that the progress of the peace process has a decisively important influence on the politics of extremism in the region.

In the final analysis, people always will question whether confidence building actually exists. In other words, do people pursue process as well as substance? Do they care about structured relationships as well as issues at stake in structured political encounters? Are they willing to make gestures and even concessions intended to cultivate political communications and the ability to conduct business and not just in the politically competitive process of gaining status or prestige at the cost of the other party? The answer from the European experience is an unqualified yes. Yes, political communities do pursue such an agenda, and they do so consciously. This volume has not come up with a comparably resounding reply in the Middle East. In some cases, the answer is yes, whereas in others the answer is definitely no.

However, it is very early in the process. Precisely because the Middle East is in a relatively early stage in the development of both the nation state as well as a regional order (based on some stable balance of power), it makes sense both for statesmen and analysts to learn from the experience of others. Empirically, the term confidence building is not only known in the Middle East, but it is also used with increasing frequency. Besides, what we need in the analysis of the rough and tumble of Middle East politics is not only categories of a descriptive nature, but also concepts and theories that help prescribe a more manageable future which is constantly on the international agenda. That not all the problems that derive from such prescriptive theoretical notions have been worked out does not invalidate them: it only produces further challenges for theoreticians and practitioners alike. This volume has established at least that confidence building is a potentially rich concept, and one that is well worth pursuing even in the slippery field of Middle East politics.

Notes

1. For a comprehensive and critical overview, see the essay by Andy Richter, Confidence and Security Building Measures—A Closer Look, Occasional Paper No. 22 (York University: Centre for International and Strategic Studies, 1994), prepared initially as a background piece for this project. For the term “positive peace” see Kenneth Boulding’s now classic treatment, Conflict and Defense: A General Theory (New York: Harpers, 1963).

2. For an earlier statement of this challenge, see David B. Dewitt, “Confidence-and Security-Building Measures in the Middle East: Is There a Role?” and Gabriel Ben-Dor and David B. Dewitt, “Conflict and Conflict Management in the Middle East” in Conflict Management in the Middle East, Gabriel Ben-Dor and David B. Dewitt, eds. (Lexington: D.C. Heath and Co., 1987).

3. The term comes from Alexander George, et al, The Limits of Coercive Diplomacy (Boston: Little Brown, 1968). While he and his colleagues used the term in their examination of the situation in Indochina during the Vietnam war, it would seem to have some interesting relevance to this particular period in Middle East affairs.

4. For the thesis of “crisis as catalyst” see Alexander L. George and Richard Smoke, Deterrence in American Foreign Policy (New York: Columbia University Press, 1974), especially the introductory chapters and the appendix.

5. For example, see the various writings by Bill Zartman, including Saadia Touval and I. William Zartman, eds. International Mediation in Theory and Practice (Boulder: Westview Press, 1985) on “ripe moment” as well as Zartman’s chapter in Ben-Dor and Dewitt, eds. Conflict Management in the Middle East.

6. The term of a government in office, for instance, is a more logical time span to consider as a variable of importance, because politicians in power actually do think in such terms, and hence they should make sense for the analyst as well.

7. Secret diplomacy (e.g., that which had preceded Oslo) refers to meetings which are not known by the public or, indeed, by many others in government except on a “need to know” basis while quiet diplomacy refers to meetings which officials and, indeed, the public may be aware are ongoing but which the content (process, substance, etc.) are not in the public domain (e.g., preparatory meetings; Camp David).

8. See, for example, Morton Deutsch, The Resolution of Conflicts (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1973), especially ch. 11 on bargaining and negotiation theory.

9. See Richter, “Confidence and Security Building Measures—A Closer Look;” note especially his references to and discussion of some of the excellent studies by Jim Macintosh concerning the conceptual issues and definitions of CBMs, though principally in the context of the European experience.

10. Ben-Dor and Dewitt, eds. Conflict Management in the Middle East, especially Dewitt, “Confidence- and Security-Building Measures."

11. This is a rudimentary type of transparency. The value of the parties engaging each other on issue of importance but which are by their very nature open to compromise, collaboration, cooperation and/or some form of sharing both the costs and the benefits, and for which there is little possibility of addressing unilaterally.

12. The strategy of handling the negotiation has been to work on those issues on which there is an agreement, rather than on those on which the agreement is lacking. Yet this has not been possible in the “clean” way envisaged, because the Palestinians are trying to build into the present phase as many elements of sovereignty as they can, while Israel is sticking to the conception of autonomy, which does not derive from Palestinian sovereignty.

13. The fear that Arafat may not be able to deliver and that he may well disappear as an irrelevant leader makes for a gloomy feeling, particularly when it is also conceded that if he does disappear, there may not be a viable alternative available.

14. This meeting seemed to end, at the very end of 1993, with a complex compromise based on sharing of functions. The Israelis considered it to have been an agreement which is binding at least as far as agenda building is concerned, whereas for the Palestinians there were other recollections which challenged the memory, never mind the interpretation, of the Israelis. The latter started fuming and accused the Palestinians of going back on their word and not being serious, while the Palestinians apparently failed to appreciate the depth of feeling on the Israeli side, which was led by the Israeli statesman, Shimon Peres, who is most closely identified with the peace process among all the leading Israeli public figures of this generation.

15. There is some indication, given recent events, that the Americans may again become more directly involved in some combination of facilitator and guarantor. Indeed, analysts have seen this as an especially strong wish of Arafat, following on the widely-held belief that the way to move Israel is through Washington. This tendency has gained momentum due to the American initiative in the wake of the Hebron massacre to move the talks to Washington.

16. The importance of this seemingly technical point should not be underestimated. This argument is made also in light of the points identified in our introductory chapter that the prevailing definitions of confidence building appear much too narrow, and that we need to expand these definitions. See also Richter, “Confidence and Security Building Measures—A Closer Look."

There is a literature now evolving around the theme of the revival of political culture as an important explanatory variable in the analysis of political behavior. A cultural explanation also helps expand the concept of mediation. Many people interpret mediation much too literally, and they look for specific diplomatic missions as the only real manifestation of mediation. This is wrong. Mediation also can work via concepts and agreed-upon principles and here we have an excellent example. It is indeed gratifying to see how successfully this point has worked in practice, and it is to be hoped that it will work equally potently in the future. This was the case with the Egyptian-Israeli process when the parties learned to abide by such agreements as “Camp David", and did so with literal precision. So potent was their influence that in later stages even Israeli leaders like Mr. Shamir and Mr. Arens, when they became Prime Minister and Minister of Defence, respectively, started to express their loyalty to this concept, even though they had originally opposed it and voted against ratifying it in the Knesset in 1978.

17. Most of the contributors to this volume conclude that the broadening of the meaning and operationalization of CBMs is to be encouraged.

18. The classic statement on security community is Karl W. Deutsch, Political Community and the North Atlantic Area (Westport: Greenwood Press, 1957).

19. This idea of relating security to the declaratory notion of peace rather than to land which can be defended and has historical meaning is not universally accepted in Israel. Public opinion fluctuates with degree of uncertainty, insecurity, and frustration felt by the Israeli public over the peace process.

20. This is something of a surprise which can be explained, though, by the fact that the threat to the Golan Heights was perceived as more direct and immediate as well as more relevant to security concerns proper.

21. The phrase “stand on its own feet” is the language which has become customarily used during these talks. It refers to the lack of linkage between on agreement and other treaties or agreements between Israel and other Arab states or entities, such as the Palestinians.

22. This announcement, too, came from the Israelis and not the Syrians directly, though its source was not at all clear, but in any case this was not something articulated by the Syrians directly and in public.

23. For many Israelis in and out of government this would serve as a dubious precedent, challenging the long-held Israeli position that others cannot be the basis upon which Israel rests its security.

24. For some of our earlier thinking on these issues, please consult Gabriel Ben-Dor, “Stabilizing Peace in the Middle East: Beyond the Egyptian-Israeli Peace Treaty,” and Dewitt, “Confidence- and Security-Building Measures” in Conflict Management in the Middle East.

25. At our May 1992 research meeting on “Confidence and Security Building in the Middle East: The Arab-Israeli Nexus,” which provided the initial opportunity for the discussion of many of the draft chapters in this volume, Laurie Mylroie analyzed the possibility of integrating the current regime in Baghdad into a system which aims at promoting confidence and security building measures in the Middle East.

26. See Mark A. Heller, “Sources and Management of the Iran-Iraq War,” in Ben-Dor and Dewitt, eds., Conflict Mamagement in the Middle East.

27. Juergen Dedring analyzed the possible role for international organizations (especially the United Nations) in the process of promoting confidence and security building measures in the Middle East for our May 1992 research.

28. Likewise see Jack Child, The Central American Peace Process, 1983–1991: Sheathing Swords, Building Confidence (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1992).

29. See Janice Gross Stein, “A Common Aversion to War: Regime Creation by Egypt and Israel as a Strategy of Conflict Management,” in Ben-Dor and Dewitt, eds., Conflict Management in the Middle East.

30. See Itamar Rabinovich, “Controlled Conflict in the Middle East: The Syrian-braeli Rivalry in Lebanon,” in Ben-Dor and Dewitt, eds., Conflict Management in the Middle East.

31. See Ben-Dor and Dewitt, eds., Conflict Management in the Middle East.

32. Keith Krause, “Conflict Management, Arms Transfers, and the Arab-Israeli Conflict,” Ben-Dor and Dewitt, eds., Conflict Management in the Middle East.

33. It will be important to undertake research on the impact of the expanding roles currently being undertaken (the changing types of intervention) and by the changing roles of military forces and civilian experts. See, for example, Boutros Boutros Ghali, An Agenda for Peace: Preventative Diplomacy, Peacemaking and Peace-keeping (New York: United Nations, 1992) and Thomas G. Weiss, “New Challenges for UN Military Operations: Implementing an Agenda for Peace,” The Washington Quarterly 16:1 (Winter 1993).

34. For a survey of this literature and its implications, see Gabriel Ben-Dor, State and Conflict in the Middle East (New York: Praeger, 1983).

35. See, for instance, Elie Kedourie, Politics in the Middle East (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992).

Appendix A

The Arab Press: Newspapers and Circulation in Thirteen Countries

Name
Estimated circulation
Location
First published

JORDAN

Al Ray (The Opinion)
45,000
Amman
1971

Al Dustur (The Constitution)
40,000
Amman
1967

Sawt al Sha’b (Voice of the People)
40,000
Amman
1981

Jordan Times*
7,000
Amman
1975

TUNISIA

Al Sabah (The Morning)
45,000
Tunis
1950

La Presse (The Press)
15,000
Tunis
1939

Le Temps†
24,000
Tunis
1976

Al ’Amal (Action)
15,000
Tunis
1957

L’Action†
13,500
Tunis
1932

SAUDI ARABIA

Al Jazirah (The Peninsula)
120,000
Riyadh
1962

Al Riyadh (Riyadh)
100,000
Riyadh
1965

Al Sharq al Awsat (Middle East)
100,000
Jidda/London
1978

Al Madinah (Madina)
90,000
Jidda
1937

’Ukaz
80,000
Jidda
1960

Al Nadwah (The Forum)
50,000
Mecca
1958

Al Bilad (The Country)
50,000
Jidda
1946

Arab News*
50,000
Jidda
1975

Al Yawm (Today)
40,000
Dammam
1959

Al Jazira al Masa’iyah

(The Evening Peninsula)
35,000
Riyadh
1982

Saudi Gazette*
20,000
Jidda
1976

BAHRAIN

Akhabar al Khalij (Gulf News)
18,000
Manama
1976

Gulf Daily News*
11,000
Manama
1978

QATAR

Al Rayah (The Banner)
13,000
Dawhah
1979

Al ’Arab (The Arabs)
10,000
Dawhah
1972

Gulf Times*
7,000
Dawhah
1978

Al Khalij al Yawm (The Gulf Today)
4,000
Dawhah
1985

UNITED ARAB EMIRATES

Al Ittihad (The Federation)
50,000
Abu Dhabi
1969

Khalij Times*
45,000
Dubai
1978

Al Khalij (The Gulf)
40,000
Sharjah
1970

Al Bayan (The Dispatch)
30,000
Dubai
1980

Gulf News*
10,000
Dubai
1979

Al Wahdah (Unity)
10,000
Abu Dhabi
1973

Emirates News*
7,000
Abu Dhabi
1970

Al Fajr (The Dawn)
5,000
Abu Dhabi
1975

EGYPT

Al Akhbar (The News)
650,000
Cairo
1952

Al Ahram (The Pyramids)
550,000
Cairo
1875

Al Gumhuriyah (The Republic)
400,000
Cairo
1953

Al Masa’ (The Evening)
50,000
Cairo
1956

The Egyptian Gazette*
10,000
Cairo
1879

Le Progres Egyptien†
8,000
Cairo
1897

IRAQ

Al Thawrah (The Revolution)
260,000
Baghdad
1968

Al Jumhuriyah (The Republic)
180,000
Baghdad
1958

Al Iraq (Iraq)
25,000
Baghdad
1976

The Bagdad Observer*
5,000
Baghdad
1967

Al Qadissiyah (Sanctity)
5,000
Baghdad
1983

SYRIA

Al Thawrah (The Revolution)
50,000
Damascus
1964

Al Ba’th (The Renaissance)
50,000
Damascus
1964

Al Fida’ (The Sacrifice)
8,000
Hama
1963

Al ’Urubah (Arabism)
10,000
Horns
1965

Al Jamahir (The Masses)
11,000
Aleppo
1966

Tishrin (October)
4,500
Damascus
1974

The Syrian Times*
4,000
Damascus
1979

THE SUDAN

Al Siyasah (Politics)
100,000
Khartoum
1986

Al Rayah (The Banner)
42,000
Khartoum
1985

Al Sudani (The Sudanese)
40,000
Khartoum
1980

Al Usbu’a (The Week)
40,000
Khartoum
1986

Al Maydan (The Arena)
37,000
Khartoum
1954

The Sudan Times*
15,000
Khartoum
1986

Sawt al Ummah (Voice of the Nation)
10,000
Khartoum
1986

Al Hadaf (The Goal)
7,000
Khartoum
1986

Al Watan al ittihadi (The United Nation)
5,000
Khartoum
1986

Al Ittihadi (The United)
5,000
Khartoum
1986

Sawt al Sudan (Voice of Sudan)
3,000
Khartoum
1986

ALGERIA

El Moudjahid (The Warrior)
350,000
Algiers
1956

Al Sha’b (The People)
75,000
Algiers
1962

Al Nasr (The Victory)
24,000
Constantine
1963

Al Jumhuriyah (The Republic)
16,000
Oran
1963

LIBYA

Al Fajr al Jadid (The New Dawn)
40,000
Tripoli
1972

Al Ra’y (The Opinion)
24,000
Tripoli
1973

Al Jihad (The Holy War)
20,000
Benghazi
1973

SOUTH YEMEN (PDRY)

14 October
18,000
Aden
1967

* Published in English

† Published in French

Appendix B

Radio-Listening in Arab Countries, 1974 (Percentage)

Selected Bibliography

Prepared by Andrew Richter

This bibliography examines literature in seven fields of study, each of which is linked to the broad topic of confidence building. Only one of the areas, though, is concerned with the specific issue of Middle East CBMs (Part 3). The intention, rather, is to highlight the wider body of literature that many of the papers in this study refer to, but only rarely discuss directly. This literature has been evolving for approximately fifteen years, and thus many of the key research questions have changed to reflect recent political developments. Still, the older works deserve continued study, as frequently they identify the questions and concerns that dominate current research in the field.

Part 1 Confidence-Building Measures: Theoretical and Conceptual Works

Summary

Despite over a decade of study, the concept of confidence-building remains surprisingly poorly understood, the result of the apparent reluctance of many scholars to critically examine the conceptual underpinnings of what the term means and implies. The following literature, though, represents a cross-section of works that do not blindly accept the term “confidence-building”, but rather attempt to define and analyze both the term itself and its many applications. Having noted that, though, it should be pointed out that even within this body of literature, there is little consensus. In general, opinion tends to be split on the primary function of confidence-building measures; some scholars maintain that confidence-building refers to specific measures designed to reduce tension and improve relations, while others hold that confidence-building refers to a complex psychological process in which perceptions and judgements are gradually altered. While these are clearly different functions, many analysts in the field fail to recognize this distinction, a practise that has had negative implications, one of which is the scepticism and uncertainty that the concept continues to arouse in some circles, bi effect, some argue that until the concept is better understood, its overall utility shall remain limited. In spite of this uncertainty, though, it is clear that there have been several important advances in this literature over the last few years, and continued clarification and definitional precision can be expected over the short-term.

Sources

Akashi, Yasushi, “Emerging security and confidence-building priorities.” In Confidence and Security-Budding Measures: From Europe to Other Regions. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 7), 1991.

Alford, Jonathan, “The usefulness and limitations of CBMs.” In William Epstein and B.T. Feld, eds. New Directions in Disarmament. New York: Praeger Publishers, 1981.

____ (ed.), The Future of Arms Control: Part III Confidence-Building Measures. London: International Institute for Strategic Studies, 1979.

Berg, Rolf, “Military confidence-building: A conceptual framework.” In Building Security in Europe, by Rolf Berg and Adam-Daniel Rotfeld. New York: Institute for East-West Security Studies, 1986.

Boothby, Derek et al., “Multilateral confidence-building measures and the prevention of war.” Disarmament, vol. 13, no. 1, 1990.

Borawski, John, “The world of CBMs.” In John Borawski, ed. Avoiding War in the Nuclear Age. Boulder: Westview Press, 1986.

____, “Conclusion.” In Avoiding War in the Nuclear Age.

____, “Confidence-building measures: Rescuing arms control.” Fletcher Forum, vol. 10, no. 1, Winter 1986.

Byers, R.B., Stephen Larrabee and Allen Lynch (eds.), Confidence-Building Measures and International Security. New York: Institute for East-West Security Studies (East-West Monograph Series No. 4), 1987.

George, Bruce, Special Report on Confidence-Building Measures: Next Steps for Stability and Security. Brussels: North Atlantic Assembly (Political Committee), 1988.

Ghebali, Victor-Yves and Fred Tanner, “Confidence-building measures in arms control: The mouse that roared.” International Defence Review, vol. 10, 1988.

Gilian, Brian J., Alan Crawford and Komel Buczek, Compendium of Confidence-Building Proposals (2nd edition). Ottawa: Department of National Defence (ORAE Extra-Mural Paper No. 45), 1987.

Hansen, Lynn Marvin, “The evolution from transparency to constraint.” In Confidence and Security Building Measures: From Europe to Other Regions. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 7), 1991.

____, “Confidence building in Europe: Problems and perspectives.” In Karl Birnbaum, ed. Confidence Building in East-West Relations. Laxenburg: Austrian Institute for International Affairs, 1982.

Hinds, Jim E., “The limits of confidence.” In John Borawski, ed. Avoiding War in the Nuclear Age. Boulder: Westview Press, 1986.

Holmes, Michael, Compliance with Confidence-Building Measures: From Helsinki to Stockholm. Ottawa: CIIPS (Background Paper No. 30), 1990.

Holst, Johan Jorgen, “Confidence-building measures: A conceptual framework.” Survival, vol. 25, no. 1, January/February 1983.

____ and Karen Alette Melander, “European security and confidence-building measures.” Survival, vol. 19, no. 4, July/August 1977.

Larrabee, F. Stephen and Allen Lynch, Confidence-Building Measures and US-Soviet Relations. New York: Institute for East-West Security Studies, 1986.

Lewis, Kevin N. and Mark A. Lorell, “Confidence-building measures and crisis resolution: Historical perspectives.” Orbis, vol. 28, no. 2, Summer 1984.

Lodgaard, Sverre, “A critical appraisal of CSBMs by category.” In Confidence and Security-Building Measures: From Europe to Other Regions. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 7), 1991.

Macintosh, James, Confidence (and Security) Building Measures in the Arms Control Process: A Canadian Perspective. Ottawa: Department of External Affairs (Arms Control and Disarmament Studies No. 1), 1985.

____, “Confidence and security building measures.” In John O’Manique, ed. Multilateral Approaches to Verification. Ottawa: Carleton University (Norman Paterson School of International Affairs), 1986.

____, “Confidence-building measures—A conceptual exploration.” In R.B. Byers, F. Stephen Larrabee, and Allen Lynch, eds. Confidence-Building Measures and International Security. New York: Institute for East-West Security Studies, 1986.

____, Confidence and Security-Building Measures: A Sceptical Look. Canberra: Australia National University (Peace Research Centre Working Paper No. 85), 1990.

____, “Key elements of a conceptual approach to confidence building.” In James A. Boutilier, ed. Arms Control in the North Pacific: The Role for Confidence Building and Verification. Ottawa: External Affairs and International Trade (Arms Control and Disarmament Division), 1993.

Mack, Andrew, “Confidence and security-building measures and military security.” Disarmament, vol. 13, no. 3, 1990.

____, “CSBMs and military security.” In Confidence and Security-Building Measures in Asia. New York: United Nations (Department for Disarmament Affairs), 1990.

Peters, Ingo, “Confidence and security-building measures.” In John 0‘Manique, ed. A Proxy for Trust: Views on the Verification Issue in Arms Control and Disarmament Negotiations. Ottawa: Carleton University (Norman Paterson School of International Affairs), 1985.

Rossbach, Anton, “The security-enhancing role of confidence and security-building measures.” In Confidence and Security-Building Measures in Asia. New York: United Nations (Department for Disarmament Affairs), 1990.

Rotfeld, Adam Daniel, “Confidence and security-building measures.” In Derek Paul, ed. Defending Europe: Options for Security. London: Taylor & Francis, 1985.

____, “CBMs between Helsinki and Madrid: Theory and experience.” In Stephen Larrabee and Dietrich Stobbe, eds. Confidence Building Measures in Europe. New York: Institute for East-West Security Studies, 1983.

Staar, Richard, “Confidence-building measures.” In William T. Parssons, ed. Arms Control and Strategic Stability. Boston: University Press of America, 1986.

Trofimenko, Henry, “The security-enhancing role of confidence and security-building measures.” In Confidence and Security-Building Measures in Asia. New York: United Nations (Department for Disarmament Affairs), 1990.

United Nations (Department for Disarmament Affairs), “Confidence and security-building measures.” In The United Nations Disarmament Yearbook. New York: United Nations, 1990.

United Nations (Department of Political and Security Council Affairs), Comprehensive Study on Confidence-building Measures. New York: United Nations (Document A/36/474), 1982.

United Nations, Comprehensive Study of the Group of Governmental Experts on Confidence Building Measures. New York: United Nations (Document A/36/474), 1982.

Vick, Alan ]., “Building confidence during peace and war.” Defense Analysis, vol. 5, no. 2, 1989.

____, Building Confidence During Peace and War. Santa Monica: Rand Corporation (N-2698), 1988.

Part 2 Confidence-Building Measures in Non-European Contexts

Summary

The following works examine the broad applicability (or lack thereof) of the CBM/CSBM concept to non-European settings (Middle East excluded, to be examined in Part 3). The majority of the works in this literature argue that the concept can be usefully applied, but considerable caution needs to be exercised in the attempt. It is clear that there is more involved then a general desire to more confidently monitor and regulate inter-state relations, with factors like the acceptability of borders, economic development, and ethnic/religious strife being a few of the more important considerations. Thus a recurrent theme is the unique historic and social context in each region where relations among actors have progressed to the point where CBMs are actively being considered. However, any attempt to replay the experiences of Europe are obviously ill-conceived. On a more general level, though, this literature graphically reveals just how little is understood about the confidence-building process, as critical issues like the timing and the overall desirability of CBMs remain poorly defined. In addition, there is a heavy emphasis on arms control issues and related concerns like verification and compliance. In spite of these (and other) difficulties, a number of scholars have diligently pursued this line of research, and the result is a body of literature that now includes Africa, Asia, Latin and South America, and the Australias.

Sources

Adeniji, Oluyemi, “Characteristics of CSBMs in Africa.” In Confidence and Security-Building Measures: From Europe to Other Regions. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 7), 1991.

Akashi, Yasushi, “A Review of the issues and proposals under consideration.” In Confidence and Security-Buüding Measures: From Europe to Other Regions. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 7), 1991.

Alagappa, Muthiah, “Confidence and security-building measures in North-East Asia.” In Confidence and Security-Building Measures in Asia. New York: United Nations, 1990.

____, “Confidence and security-building in South-East Asia.” In Confidence-Building Measures in the Asia-Pacific Region. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 6), 1991.

Asada, Masahiko, “Confidence-building measures in East Asia: A Japanese perspective.” Asian Survey, vol. 28, no. 5, May 1988.

Blechman, Barry M., Confidence-Building in the North Pacific: A Pragmatic Approach to Naval Arms Control. Canberra: Australia National University (Peace Research Center Working Paper No. 29), 1988

____ and Gunnar Gunnarsson, Arms Control and Confidence-Building in Northern Waters (A conference in Akureyri, Iceland, August 14–16, 1990). Reykjavik: University of Iceland (Centre for International Studies), 1991.

Blechman, Barry M. and Trevor Findlay, “Confidence building measures in the North Pacific: A pragmatic approach to naval arms control.” In Andrew Mack and Paul Keal, eds. Security and Arms Control in the North Pacific. Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1988.

Borawski, John, “Characteristics of CSBMs in Asia and the Pacific.” In Confidence and Security-Building Measures: Prom Europe to Other Regions. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 7), 1991.

Castro, Heman R., “Democratization, development and Disarmament in central America.” In Confidence and Security-Building Measures: From Europe to Other Regions. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 7), 1991.

Child, Jack, Jhe Central American Peace Process, 1983–1991. Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1992.

____, “U.S. security and the Contadora Process: Toward a CBM regime in Central America.” In Bruce Bagley, ed. Contadora and the Diplomacy of Peace in Central America. Boulder: Westview Press, 1987.

____ (ed.), Regional Cooperation for Development and the Peaceful Settlement of Disputes in Latin America. Boston: Martinus Nijhoff, 1987.

Cotton, James, “Confidence and security building in North-East Asia.” In Confidence Building Measures in the Asia-Pacific Region. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 6), 1991.

Crowe, William J. Jr. and Alan D. Romberg, “Rethinking Pacific security.” Foreign Affairs, vol. 70, no. 2, Spring 1991.

Dewitt, David B., “Confidence and security-building measures in the Third World: Is there a role?” International Journal, vol. 42, no. 3, Summer 1987.

Dhanapala, Jayantha, “Prospects of arms limitations in the Asia-Pacific region.” Disarmament, vol. 13, no. 3, 1990.

Findlay, Trevor, “The non-European experience of CSBMs: Models for the Asia-Pacific region.” In Confidence and Security-Buüding in Asia. New York: United Nations (Department for Disarmament Affairs), 1990.

____, “Attitudes towards CSBMs in the Asia-Pacific region.” In Confidence-Building Measures in the Asia-Pacific Region. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 6), 1991.

____, “Edging towards confidence-building in the Asia-Pacific region.” In Confidence and Security-Buûding Measures: From Europe to Other Regions. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 7), 1991.

____, Asia/Pacific CSBMs: A Prospectus. Canberra: Australia National University (Peace Research Centre Working Paper No. 90), 1990.

____, North Pacific Confidence-Buüding: The Helsinki/Stockholm Model. Canberra: Australia National University (Peace Research Centre Working Paper No. 44), 1988.

____, Confidence-Building Measures for Asia/Pacific. Canberra: Australia National University (Peace Research Centre Working Paper No. 55), 1988.

Goodby, James, “The application of confidence-building techniques to North-East Asia and the Middle East” In Confidence and Security-Building Measures: From Europe to Other Regions. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 7), 1991.

Hanning, Hugh (ed.), Peacekeeping and Confidence-Building Measures in the Third World. New York: International Peace Academy, 1985.

Hepburn, Davidson, “Cooperation and CBMs in Latin America and the Caribbean.” Disarmament, vol. 12.

Huasun, Qin, “An approach to confidence-building in the Asia-Pacific region.” In Confidence-Buüding Measures in the Asia-Pacific Region. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 6), 1991.

____, “Confidence-building measures in the Asia-Pacific region.” Disarmament, vol. 14, no. 3, 1991.

Jawhar, Mohamed, “Implications of the regional environment for Asia-Pacific CSBM regimes.” In Confidence and Security-Building Measures: From Europe to Other Regions. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 7), 1991.

Jong-chun, Baek, “Arms control on the Korean peninsula.” The Journal of East Asian Affairs, vol. 5, no. 2, Summer/Fall 1991.

Kapitsa, Mikhail, “Paths to peace and security in the Asia and Pacific region.” International Affairs (Moscow), vol. 8, 1987.

Karkoszka, Andrzej, “Characteristics of CSBMs in Africa.” In Confidence and Security-Building Measures: From Europe to Other Regions. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 7), 1991.

Kinana, Oluyemi, “The relevance of CSBMs for Africa.” In Confidence and Security-Building Measures: From Europe to Other Regions. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 7), 1991.

Klepak, HP., Security Considerations and Verification of a Central American Arms Control Regime. Ottawa: External Affairs and International Trade Canada (Arms Control Verification Occasional Paper), 1990.

Lee, Chung Min, “The future of arms control in the Korean peninsula.” The Washington Quarterly, vol. 14, no. 3, Summer 1991.

Lim, Dong-Won, “An urgent need for arms control on the Korean peninsula: A framework for implementation.” Korean Journal of Defense Analysis, vol. 3, no. 1, Summer 1991.

Mack, Andrew and Paul Keal, Security and Arms Control in the North Pacific. Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1988.

Mahiga, Augustine P. and Fidelis M. Nji, Confidence-Building Measures in Africa. New York: United Nations (Institute for Disarmament Research), 1987.

Moon, Chung-in, “Managing the inter-Korean conflict and confidence-building measures.” Korean Observer, vol. 22, no. 1, Spring 1991.

Morais, Jose Maria, “Conflict in Africa: Causes and solutions.” In Confidence and Security-Building Measures: From Europe to Other Regions. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 7), 1991.

Morris, Michael A. and Victor Millan, “Confidence-building measures in comparative perspective: The case of Latin America.” In R.B. Byers, F. Stephen Larrabee and Allen Lynch, eds. Confidence-Building Measures and International Security. New York: Institute for East-West Security Studies, 1987.

____ (eds.), Controlling Latin American Conflicts: Ten Approaches. Boulder: Westview Press, 1983.

Owada, Hisashi, “Global security and disarmament in reference to regional approaches.” In Challenges to Multilateral Disarmament in the Post-Cold-War and Post-Gulf-War Period. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 8), 1991.

Palma, Hugo, “The nature of confidence-building in the Latin American environment.” In Confidence and Security-Buüding Measures: From Europe to Other Regions. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 7), 1991.

Rhee, Hang Yul, “The necessity of arms control for the stability of the Korean peninsula.” Korean Observer, vol. 22, no. 4, Winter 1991.

Rupia, Paul M. “Confidence-building measures in Africa.” In Programme of Training on Conflict Resolution, Crisis Prevention and Management and Confidence-Building Among African States. New York: United Nations, 1991.

Snitwongse, Kusuma, “South-East Asian security issues and confidence-building.” Disarmament, vol. 14, no. 3, 1991.

Stania, Peter, “Characteristics of CSBMs in Latin America and the Caribbean.” In Confidence and Security-Buüding Measures: From Europe to Other Regions. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 7), 1991.

Thakur, Ramesh, Confidence-Building and Conflict Reduction in the South Pacific. Canberra: Australia National University (Peace Research Centre Working Paper No. 53), 1988.

Winnefeld, James A., “A framework for realistic dialogue on arms control for Northeast Asia.” Korean Journal of Defense Analysis, vol. 3, no. 1, Summer 1991.

Zaidi, Syed Zakir Ali, “CSBMs in the South-Asian region.” In Confidence and Security-Building Measures: From Europe to Other Regions. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 7), 1991.

Part 3 Confidence-Building Measures in the Middle East

Summary

Although a conflict-riddled region, over the last few years a number of scholars have addressed the general issue of the applicability of the CBM/CSBM concept to the Middle East, both with regards to the Arab-Israeli and numerous inter-Arab conflicts. In the continued absence of actual diplomatic progress in peace negotiations (not withstanding recent developments), or of the implementation of significant CBMs, many of the articles in this literature examine issues that may seem only peripherally related (i.e., control of water resources, immigration flows, environmental concerns, etc.), but can be broadly defined as attempts at drawing linkages across issue areas. While the topic of arms control in the region has clearly attracted the most scholarly attention, the emergence of different issues indicates that scholars are increasingly concerned with the dynamics (and timing) of the confidence-building process, even though it is apparent that many of the articles may not have been written with that specific concern in mind. Having noted that, though, it deserves emphasizing that this is still an emerging field of study, and is likely to evolve further in the near-future.

Sources

Abed, George T., “The economic viability of a Palestinian state.” Journal of Palestine Studies, vol. 19, Winter 1990.

____, “The Palestinians in the peace process: The risks and the opportunities.” Journal of Palestine Studies, vol. 22, Autumn 1992.

Agyeman-Duah, Baffour, “Nuclear weapons free zones and disarmament.” Africa Today, vol. 32, 1st/2nd quarter 1985.

Alpher, Joseph, “Security arrangements for a Palestinian settlement.” Survival, vol. 34, no. 4, Winter 1992–93.

Ben-Dor, Gabriel and David Dewitt (eds.), Conflict Management in the Middle East. Lexington: Lexington Books, 1987.

Ben-Shahar, Haim and Meir Merhav (eds.), Economic Cooperation and Middle East Peace. London: Martin’s Lane, 1989.

Brown, Lariy G., “A nuclear-weapon-free-zone: Realistic or rhetorical?” New Outlook: Middle East Monthly, vol. 34, Sept./Oct. 1991.

Congressional Research Service, “Middle East arms control and related issues.” CRS Report for Congress (91–384F), May 1991.

Darilek, Richard E. and Geoffrey Kemp, “Prospects for confidence and security building measures in the Middle East.” In Alan Platt, ed. Arms Control and Confidence Building in the Middle East. Washington: US Institute of Peace Press, 1992.

Dewitt, David, “CBMs in the Middle East—the Arab-Israeli conflict.” In R.B. Byers, ed. Confidence-Buûding Measures and International Security. New York: Institute for East-West Security Studies, 1987.

Evron, Yair, “Confidence building in the Middle East.” In Dore Gold, ed. Arms Control in the Middle East. Tel Aviv: Jaffee Center for Strategic Studies (JCSS Study No. 15), 1990.

Feiler, Gil, “Migration and recession: Arab labour mobility in the Middle East, 1982–89.” Population and Development Review, vol. 17, March 1991.

Fishelson, Gideon, “The economics of peace.” New Outlook: Middle East Monthly, vol. 29, Sept./Oct. 1986.

____ (ed.), Economic Cooperation in the Middle East. Boulder: Westview Press, 1989.

Frey, Frederick W. and Thomas Naff, “Water: An emerging issue in the Middle East?” Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, Nov. 1985.

Garfinkle, Adam, “Israeli and Palestinian proposals for the West Bank.” Orbis, vol. 36, no. 3, Summer 1992.

Goodby, James, “Transparency in the Middle East.” Arms Control Today, vol. 21, no. 4, May 1991.

Gleick, Peter H., “Water and conflict: Fresh water resources and international security.” International Security, vol. 18, no. 1, Summer 1993.

Gold, Dore (éd.), Arms Control in the Middle East. Boulder: Westview Press, 1991.

Gur, Shlomo and Munther Haddadin, “Water and the peace process: Two perspectives.” Policy Focus (Published by the Washington Institute for Near East Policy), 1992.

Hamilton, Lee H., “Middle Eastern arms restraint: An obligation to act.” Arms Control Today, vol. 21, no. 5, June 1991.

Heller, Mark A., “Middle East security and arms control.” In Steven L. Spiegel, ed. The Arab-Israeli Search for Peace. Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1992.

____ and Sari Nusseibeh, No Trumpets, No Drums: A two-state Settlement of the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict. Toronto: Harper Collins Publishers, 1991.

Horwitz, Bruce A., “The water crisis in the Middle East.” Middle East Focus, vol. 13, no. 3, Fall 1991.

Hudson, Michael C., “After the Gulf War: Prospects for democratization in the Arab world.” Middle East Journal, vol. 45, Summer 1991.

Keely, Charles B. and Bao-Nga Tran, “Remittances from labour migration: Evaluations, performance and implications.” International Migration Review, vol. 23, Fall 1989.

Kemp, Geoffrey, “The Middle East arms race: Can it be controlled?” Middle East Journal, vol. 45, no. 3, Summer 1991.

____, The Control of the Middle East Arms Race. Washington: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 1991.

Mandell, Brian, “Anatomy of a confidence-building regime: Egyptian-Israeli security cooperation, 1973–1979.” International Journal, vol. 45, no. 2, Spring 1990.

Moore, James W., “Immigration and the demographic balance in Israel and the occupied territories.” Middle East Policy, no. 3, 1992.

Morris, Mary E., “Poisoned wells: The politics of water in the Middle East.” Middle East Insight, vol. 8, no. 2, 1991.

Nakhleh, Emile A., “Palestinians and Israelis: Options for coexistence.” Journal of Palestine Studies, vol. 22, Winter 1993

Obermeyer, Carla-Makhlouf, “Islam, women, and politics: The demography of Arab countries.” Population and Development Review, vol. 18, March 1992.

O’Hanlon, Michael, “Controlling arms transfers to the Middle East: The case for supplier limits.” Arms Control Today, vol. 22, no. 9, Nov. 1992.

Papathansis, A. and Chris Vasillopulos, “Functional integration and the Middle East.” Journal of Political and Military Sociology, vol. 20, no. 2, Winter 1992.

Peterson, J.E., “The GCC and regional security.” American-Arab Affairs, Spring 1987.

Platt, Alan (ed.), Arms Control and Confidence-Building in the Middle East. Washington: US Institute Peace, 1992.

Power, Paul F., “Preventing nuclear conflict in the Middle East: The free-zone strategy.” Middle East Journal, vol. 37, Autumn 1983.

Qureshi, Saleem M.M., “Political community and religious pluralism in the Middle East: An Islamic perspective.” Middle East Focus, vol. 12, no. 2, Summer/Fall 1990.

Rothman, Jay, “Negotiations as consolidation: prenegotiation in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.” Jerusalem Journal of International Relations, vol. 13, no. 1, March 1991.

Sabella, Bernard, “The demography of conflict: A Palestinian predicament.” New Outlook: Middle East Monthly, vol. 34, April/May 1991.

Sadowski, Yahya, “Scuds versus butter: The political economy of arms control in the Arab world.” Middle East Report, vol. 22, July/August 1992.

Saunders, Harold H., The Other Walls: The Arab-Israeli Peace Process in a Global Perspective. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991.

Savage, Christopher, “Middle East water.” Asian Affairs, vol. 22, Feb. 1991.

Sayigh, Yezid, “Reversing the Middle East nuclear race.” Middle East Report, vol. 22, July/August 1992.

Schiff, Ze’ev, Security for Peace: Israels Minimal Security Requirements in Negotiations with the Palestinians. Washington: Institute for Near East Policy, 1989.

Skutel, H.J., “Water in the Arab-Israel conflict: Why Israel won’t budge; aquifers are not enough,” International Perspectives, July/August 1986.

Starr, Joyce R., ‘Water politics in the Middle East.” Middle East Insight, vol. 7, no. 2–3, 1990.

____, “Water wars.” Foreign Policy, no. 82, Spring 1991.

____ and Kenneth P. Libre, “The Israeli water crisis.” New Outlook: Middle East Monthly, vol. 31, August 1988.

Steinberg, Gerald, ‘Toward real arms control in the Middle East.” Issues in Science and Technology, vol. 7, Summer 1991.

____, “Arms control in the Middle East,” In Richard Dean Bums, ed., Encyclopedia of Arms Control and Disarmament. New York: Charles Scribners Sons, 1993.

Visetbhakdi, Norani, “Labour exports to the Middle East.” Bangkok Bank Monthly Review, vol. 27, October 1987.

Wishart, David, “An economic approach to understanding Jordan Valley water disputes.” Middle East Review, vol. 21, Summer 1989.

Yorke, Valerie, “Imagining a Palestinian state: An international security plan.” International Affairs (UK), vol. 66, no. 1, Jan. 1990.

Part 4 Arms Control: Verification and Compliance Issues

Summary

Verification of arms control treaties plays a critical role in the confidence-building process. Without effective verification, the parties to an arms control regime will likely develop doubts regarding compliance, thus raising misgivings about the very utility of the regime. Immediately prior to the collapse of the USSR in 1991, a series of breakthrough measures (like intrusive requirements for On-site Inspection) were agreed to in superpower arms control negotiations, measures that had brought about a virtual revolution in verification and compliance in the East-West context (as well as hopes that the future would witness a very different political attitude toward the process in general). Since that time, though, the Iraq fiasco and the fluid international situation have raised new questions about the need and role of verification, questions that are only now beginning to be addressed. The following literature, then, should be divided between works written before the dramatic changes of 1989–1991, and those written since that time. Such a division is useful when considering works that may have widely differing assumptions and proscribe very different courses of action.

Sources

Adelman, Kenneth, “Why verification is more difficult (and less important).” International Security, vol. 14, No. 4, Spring 1990.

Barker, Robert B., “The verification of arms control, disarmament agreements and security.” Disarmament, vol. 11, no. 2, Summer 1988.

Bellany, Ian, “The verification of arms control agreements and information theory: A research note.” Arms Control, vol. 9, no. 1, May 1988.

Cleminson, F.R., “Principles of verification: The multilateral context.” Disarmament, vol. 11, no. 2, Summer 1988.

____ and E. Gilman, A Conceptual Working Paper on Arms Control Verification. Ottawa: Department of External Affairs and International Trade (Arms Control Verification Studies, No.l), 1986.

Corradini, Alessandro, “Verification and compliance.” Disarmament, vol. 12, no. 2, Summer 1989.

Crawford, Allen and Ernest Gilman, Quantitative Overview of the Second Edition of the Compendium of Arms Control Verification Proposals. Ottawa: DND (ORAE Report No. R89), 1983.

Department of External Affairs and International Trade (Canada), Verification Research: Canada’s Verification Research Program. Ottawa: External Affairs and International Trade (Verification Brochure No. 3), 1987.

Duffy, Gloria (ed.), Compliance and the Future of Arms Control. Cambridge: Ballinger, 1988.

Dunn, Lewis A., “Arms control verification: Living with uncertainty.” International Security, vol. 14, no. 4, Spring 1990.

____ and Amy E. Gordon, Arms Control Verification and the New Role of On-Site Inspection. New York: Macmillan Publishers, 1990.

Goetze, B.A., “Verification of confidence and security-building measures: Evolution and future prospects.” In J. Altmann and J. Rotblat, eds. Verification of Arms Reductions: Nuclear, Conventional, and Chemical. New York: Springer Verlag, 1989.

Government of Canada, Verification in all its Aspects: A Comprehensive Study on Arms Control and Disarmament Pursuant to UNGA Resolution 40/152. Ottawa (Report PB87–13758), 1986.

Gray, Colin S., “Does verification really matter? Facing political facts about arms control non-compliance.” Strategic Review, vol. 18, no. 2, Spring 1990.

Graybeal, Sidney and Michael Krepon, “The limitations of on-site inspection.” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, vol. 43, no. 10, December 1987.

Graybeal, Sidney and Patricia McFate, “Criteria for verification: In the eyes of the beholder.” Harvard International Review, August/September 1988.

Haass, Richard, “Verification and compliance.” In Albert Camesale and Richard Haass, eds. Superpower Arms Control; Setting the Record Straight. Cambridge: Ballinger Publishing Company, 1987.

Hafmeister, David Joseph J. Romm and Kosta Tsipis, “The verification of compliance with arms control agreements.” Scientific American, March 1985.

Hansen, Lynn, “The political and practical dimensions of verifying confidence and security-building measures.” In Symposium on Verification of Disarmament in Europe. Stockholm: Swedish National Defence Research Institute, 1985.

____, “Is there a gap between advances in technology and the ability to verify?” Disarmament, vol. 11, no. 2, Summer 1988.

Herman, Michael, “Intelligence and arms control verification.” In J.B. Poole, ed. Verification Report 1991. New York: Apex Press, 1991.

Holdren, John P and Andrei A. Kokoshin, “Arms control verification in a changing world.” In Francesco Calogero, Marvin L. Goldberger and Sergei P. Kapitza, eds. Verification: Monitoring Disarmament. Boulder: Westview Press, 1991.

Krass, Allan S., “Focus on verification and trust in arms control.” Journal of Peace Research, vol. 22, no. 4, December 1985.

____, Verification: How Much is Enough?. London: Taylor & Francis (SIPRI), 1985.

Krepon, Michael, “The political dynamics of verification and compliance debates.” In Verification and Arms Control. Toronto: D.C. Heath and Company, 1985.

____, “Verification of conventional arms reductions.” Survival, vol. 30, no. 6, November/December 1988.

____, “The politics of treaty verification and compliance.” In K. Tsipis, D. Hafmeister and P. Janeway (eds.). Arms Control Verification. Oxford: Permagon Brassey’s, 1986.

____ and Mary Umberger (eds.), Verification and Compliance: A Problem Solving Approach. Cambridge: Ballinger Publishing Company, 1988.

Krehbiel, Carl C., “Verification of confidence and security-building measures.” In Confidence and Security-Buüding Measures in Europe. New York: Praeger Publishers.

Lowenthal, Mark M., “The politics of verification: What’s new, what’s not.” The Washington Quarterly, vol. 14, no. 1, Winter 1991.

Macintosh, Jim, “The multilateralization of verification: An introduction.” In John O’Manique, ed. Multilateral Approaches to Verification. Ottawa: Carleton University (Norman Paterson School of International Affairs), 1986.

Mandell, Brian S., The Sinai Experience: Lessons in Multimethod Arms Control Verification and Risk Management. Ottawa: Department of External Affairs (Arms Control Verification Studies), 1987.

Mataija, Steven and J. Marshall Beier (eds.), Multilateral Verification and the Post-Gulf Environment: Learning from the UNSCOM Experience. Toronto: York University (Centre for International and Strategic Studies), 1992.

McFate, Patricia Bliss, “Where do we go from here? Verifying future arms control agreements.” The Washington Quarterly, vol. 15, no. 4, Autumn 1992.

Moore, James, Conventional Arms Control and Disarmament in Europe: A Model of Verification System Effectiveness. Ottawa: Department of External Affairs and International Trade (Arms Control Verification Occasional Paper No. 4), 1990.

Morris, Ellis, The Verification Issue in United Nations Disarmament Negotiations. New York: United Nations (Institute for Disarmament Research), 1987.

Nolan, Janne E., “The politics of on-site inspection.” The Brookings Review, Fall 1988.

Oerlich, Ivan, “Changing rules of arms control verification.” International Security, vol. 14, no. 4, Spring 1990.

Office of Technology Assessment (OTA), Verification Technologies: Cooperative Aerial Surveillance in International Agreements. Washington: OTA, 1991.

Orphanos, Peter, “INF Treaty on-site verification: An emerging standard for policing arms control treaty obligations.” Journal of International and Comparative Law, vol. 10, no. 3, 1989.

Potter, W.C., Verification and Arms Control Lexington: D.C. Heath, 1987.

Ranger, Robin and Dov S. Zakheim, “Arms control demands compliance.” Orbis, vol. 34, no. 2, Spring 1990.

Roberts, Brad, “Arms control and the end of the cold war.” The Washington Quarterly, vol. 15, no. 4, Autumn 1992.

Rowell, William F., Arms Control Verification: A Guide to Policy Issues for the 1980s. Cambridge: Ballinger Books, 1986.

Sanders, Ben, “Some practical aspects of arms control verification.” Disarmament, vol. 11, no. 2, Summer 1988.

Scalingi, Paula L., “Ratifying arms control agreements.” The Washington Quarterly, vol. 14, no. 2, Spring 1991.

Schear, James A., “National methods of treaty verification and the role of third countries: Compatibility or conflict?” Arms Control, vol. 7, no. 1, May 1986.

____, “Cooperative measures of verification: How necessary? How effective?” In William C. Potter, ed. Verification and Arms Control. Toronto: D.C. Heath and Company, 1985.

Schelling, Thomas, “What went wrong with arms control?” Foreign Affairs, vol. 64, no. 2, December 1985.

Sheare, Col. Richard L. Jr., On-Site Inspection for Arms Control: Breaking the Verification Barrier. Washington: National Defense Institute, 1984.

Sheehan, Michael J., Arms Control: Theory and Practise. Oxford: Blackwell, 1988.

Toogood, John D., “Verification in arms control: The provision of information.” In John O’Manique, ed. A Proxy for Trust. Ottawa: Carleton University (Norman Paterson School of International Affairs), 1985.

Tsipis, Kosta, “Arms control can be verified.” Discover, April 1987.

____, David W. Hafemeister and Penny Janeway (eds.), Arms Control Verification: The Technologies that make it Possible. Washington: Permagon Brassey’s, 1986.

United Nations Institute for Disarmament Research, The Verification Issue in United Nations Disarmament Negotiations. New York: United Nations, 1987.

United Nations, Verification in all Aspects: Study on the role of the United Nations in the Field of Verification. New York: United Nations (Doc. A/45/372), 1990.

Wagenmakers, Hendrik, “Future of monitoring and verification.” In Challenges to Multilateral Disarmament in the Post-Cold-War and Post-Gulf-War Period. New York: United Nations (Disarmament Topical Paper No. 8), 1990.

Part 5 Recent Changes in Military Doctrine and Strategy

Summary

Military doctrine and strategy can play a critical role in the confidence-building process. Strategies based on defensive tactics are inherently stabilizing, as they reduce (and perhaps eliminate) the prospect of offensive military operations on neighboring states. When several states adopt such tactics, the results can be far reaching, extending well beyond the narrow confines of strict security relations. From the end of World War Two to the mid-1980s, military doctrine throughout much of the advanced industrialized world (including NATO and the WTO), while officially defensive, was premised on the ability of carrying the battle onto the territory of the enemy, using both tactical and nuclear weapons as conditions warranted. The gradual recognition of the de-stabilizing tendencies of modern strategy led to a re-examination in many countries, particularly in Western Europe and the USSR. Alternative doctrines like non-offensive defense and reasonable sufficiency quickly attracted considerable support, at both the public, and perhaps more importantly, the political levels. However, it was only in the Soviet Union, under the leadership of Mikhail Gorbachev, where such re-formulations took hold at the official level, and led to the 1987 decision to officially adopt the strategy of “defensive defense". Since the dissolution of the USSR in 1991, though, there has been considerable confusion over the precise status of military doctrine in both the former communist bloc and the West. This literature, then, deals with the enormous geo-political changes of the past decade, in an attempt at formulating a prudent military position that is neither inherently de-stabilizing or overly defensive. Lastly, it should be noted that the debate on military doctrine has had no parallel in the developing world, where the emphasis on the offensive remains.

Sources

Abshire, David, “Strategic challenge: Contingencies, force structures, deterrence.” The Washington Quarterly, vol. 15, no. 2, Spring 1992.

Adragna, Steven P., “A new Soviet military? Doctrine and strategy.” Orbis, vol. 33, no. 2, Spring 1989

Agrell, Wilhelm, “Offensive versus defensive: Military strategy and alternative defense.” Journal of Peace Research, vol. 24, no. 1, 1987.

Arbatov, Alexei, “How much defence is sufficient?” International Affairs (Moscow), April 1989.

Bluth, Christoph, New Thinking in Soviet Military Policy. New York: Council on Foreign Relations Press, 1990.

Boserup, Anders, “A way to undermine hostility.” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, vol. 44, no. 7, Sept. 1988.

Cheeseman, Graeme, The Application of the Principles of Non-Offensive Defence Beyond Europe: Some Preliminary Observations. Canberra: Australia National University (School of Pacific Studies, Research Paper No. 78), 1990.

Cockell, William A. and Gregory J. Weaver, “Defensive sufficiency and military reality.” Disarmament, vol. 13, no. 1, 1990.

Covington, Stephen R., “NATO and Soviet military doctrine.” The Washington Quarterly, vol. 12, no. 4, Autumn 1989.

Duffy, Gloria and Jennifer Lee, “The Soviet debate on ‘reasonable sufficiency’.” Arms Control Today, vol. 18, no. 8, October 1988.

Dumay, Paul, Military Doctrine: Change in the East?. New York: Institute for East-West Security Studies (Occasional Paper Series No. 15), 1990.

FitzGerald, Mary C., “Gorbachev’s concept of reasonable sufficiency in national defence.” In George E. Hudson, ed. Soviet National Security Policy Under Perestroika. Boston: Unwin Hyman, 1990.

____, “Chief of Russia’s General Staff Academy speaks out on Moscow’s new military doctrine.” Orbis, vol. 37, no. 2, Spring 1993.

____, “Russia’s new military doctrine.” Air Force Magazine, vol. 75, no. 9, September 1992.

Gareyev, Makhmut, “The revised Soviet military doctrine.” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, vol. 44, no. 10, December 1988.

Garrity, Patrick J. and Sharon K. Weiner, “U.S. defense strategy after the cold war.” The Washington Quarterly, vol. 15, no. 2, Spring 1992.

Garthoff, Raymond, “New thinking in Soviet military doctrine.” The Washington Quarterly, vol. 11, no. 3, Summer 1988.

____, Deterrence and the Revolution in Soviet Military Doctrine. Washington: The Brookings Institution, 1990.

Gates, David, Non-Offensive Defence: A Strategic Contradiction. Institute for European Defence and Strategic Studies (Occasional Paper No. 29), 1987.

Glaser, Charles, “Nuclear policy without an adversary.” International Security, vol. 16, no. 4, Spring 1992.

Goldberg, Andrew C., “The present turbulence in Soviet military doctrine.” The Washington Quarterly, vol. 11, no. 3, Summer 1988.

____, New Developments in Soviet Military Strategy. Washington: Centre for Strategic and International Studies, 1987

Gormly, Dennis, The Impact of NATO Doctrinal Choices on the Policies and Strategic Choices of Warsaw Pact States: Part II. London: ESS (Adelphi Paper No. 206), 1986.

Herspring, Dale R., “The Soviet military and change.” Survival, vol. 31, no. 4, July/August 1989.

Holcomb, James, “Russian military doctrine—Stmcturing for the worst case.” Jane’s Intelligence Review, vol. 4, no. 12, December 1992.

Joint Chiefs of Staff (US), National Military Strategy of the United States. Washington: USGPO, 1992.

Kamal, Nazir, “Sufficient defence and arms control.” Disarmament, vol. 13, no. 1, 1990.

Komatina, Miljan, “Defensive security concepts and policies: Military doctrine: How to define it?” Disarmament, vol. 15, no. 4, 1992.

Lachowski, Zdzislaw, “The second Vienna seminar on military doctrine.” In SIPRI Yearbook 1992: World Armaments and Disarmament. New York: Oxford University Press, 1992.

Larrabbee, Stephen F., “Gorbachev and the Soviet military.” Foreign Affairs, vol. 66, no. 5, Summer 1988.

Meyer, Stephen, “The sources and prospects of Gorbachev’s new political thinking on security.” International Security, vol. 13, no. 2, Fall 1988

Neild, Robert, Non-Offensive Defence: The Way to Achieve Common Security in Europe. Ottawa: CIIPS (Background Paper No. 25), 1989.

Nokkala, Arto, Non-Offensive Defence: A Criteria Model of Military Credibility. Helsinki: War College (Finnish Defence Studies No. 3), 1991.

Odom, William E., “Soviet force posture: Dilemmas and directions.” Problems of Communism, vol. 34, July/August 1985.

____, “Soviet military doctrine.” Foreign Affairs, vol. 67, no. 2, Winter 1988/89.

____, “The Soviet military in transition.” Problems of Communism, vol. 39, May/June 1990.

Philips, R. Hyland and Jeffrey I. Sands, “Reasonable sufficiency and Soviet conventional defense.” International Security, vol. 13, no. 2, Fall 1988.

Ruhl, Lothar, “Offensive defence in the Warsaw Pact.” Survival, vol. 33, no. 5, Sept./Oct. 1991.

Salamonov, Grigory, “Rejecting the sword.” Soviet Military Review, vol. 5, 1989.

Saperstein, Alvin M., “Primer on non-provocative defense.” Arms Control, vol. 9, no. 1, May 1988.

____, “An enhanced non-proactive defense in Europe.” Journal of Peace Research, vol. 24, no. 1, 1987

Scott, Harriet Fast and William F. Scott, Soviet Military Doctrine: Continuity, Formulation, and Dissemination. Boulder: Westview Press, 1988.

Secretary of Defense (US), 1991 Joint Military Net Assessment. Washington: USGPO, 1991.

Sherr, James, “Russian orthodoxies: Little change in military thinking.” The National Interest, no. 30, Winter 1992/93.

Skorodenko, P., “Military parity and the principle of reasonable sufficiency.” KVS, no. 10, May 1987.

Stewart, Philip D. and Margaret G. Hermann, “The Soviet debate over ‘New Thinking’ and the restructuring of US-Soviet relations.” In George E. Hudson, ed. Soviet National Security Policy Under Perestroika. Boston: Unwin Hyman, 1990.

Visuri, Pekka, “Alternative defence in the central European debate.” In Vilho Harle and Pekka Sivonen, eds. Europe in Transition. London: Pinter, 1989.

von Muller, Albrecht, “Conventional stability and defence dominance.” In Non-Offensive Defense: A Global Perspective. London: Taylor and Francis (UNIDIR), 1989.

Wallop, Malcolm, “America needs a post-containment doctrine.” Orbis, vol. 37, no. 3, Spring 1993.

Wiberg, Haakan, “Can non-offensive defence improve arms reductions?” Disarmament, vol. 13, no. 1, 1990.

Zakheim, Dov S. and Jeffrey M. Ranney, “Matching defense strategies to resources.” International Security, vol. 18, no. 1, Summer 1993.

Zhurkin, V., S. Karaganov and A. Kortunov, “Reasonable sufficiency—or how to break the vicious circle.” New Times, nol 40, October 12, 1987.

Part 6 Security Cooperation and Security Regimes

Summary

While these two terms have been lumped together for this bibliography, readers should note that the two are not synonymous; security cooperation may be either formal or informal depending on the wishes of the participants, and does not require a structure dictating rules of behavior and/or decision-making procedures. In contrast, security regimes are a more structured form of cooperation, one in which actors agree on a proscribed set of principles, norms and rules. It also should be noted that whereas the former may occur because of the convergence of short-term interests among actors, the latter are intended to regulate relations over the long-term. All of the works cited in this section are concerned with the broad issue of cooperation. What separates the works, though, is the degree to which the authors believe that cooperation in security affairs is actually possible. Opinion tends to divide between scholars who adhere to the traditional realist framework that cooperation can only be short-term in nature (the result of a coincidental mutuality of interests), and others who share the liberal notion of increasing ties among actors that gradually bring about an entirely different conception of “national” interests. Despite this distinction, all of the works recognize that a host of obstacles bloc cooperation among actors, and avoiding (or resolving) these obstacles is a challenge that few states have succeeded at for extended periods of time.

Sources

Axelrod, Robert, The Evolution of Cooperation. New York: Basic Books, 1984.

____, “The emergence of cooperation among egoists.” American Political Science Review, vol. 75, June 1981.

____ and Robert O. Keohane, “Achieving cooperation under anarchy: Strategies and institutions.” In Kenneth A Oye, ed. Cooperation Under Anarchy. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986.

Downs, George W., David M. Rocke and Barry M. Blechman, “Arms races and cooperation.” World Politics, vol. 37, no. 1, October 1985.

Farley, Philip J., “Arms control and US-Soviet security cooperation.” In Alexander L. George, Philip J. Farley and Alexander Dallin, eds. US-Soviet Security Cooperation: Achievements, Failures, Lessons. New York: Oxford University Press, 1988.

George, Alexander L., “Incentives for US-Soviet security cooperation and mutual adjustment.” In Alexander L. George, Philip J. Farley, and Alexander Dallin, eds, US-Soviet Security Cooperation: Achievements, Failures, Lessons. New York: Oxford University Press, 1988.

____, “Factors influencing security cooperation.” In US-Soviet Security Cooperation: Achievements, Failures, Lessons.

____, “Strategies for facilitating cooperation.” In US-Soviet Security Cooperation: Achievements, Failures, Lessons.

Gottstein, Klaus (ed.), Mutual Perceptions of Long-Range Goals: Can the United States and the Soviet Union Cooperate Permanently. Boulder: Westview Press, 1991.

Gowa, Joanne, “Anarchy, egoism, and third images: The evolution of cooperation and international relations.” International Organization, vol. 40, no. 1, Winter 1986.

Grieco, Joseph M., “Anarchy and the limits of cooperation: A realist critique of the newest liberal institutionalism.” International Organization, vol. 42, no. 3, 1988.

Haas, Ernst, “Why collaborate? Issue-linkages and international regimes.” World Politics, vol. 32, no. 1, October 1980.

Haglund, David, Alliance Within the Alliance? Franco-German Military Cooperation and the European Pillar of Defense. Boulder: Westview Press, 1991.

Hampson, Fen Osier, “Building a stable peace: Opportunities and limits to security co-operation in Third World regional conflicts.” International Journal, vol. 45, no. 2, Spring 1990.

____ and Brian S. Mandell, “Managing regional conflict: Security co-operation and third party mediators.” International Journal, vol. 45, no. 2, Spring 1990.

Jervis, Robert, “Security regimes.” In Stephen D. Krasner, ed. International Regimes. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1983.

____, “Cooperation under the security dilemma.” World Politics, vol. 30, no. 2, January 1978.

____, “From balance to concert: A study of international security cooperation.” In Kenneth A. Oye, ed. Cooperation Under Anarchy. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986.

Keohane, Robert, After Hegemony. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984.

Lipson, Charles, “International cooperation in economic and security affairs.” World Politics, vol. 37, no. 1, October 1984.

Mandell, Brian S., “Anatomy of a confidence-building regime: Egyptian-Israeli security co-operation.” International Journal, vol. 45, no.2, Spring 1990.

Nye, Joseph S, Jr., “Nuclear learning and US-Soviet security regimes.” International Organization, vol. 41, no. 3, Summer 1987.

Oye, Kenneth A., “Explaining cooperation under anarchy: Hypotheses and strategies.” In Kenneth A. Oye, ed. Cooperation Under Anarchy. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986.

Rice, Condoleezza, “SALT and the search for a security regime.” In Alexander L. George, Philip J. Farley and Alexander Dallin, eds. US-Soviet Security Cooperation. New York: Oxford University Press, 1988.

Rosenau, James N, “Before cooperation: Hegemons, regimes, and habit-driven actors in world politics.” International Organization, vol. 40, no. 4, 1986.

Snidal, Duncan, “Cooperation versus prisoners’ dilemma: Implications for international cooperation and regimes.” American Political Science Review, vol. 79, no. 4, December 1985.

Stein, Arthur, “Coordination and collaboration: regimes in an anarchic world.” International Organization, vol. 36, Spring 1982.

Stein, Janice Gross, “Detection and defection: Security regimes and the management of international conflict.” International Journal, vol. 40, no. 4, Autumn 1985.

Tow, William T., Subregional Security Cooperation in the Third World. Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1990.

Wallace, William, “European defence co-operation: The reopening debate.” Survival, vol. 26, no. 6, November/December 1984.

Young, Oren, International Cooperation: Building Regimes for Natural Resources and the Environment. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1989.

Yost, David S., Trance and West European defence identity.” Survival, vol. 33, no. 4, July/August 1991.

Part 7 Game Theory

Summary

Game theory is useful in understanding the obstacles that so often block cooperation in both security and non-security issue areas. As such, study of models like Prisoner’s Dilemma and Chicken (to cite only two examples) offer valuable insight into the decision-making calculus of egoistic, rational actors. Despite its benefits, though, game theory has often been criticized as being overly deterministic and simplistic, charges that are (admittedly) hard to discount. Several decades after the original behavioralist revolution in the social sciences, many scholars today accept game theory for what it is—models that can alert observers to actions taken in response to external stimuli. Jn addition, game theory can suggest novel directions in decision-making patterns. Such considerations are important in the confidence-building process, as they point out dynamics that may not be immediately recognizable. However, the weaknesses of such models are such that severe caution must be exercised in any attempt at drawing empirical conclusions. Only those models embedded in theoretical arguments, and carefully designed to the relevant empirical questions, will provide (potentially) accurate claims.

Sources

Alker, Hayward R. and Roger Hurwitz, Resolving Prisoner’s Dilemmas. Cambridge: MIT (School for International Studies), 1980.

Alt, J., R. Calvert and B. Humes, “Reputation and hegemonic stability: A game-theoretic analysis.” American Political Science Review, vol. 82, 1988.

Bracken, P., “Deterrence, gaming, and game theory.” Orbis, vol. 27, no. 4, Winter 1984.

Brams, Steven, Superpower Games: Applying Game Theory to Superpower Conflict. New Haven: Vale University Press, 1985.

____, “Verification and stability: A game-theoretic analysis.” In A. Din, ed. Arms and Artificial Intelligence. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987.

Bunn, G. and R. Payne, ‘Tit-for-tat and the negotiation of nuclear arms control.” Arms Control, vol. 9, 1988.

Coynbeare, J., “Public goods, prisoner’s dilemma and the international political economy.” International Studies Quarterly, vol. 28, no. 1, 1984.

Forst, Brian and Judith Lucianovic, “The prisoner’s dilemma: Theory and reality.” Journal of Criminal Justice, vol. 5, Spring 1977.

Guth, W., “Deterrence and incomplete information: The game theory approach.” In R. Huber and J. Kettelle, eds. Modelling and Analysis in Arms Control. New York: Springer-Verlag, 1986.

Hamburger, Henry, Games as Models of Social Phenomena. San Francisco: W.H. Freeman, 1979.

Hasegawa, Keiji, “Commons dilemma and the “Tragedy of the Commons". Journal of Mathematical Sociology, vol. 14, no. 4, 1989.

Heckathom, Douglas D., “Extensions of the Prisoner’s Dilemma paradigm: The altruist’s dilemma and group solidarity.” Sociological Theory, vol. 9, no. 1, 1991.

Jervis, Robert, “Realism, game theory, and cooperation.” World Politics, vol. 40, no. 3, April 1988.

Kirby, D., “SDI and prisoner’s dilemma.” Parameters, vol. 18, no. 1, March 1988.

Langlois, J.P., “Modelling deterrence and international crises.” Journal of Conflict Resolution, vol. 33, 1989.

Leng, R., “Crisis learning games.” American Political Science Review, vol. 82, 1988.

Majeski, S., “Arms races as iterated prisoner’s dilemma games.” Mathematical Social Sciences, vol. 7, 1984.

____, “Technological innovation and cooperation in arms races.” International Studies Quarterly, vol. 30, no. 2, June 1986.

Measor, N., “Game theory and the nuclear arms race.” In N. Blake and K. Pole, eds. Dangers of Deterrence: Philosophers on Nuclear Strategy. London: Routledge and Kegan, 1983.

Moulin, H., “Deterrence and cooperation: A classification of two-person games.” European Economic Review, vol. 15, 1981.

Niou, E. and P. Ordeshook, “Preventive war and the balance of power: A game-theoretic analysis.” Journal of Conflict Resolution, vol. 31, 1987.

O’Neill, Barry, “Game theory and the study of deterrence of war.” In Robert Axelrod, Robert Jervis, Roy Radner and Paul Stern, eds. Perspectives in Deterrence. New York: Oxford University Press, 1989.

____, A Survey of Game Theory Models on Peace and War. Toronto: York University (Centre for International and Strategic Studies, Occasional Paper No. 9), 1990.

Shubik, Martin, Game Theory in the Social Sciences. Cambridge: MIT Press, 1983.

____, “The uses, value and limitations of game-theoretic methods in defense analysis.” In C. Schmidt and F. Blackaby, eds. Peace; Defense and Economic Analysis. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1987.

Shidal, Duncan, “The game theory of international politics.” In Kenneth A. Oye, ed. Cooperation Under Anarchy. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986.

____, “Cooperation versus prisoners’ dilemma: Implications for international cooperation and regimes.” American Political Science Review, December 1985.

Snyder, R., “Game theory and the analysis of political behaviour.” In J. Rosenau, ed. International Politics and Foreign Policy. New York: Free Press, 1961.

Stein, Arthur, “The hegemon’s dilemma.” International Organization, vol. 38, no. 2, Spring 1984.

Swistak, Piotr, “How to resist invasion in the repeated Prisoner’s Dilemma Game.” Behavioral Science, vol. 34, no. 2, 1989.

Wagner, Harrison, “The theory of games and the problem of international cooperation.” American Political Science Review, vol. 70, June 1983.

____, “The theory of games and the balance of power.” World Politics, vol. 38, no. 4, July 1987.

Webber, Steve, Cooperation and Discord in US-Soviet Arms Control. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991.

Zagare, F., “Toward a reconciliation of game theory and the theory of mutual deterrence.” International Studies Quarterly, vol. 29, 1985.

This bibliography is intended to be a starting point for more advanced scholarship in the field. As such, it points out some of the more recent writings, but it should not be considered as exhaustive in any way. Readers should note that many of the cited works have been recently examined and analyzed by the author in Confidence and Security Building Measures—A Closer Look, Toronto: York University (YCISS Occasional Paper No. 21), 1994.

About the Book

Confidence Building Measures (CBMs) were pioneered in Europe at the height of the Cold War. The immediate goal of such measures is to create enough trust between parties in international conflicts to avoid mutually unfavourable—sometimes dangerous—outcomes due to misunderstandings. The long-term goal of CBMs is to move the contending parties closer to a resolution of their more fundamental differences.

Such measures were successful in Europe, some say, because the situation was relatively stable and the parties were motivated to maintain peaceful relations. In this book, leading Middle East scholars and international security specialists assess whether confidence building measures can be applied in a region where the various factions have not yet decided that peaceful coexistence is a desirable goal. Indeed, in some cases, the respective parties refuse to recognize the other’s right to exist.

The contributors explore the various components of successful CBM agreements—such as open communication, arms control initiatives, verification and monitoring programs and conflict resolution protocols—and assess how successful such incremental steps might be in the Middle East. The Israelis and the Palestinians are currently trying to implement CBMs and this volume provides a critical perspective on those historic initiatives.