Lebanon: Strange Sounds of Silence

Cease-fire No. 179: A respite or a move toward reconciliation?

The early signs hardly seemed propitious. As representatives of Lebanon's fractious factions prepared to discuss the freshly announced cease-fire last week, the meeting was suddenly scrubbed because the delegates could not agree on where to gather. After a day of delicate negotiating, a neutral site for the newly formed "security committee" was chosen: a deserted bank building in the hamlet of Al Mahattah, halfway between the Druze town of Shuweifat and the Christian village of Kfar Shima, about three miles south of Beirut. Around 11 a.m. they began pulling up in their Land Rovers. Gathering in the same place were emissaries of the Lebanese Army, the Christian political alliance known as the Lebanese Front, the Druze-led National Salvation Front and the Amal Shi'ite militia.

Then, just the sort of scene that makes Lebanon so maddeningly difficult to fathom occurred. The four men, mortal enemies for the most part, behaved like chums at a class reunion. "One might have thought they had all known each other," marveled an observer. "A very friendly group, with no tension in the air."

During the past decade, Lebanon has endured 178 cease-fires (assuming any such count can be accurate), so the prospects for No. 179 were not exactly sunny. Will the country's bitter porridge of sects and fiefs all honor the cease-fire and negotiate a fairer division of national power, or will the pause simply be used to rest up and rearm before the bloodletting commences again? For many Lebanese, the answer is too depressing to contemplate. Says a Beirut professor: "It is only a respite, and we must take advantage of it to see our friends and enjoy life a little while it lasts."

The truce survived its first week with no major wounds, despite bouts of shelling in the southern Chouf and stray sniper fire in Beirut. Much of the credit belonged to the Lebanese Army, which refused to respond to provocations in the capital's southern suburbs. The most encouraging sign came on Thursday, when Beirut International Airport reopened after being shut down for four weeks. As the first incoming plane, a red-and-white Middle East Airlines Boeing 707 from Saudi Arabia, circled over Beirut several times, people in the streets pointed skyward and cheered.

With the guns of Lebanon finally silent, the Marines for the first time in more than a month could move around without flak jackets and helmets. Uniforms were being cleaned, and officers at the 1,200-man Marine compound at Beirut International Airport were again conducting inspections of weapons and barracks. In Washington, Congress found it easier to approve a compromise that allows the Reagan Administration to keep the Marines there for an additional 18 months. A reluctant House of Representatives passed the measure, 270 to 161, while an even less enthusiastic Senate endorsed it, 54 to 46. The debate in both chambers reflected widespread fears about a deepening U.S. involvement in the region.

Republican Congressman Barber Conable of New York best summed up his colleagues' sentiments: "It's a choice between sure disaster if we pull out and possible disaster if we stay. It's a very unhappy choice."