It's Not Arafat, But Washington That Has Changed

By Paul Findley

Sitting with Yasser Arafat, the PLO chief, in a reception room on the ninth floor of the ANA Hotel in Washington Sept. 13 were four politically scarred U.S. veterans of the Arab-Israeli conflict.

In the circle, in addition to myself, were:

Andrew Young, once a prominent assistant to Martin Luther King in the civil rights marches of the 1960s. He was later elected to the House of Representatives, then selected as President Jimmy Carter's ambassador to the U.N., the most prominent Black in the administration. Young was forced to resign when it became known that he had violated a State Department rule by talking briefly with Zehdi Terzi, Arafat's diplomat at the U.N.

Mary Rose Oakar of Cleveland, a former member of Congress with Arab ancestry. She lost her bid for re-election last year in a campaign that focused on her controversial meeting with Arafat during the 1982 Israeli assault on Lebanon. Joining four colleagues, she had braved the bombing of Beirut by climbing into a shelter where Arafat was ducking bombs. They won a public declaration by Arafat of support for U. N. Resolution 242 in a vain effort to end the U.S. ban on official discussions with the PLO, a ban that did not end until last week.

Alfred M. Lilienthal, a Jewish author whose books have long warned of the heavy price the United States is paying for its "Zionist connection."

Our message was jubilation, not hand wringing over the past. We were there to congratulate Arafat on the Palestinian-Israeli agreement just announced and the speech he had delivered that morning during the signing ceremonies on the south lawn of the White House.

During the ceremonies I sat in the midst of former congressional colleagues and noted with satisfaction how they warmly greeted the appearance of Arafat on the platform and his remarks that followed. After long years in which they seemed to be almost duty-bound to insert the word terrorist as a prefix to PLO, it was a great satisfaction to witness their bursts of enthusiasm as Arafat's speech proceeded and especially their unrestrained joy when Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin, prodded by President Bill Clinton, shook hands with the PLO leader.

Long the brunt of ugly, demonizing caricatures, the PLO had suddenly won applause and acceptance from members of Congress, its leaders, and the president of the United States. The PLO had not changed. It long ago approved the two state solution to the Arab-Israeli conflict, that is, acceptance of Israel as the new Palestine's neighbor. The major change had occurred among the PLO's critics. The pity is that since Arafat first proposed the two-state solution, thousands of people have died and other thousands have suffered needlessly.

The change was witnessed by an enormous television audience of several hundred million people. By delivering his remarks in Arabic, Arafat made certain that the millions of Arabs tuned in worldwide could understand, without interpretation, exactly what he said and why the audience applauded.

The next day Arafat visited Capitol Hill, where members of both the House and Senate were jostling each other as they sought to be photographed with the PLO leader. In a give-and-take appearance at the National Press Club, Arafat had a cynical and callused media eating out of his hand.

It was the sort of virtuoso performance I was confident he would provide once the ugly stereotype of terrorism had been lifted and the doors of decency opened to him. Fifteen years ago I urged him to visit New York and seize every opportunity to present himself on television. In the wake of this September's events, it is easy to understand why Israel and its U.S. Lobby exerted every means to deny him an American audience.

The transformation of the PLO reminded me of the vast change that occurred in public opinion when President Richard Nixon opened diplomatic relations with Communist China. Prior to that historic episode, civilized discussion of China policy was almost impossible in the United States. Long before Nixon's move, I recall being branded as a traitor during a public gathering in Quincy, Illinois, for proposing trade relations with Beijing. A few years later, with brisk trade underway, China's ambassador was received joyously by the people of the same community.

The handshake between Rabin and Arafat was the highlight of the White House ceremony. It evoked from the entire audience a rousing cry of joy that I found to be both delightful and astonishing. It summoned in me the same feeling of exultation that greeted the allied victory in World War II. A long and difficult war had been won.

Handshakes I received that morning were especially gratifying: those of former President Jimmy Carter and former Secretary of State Cyrus Vance, with whom I had dealt closely during the early years of my Middle East endeavors; former Senator Charles Percy, who lost a bid for re-election after publicly characterizing Arafat as a moderate leader; Dr. Hanan Ashrawi, the much-admired spokesperson for the Palestinian negotiating delegation whom I had first met three years ago in Malaysia; and Stephen Solarz, my former colleague on the Foreign Affairs Committee who served as my sparring partner in many a public debate over the years.

Now designated as U.S. ambassador to India and joining other Jews in applauding Arafat, Solarz shouted congratulations across rows of folding chairs. In his frequent speeches, Solarz always defended Israeli policy and criticized Arab leaders, but he once told me privately that the two of us would have no difficulty agreeing privately what U.S. policy should be. In public, he—and other colleagues—often delighted in chiding me with the nickname "Yasser." Although the association would prove to be politically costly two years later in my failed campaign for re-election, I wore the nickname as a badge of honor even when the opposition, adding a comic touch to the partisan campaign, chanted, "Paul, Paul, he must go; he supports the PLO." I believed then, as I do now, that Arafat is a talented, moderate leader eager for a peaceful, just resolution of the Arab-Israeli conflict.

It was all smiles at the private meeting with Arafat later in the day. Understandably weary from the week's astounding pace of events, Arafat nevertheless flashed his infectious smile, welcomed each of us with a warm embrace, and talked about the complicated and urgent task of building a new democratic political structure in Gaza and Jericho—the first areas from which Israel had agreed to withdraw its forces.

He brought laughter by assuring Andrew Young this meeting with the PLO would not cause him to be fired again. It was a clear reference to the ambassador's dismissal from the U.N. 15 years ago. Since leaving the U.N., Young has served several terms as mayor of Atlanta, and is now an official in an engineering firm based in Georgia, immune from political dismissal.

Miss Oakar is picking up the pieces from her political defeat and starting a Cleveland-based consulting firm.

Lilienthal, now residing in Washington, continues to write for newspapers and magazines. He was critical of Israel from its early days, warning that it would lead the U.S. into trouble in the Mideast and, in addition, severely damage Judaism itself.

As we talked, I remembered the Arafat I met in January 1978 in Damascus. He was now leaner, and grey was well spread through his beard and moustache. When I first met him, I asked him in jest how he maintained a three-day growth day after day. He laughed off my question by saying, with magnificent understatement, that he did not take time to shave every day! Apart from the grey, it was the same ebullient, magnetic champion of the oppressed Palestinians, just as determined, just as optimistic.

With his stubbly beard, military costume and distinctive headdress, this great revolutionary—now endowed with richly deserved respectability—remains the symbol of "his people," more recognizable worldwide than the Palestinian flag itself.