SPECIALDOCUMENTS

TH E PALES TINIAN-ISR AELI CAMP DAV ID

NEG OTIATIONS AND BEY OND
It was not until a year after the collapse of the Camp David talks in July 2000
that authoritative voices in the U.S. press began to challenge what had become
virtual dogma: that Palestinian leader Yasir Arafat had rejected the
unprecedentedly generous offer of Israeli prime minister Ehud Barak, which
reportedly involved the return of the quasi-totality of Palestinian territory.
Among the consequences of this dogma is the widespread notion of
Palestinian responsibility for the al-Aqsa intifada that erupted a month later.
Foremost among the new challenges to these perceptions in the U.S.
mainstream press are the two articles reproduced below. The first, published
in the 9 August 2001 issue of the New York Review of Books, is by Robert
Malley, who participated in the Camp David summit as President Bill
Clintons special assistant for Arab-Israeli affairs at the National Security
Council, and Hussein Agha, an editor of JPSs sister publication, Majallat al-
Dirasat al-Filastiniyya, with close ties to the Palestinian negotiators. The second,
published in the New York Times on 26 July 2001, is by Deborah Sontag, the
newspapers correspondent in Jerusalem.
CAMPDAVID: TRAGEDY OF ERRORS, BY ROBERTMALLEY AND
HUSSEINAGHA, NEWYORK REVIEWOF BOOKS, 9 AUGUST2001
In accounts of what happened at the July 2000 Camp David summit and the fol-
lowing months of Israeli-Palestinian negotiations, we often hear about Ehud Baraks
unprecedented offer and Yasser Arafats uncompromising no. Israel is said to have
made a historic, generous proposal, which the Palestinians, once again seizing the
opportunity to miss an opportunity, turned down. In short, the failure to reach a final
agreement is attributed, without notable dissent, to Yasser Arafat.
As orthodoxies go, this is a dangerous one. For it has larger ripple effects. Broader
conclusions take hold. That there is no peace partner is one. That there is no possible
end to the conflict with Arafat is another.
For a process of such complexity, the diagnosis is remarkably shallow. It ignores
history, the dynamics of the negotiations, and the relationships among the three par-
ties. In so doing, it fails to capture why what so many viewed as a generous Israeli
offer, the Palestinians viewed as neither generous, nor Israeli, nor, indeed, as an offer.
Worse, it acts as a harmful constraint on American policy by offering up a single,
convenient culpritArafatrather than a more nuanced and realistic analysis.
1.
Each side came to Camp David with very different perspectives, which led, in turn,
to highly divergent approaches to the talks.
Journal of Palestine Studies XXXI, no. 1 (Autumn 2001), pp. 62-85.
TH E PALESTINIAN-ISR AELI CAMP DAV ID NEG OTIATIONS AND BEY OND 63
Ehud Barak was guided by three principles. First was a deep antipathy toward the
concept of gradual steps that lay at the heart of the 1993 Oslo agreement between
Israel and the Palestine Liberation Organization. In his view, the withdrawals of Israeli
forces from parts of Gaza and the West Bank during the preceding seven years had
forced Israel to pay a heavy price without getting anything tangible in return and
without knowing the scope of the Palestinians final demands. A second axiom for
Barak was that the Palestinian leadership would make a historic compromiseif at
allonly after it had explored and found unappealing all other possibilities.
An analysis of Israeli politics led to Baraks third principle. Baraks team was con-
vinced that the Israeli public would ratify an agreement with the Palestinians, even
one that entailed far-reaching concessions, so long as it was final and brought quiet
and normalcy to the country. But Barak and his associates also felt that the best way to
bring the agreement before the Israeli public was to minimize any political friction
along the way. Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin had paid a tremendous political (and
physical) price by alienating the Israeli right wing and failing to bring its members
along during the Oslo process. Barak was determined not to repeat that mistake. Para-
doxically, a government that believed it enjoyed considerable latitude concerning the
terms of the ultimate deal felt remarkably constrained on the steps it could take to get
there. Bearing these principles in mind helps us to make sense of the Israeli govern-
ment s actions during this period.
To begin, Barak discarded a number of interim steps, even those to which Israel
was formally committed by various agreements including a third partial redeploy-
ment of troops from the West Bank, the transfer to Palestinian control of three villages
abutting Jerusalem, and the release of Palestinians imprisoned for acts committed
before the Oslo agreement. He did not want to estrange the Right prematurel y or be
(or appear to be) a sucker by handing over assets, only to be rebuffed on the per-
manent status deal. In Baraks binary cost-benef it analysis, such steps did not add up:
on the one hand, if Israelis and Palestinians reached a final agreement , all these minor
steps (and then some) would be taken; on the other hand, if the parties failed to reach
a final agreement , those steps would have been wasted. What is more, concessions to
the Palestinians would cost Barak precious political capital he was determined to hus-
band until the final, climactic moment.
The better route, he thought, was to present all concessions and all rewards in one
comprehensive package that the Israeli public would be asked to accept in a national
referendum. Oslo was being turned on its head. It had been a wager on successa
blank check signed by two sides willing to take difficult preliminary steps in the ex-
pectation that they would reach an agreement . Baraks approach was a hedge against
failurea reluctance to make preliminary concessions out of fear that they might not.
Much the same can be said about Israels expansion of the West Bank settlements,
which proceeded at a rapid pace. Barak saw no reason to needlessly alienate the
settler constituency. Moreover, insofar as new housing units were being established
on land that Israel ultimately would annex under a permanent dealat least any per-
manent deal Barak would signhe saw no harm to the Palestinians in permitting such
construction. In other words, Baraks single-minded focus on the big picture only
magnified in his eyes the significanceand costof the small steps. Precisely because
he was willing to move a great distance in a final agreement (on territory or on Jerusa-
lem, for example), he was unwilling to move an inch in the preamble (prisoners,
settlements, troop redeployment, Jerusalem villages).
64 JOUR NAL OF PALESTINE STUDIES
Baraks principles also shed light on his all-or-nothing approach. In Baraks mind,
Arafat had to be made to understand that there was no
third way, no reversion to the interim approach, but
In Baraks mind, Arafat had to
rather a corridor leading either to an agreement or to con-
be made to understand that
frontation. Seeking to enlist the support of the U.S. and Eu-
there was no third way, but
ropean nations for this plan, he asked them to threaten
rather a corridor leading either
Arafat with the consequences of his obstinacy: the blame
to an agreement or
would be laid on the Palestinians and relations with them
to confrontation.
would be downgraded. Likewise, and throughout Camp
David, Barak repeatedly urged the U.S. to avoid mention of any fallback options or of
the possibility of continued negotiations in the event the summit failed.
The prime minister s insistence on holding a summit and the timing of the Camp
David talks followed naturally. Barak was prepared to have his negotiators engage in
preliminary discussions, which in fact took place for several months prior to Camp
David. But for him, these were not the channels in which real progress could be
made. Only by insisting on a single, high-level summit could all the necessary ingredi-
ents of success be present: the drama of a stark, all-or-nothing proposal; the prospect
that Arafat might lose U.S. support; the exposure of the ineffectiveness of Palestinian
salami-tactics (pocketing Israeli concessions that become the starting point at the next
round); and, ultimately, the capacity to unveil to the Israeli people all the achieve-
ments and concessions of the deal in one fell swoop.
2.
In Gaza and the West Bank, Baraks election was greeted with mixed emotions.
Benjamin Netanyahu, his immediate predecessor, had failed to implement several of
Israels signed obligations and, for that reason alone, his defeat was welcome. But
during his campaign, Barak had given no indication that he was prepared for major
compromises with the Palestinians. Labor back in power also meant Tel Aviv back in
Washingtons good graces; Netanyahu s tenure, by contrast, had seen a gradual cool-
ing of Americas relations with Israel and a concomitant warming of its relations with
the Palestinian Authority.
Palestinians were looking for early reassuring signs from Barak; his first moves
were anything but. His broad government coalition (an assortment of peace advo-
cates and hard-liners), his tough positions on issues like Jerusalem, and his reluctance
to confront the settlers all contributed to an early atmosphere of distrust. Delays in
addressing core Palestinian concernssuch as implementing the 1998 Wye Agree-
ment (which Barak chose to renegotiate) or beginning permanent status talks (which
Barak postponed by waiting to name a lead negotiator)were particularly irksome
given the impatient mood that prevailed in the territories. Seen from Gaza and the
West Bank, Oslos legacy read like a litany of promises deferred or unfulfilled. Six
years after the agreement, there were more Israeli settlements , less freedom of move-
ment, and worse economic conditions. Powerful Palestinian constituenciesthe intel-
lectuals, security establishment, media, business community, state bureaucrats,
political activistswhose support was vital for any peace effort were disillusioned
with the results of the peace process, doubtful of Israels willingness to implement
signed agreements, and, now, disenchant ed with Baraks rhetoric and actions.
Perhaps most disturbing was Baraks early decision to concentrate on reaching a
deal with Syria rather than with the Palestinians, a decision that Arafat experienced as
TH E PALESTINIAN-ISR AELI CAMP DAV ID NEG OTIATIONS AND BEY OND 65
a triple blow. The Palestinians saw it as an instrument of pressure, designed to isolate
them; as a delaying tactic that would waste precious months; and as a public humilia-
tion, intended to put them in their place. Over the years, Syria had done nothing to
address Israeli concerns. There was no recognition, no bilateral contacts, not even a
suspension of assistance to groups intent on fighting Israel. During that time, the PLO
had recognized Israel, countless face-to-face negotiations had taken place, and Israeli
and Palestinian security services had worked hand in hand. In spite of all this, Hafiz
al-Asadnot Arafatwas the first leader to be courted by the new Israeli government.
In March 2000, after the failed Geneva summit between Clinton and President Asad
made clear that the Syrian track had run its course, Barak chose to proceed full steam
ahead with the Palestinians, setting a deadline of only a few months to reach a perma-
nent agreement. But by then, the frame of mind on the other side was anything but
receptive. It was Baraks timetable, imposed after his Syrian gambit had failed, and
designed with his own strategy in mind. Arafat was not about to oblige.
Indeed, behind almost all of Baraks moves, Arafat believed he could discern the
objective of either forcing him to swallow an unconscionable deal or mobilizing the
world to isolate and weaken the Palestinians if they refused to yield. Baraks stated
view that the alternative to an agreement would be a situation far grimmer than the
status quo created an atmosphere of pressure that only confirmed Arafats suspi-
cionsand the greater the pressure, the more stubborn the belief among Palestinians
that Barak was trying to dupe them.
Moreover, the steps Barak undertook to husband his resources while negotiating a
historical final deal were interpreted by the Palestinians as efforts to weaken them
while imposing an unfair one. Particularly troubling from this perspective was Baraks
attitude toward the interim commitments, based on the Oslo, Wye, and later agree-
ments. Those who claim that Arafat lacked interest in a permanent deal miss the point.
Like Barak, the Palestinian leader felt that permanent status negotiations were long
overdue; unlike Barak, he did not think that this justified doing away with the interim
obligations.
For Arafat, interim and permanent issues are inextricably linkedpart and parcel
of each other, he told the presidentprecisely because they must be kept scrupu-
lously separate. Unfulfilled interim obligations did more than cast doubt on Israels
intent to deliver; in Arafats eyes, they directly affected the balance of power that was
to prevail once permanent status negotiations commenced.
To take the simplest example: if Israel still held on to land that was supposed to be
turned over during the interim phase, then the Palestinians would have to negotiate
over that land as well during permanent status negotiations. And while Barak claimed
that unfulfilled interim obligations would be quickly forgotten in the event that the
summit succeeded, Arafat feared that they might just as quickly be ignored in the
event that it failed. In other words, Baraks seemed a take-it-or-leave-it proposition in
which leaving it meant forsaking not only the permanent status proposal, but also a
further withdrawal of Israeli forces, the Jerusalem villages, the prisoner releases, and
other interim commitments. Worse, it meant being confronted with the new settle-
ment units in areas that Barak self-confidently assumed would be annexed to Israel
under a permanent status deal.
In many ways, Baraks actions led to a classic case of misaddressed messages: the
intended recipients of his tough statements the domestic constituency he was seek-
ing to carry with himbarely listened, while their unintended recipientsthe Pales-
tinians he would sway with his final offerlistened only too well. Never convinced
66 JOUR NAL OF PALESTINE STUDIES
that Barak was ready to go far at all, the Palestinians were not about to believe that he
was holding on to his assets in order to go far enough. For them, his goals were to
pressure the Palestinians, lower their expectations, and worsen their alternatives. In
short, everything Barak saw as evidence that he was serious, the Palestinians consid-
ered to be evidence that he was not.
For these reasons, Camp David seemed to Arafat to encapsulate his worst night-
mares. It was high-wire summitry, designed to increase the pressure on the Palestini-
ans to reach a quick agreement while heightening the political and symbolic costs if
they did not. And it clearly was a Clinton-Barak idea both in concept and timing, and
for that reason alone highly suspect. That the U.S. issued the invitations despite
Israels refusal to carry out its earlier commitments and despite Arafats plea for addi-
tional time to prepare only reinforced in his mind the sense of a U.S.-Israeli
conspiracy.
On 15 June, during his final meeting with Clinton before Camp David, Arafat set
forth his case: Barak had not implemented prior agreements, there had been no pro-
gress in the negotiations, and the prime minister was holding all the cards. The only
conceivabl e outcome of going to a summit, he told Secretary [of State Madeleine]
Albright, was to have everything explode in the president s face. If there is no summit,
at least there will still be hope. The summit is our last card, Arafat saiddo you really
want to burn it? In the end, Arafat went to Camp David, for not to do so would have
been to incur Americas anger; but he went intent more on surviving than on benefit-
ing from it.
3.
Given both the mistrust and tactical clumsiness that characterized the two sides,
the United States faced a formidable challenge. At the time, though, administration
officials believed there was a historic opportunity for an agreement . Barak was eager
for a deal, wanted it achieved during Clinton s term in office, and had surrounded
himself with some of Israels most peace-minded politicians. For his part, Arafat had
the opportunity to preside over the first Palestinian state, and he enjoyed a special
bond with Clinton, the first U.S. president to have met and dealt with him. As for
Clinton, he was prepared to devote as much of his presidency as it took to make the
Israeli-Palestinian negotiations succeed. A decision not to seize the opportunity
would have produced as many regrets as the decision to seize it produced
recriminations.
Neither the president nor his advisers were blind to the growing distrust between
the two sides or to Baraks tactical missteps. They had been troubled by his decision
to favor negotiations with the other woman, the Syrian president, who distracted
him from his legitimate, albeit less appealing, Palestinian bride-to-be. Baraks inability
to create a working relationshi p with Arafat was bemoaned in the administration; his
entreaties to the Americans to expose and unmask Arafat to the world were
largely ignored.
When Barak reneged on his commitment to transfer the three Jerusalem villages to
the Palestiniansa commitment the prime minister had specifically authorized Clin-
ton to convey, in the president s name, to ArafatClinton was furious. As he put it,
this was the first time that he had been made out to be a false prophet to a foreign
leader. And, in an extraordinary moment at Camp David, when Barak retracted some
of his positions, the president confronted him, expressing all his accumulated frustra-
TH E PALESTINIAN-ISR AELI CAMP DAV ID NEG OTIATIONS AND BEY OND 67
tions. I cant go see Arafat with a retrenchment! You can sell it; there is no way I can.
This is not real. This is not serious. I went to Shepherdst own [for the Israeli-Syrian
negotiations] and was told nothing by you for four days. I went to Geneva [for the
summit with Asad] and felt like a wooden Indian doing your bidding. I will not let it
happen here!
In the end, though, and on almost all these questionabl e tactical judgments, the
U.S. either gave up or gave in, reluctantly acquiescing in the way Barak did things out
of respect for the things he was trying to do. For there was a higher good, which was
Baraks determination to reach peace agreement s with Syria and the Palestinians. As
early as July 1999, during their first meeting, Barak had outlined to Clinton his vision
of a comprehensive peace. He provided details regarding his strategy, a timetable,
even the (astronomi cal) U.S. funding that would be required for Israels security, Pal-
estinian and Syrian economic assistance, and refugee resettlement. These were not
the words of a man with a ploy but of a man with a mission.
The relationship between Clinton and Barak escapes easy classification. The presi-
dent, a political pro, was full of empathy, warmth, and personal charm; the prime
minister, a self-proclaimed political novice, was mainly at ease with cool, logical argu-
ment. Where the presidents tactics were fluid, infinitely adaptable to the reactions of
others, Baraks every move seemed to have been conceived and then frozen in his
own mind. At Camp David, Clinton offered Barak some advice: You are smarter and
more experienced than I am in war. But I am older in politics. And I have learned
from my mistakes.
Yet in their political relations, the two men were genuine intimates. For all his
complicated personality traits, Barak was deemed a privileged partner because of his
determination to reach a final deal and the risks he was prepared to take to get there.
When these were stacked against Arafats perceived inflexibility and emphasis on in-
terim commitments, the administration found it hard not to accommodate Baraks re-
quests. As the president told Arafat three weeks before Camp David began, he largely
agreed with the chairman s depiction of Barakpolitically maladroit, frustrating, lack-
ing in personal touch. But he differed with Arafat on a crucial point: he was convinced
that Barak genuinely wanted a historic deal.
The president s decision to hold the Camp David summit despite Arafats protesta-
tions illuminates much about U.S. policy during this period. In June, Barakwho for
some time had been urging that a summit be rapidly convenedtold the president
and Secretary Albright that Palestinian negotiators had not moved an inch and that his
negotiators had reached the end of their compromises; anything more would have to
await a summit. He also warned that without a summit, his government (at least in its
current form) would be gone within a few weeks.
At the same time, Arafat posed several conditions for agreeing to go to a summit.
First, he sought additional preparatory talks to ensure that Camp David would not fail.
Second, he requested that the third Israeli territorial withdrawal be implemented
before Camp Davida demand that, when rebuffed by the U.S., turned into a request
that the U.S. guarantee the withdrawal even if Camp David did not yield an agree-
ment (what he called a safety net). A third Palestinian requestvolunteered by Clin-
ton, rather than being demanded by Arafatwas that the U.S. remain neutral in the
event the summit failed and not blame the Palestinians.
The administrat ion by and large shared Arafats views. The Palestinians most legit-
imate concern, in American eyes, was that without additional preparatory work the
risk of failure was too great. In June, speaking of a possible summit, Clinton told
68 JOUR NAL OF PALESTINE STUDIES
Barak, I want to do this, but not under circumstances that will kill Oslo. Clinton also
agreed with Arafat on the need for action on the interim issues. He extracted a com-
mitment from Barak that the third Israeli withdrawal would take place with or without
a final deal, and, in June, he privately told the chairman he would support a substan-
tial withdrawal were Camp David to fail. Describing all the reasons for Arafats mis-
givings, he urged Barak to put himself in Arafats shoes
and to open the summit with a series of goodwill gestures
Clinton assured Arafat on the
toward the Palestinians. Finally, Clinton assured Arafat on
eve of the summit that he
the eve of the summit that he would not be blamed if the
would not be blamed if the
summit did not succeed. There will be, he pledged, no
summit did not succeed. There
finger-pointing.
will be, he pledged, no
Yet, having concurred with the Palestinians contentions
finger-pointing.
on the merits, the U.S. immediately proceeded to disregard
them. Ultimately, there was neither additional preparation before the summit, nor a
third redeployment of Israeli troops, nor any action on interim issues. And Arafat got
blamed in no uncertain terms.
Why this discrepancy between promise and performance? Most importantly, be-
cause Baraks reasoningand his timetablehad an irresistible logic to them. If noth-
ing was going to happen at presummit negotiationsand nothing wasif his
government was on the brink of collapse, and if he would put on Camp David s table
concessions he had not made before, how could the president say no? What would be
gained by waiting? Certainly not the prospect offered by Arafatanother interminable
negotiation over a modest territorial withdrawal. And most probably, as many analysts
predicted, an imminent confrontation, if Arafat proceeded with his plan to unilaterally
announce a state on 13 September 2000, or if the frustration among the Palestinians
of which the world had had a glimpse during the May 2000 upheavalwere to reach
boiling point once again.
As for the interim issues, U.S. officials believed that whatever Palestinian anger
resulted from Israeli lapses would evaporate in the face of an appealing final deal. As
a corollary, from the president on down, U.S. officials chose to use their leverage with
the Israelis to obtain movement on the issues that had to be dealt with in a permanent
agreement rather than expend it on interim ones.
The president s decision to ignore his commitment to Arafat and blame the Pales-
tinians after the summit points to another factor, which is how the two sides were
perceived during the negotiations. As seen from Washington, Camp David exempli-
fied Baraks political courage and Arafats political passivity, risk-taking on the one
hand, risk-aversion on the other. The first thing on the president s mind after Camp
David was thus to help the prime minister, whose concessions had jeopardized his
political standing at home. Hence the finger-pointing. And the last thing on Clinton s
mind was to insist on a further Israeli withdrawal. Hence the absence of a safety net.
This brings us to the heart of the matterthe substance of the negotiations them-
selves, and the reality behind the prevailing perception that a generous Israeli offer
met an unyielding Palestinian response.
4.
Was there a generous Israeli offer and, if so, was it peremptorily rejected by Arafat?
If there is one issue that Israelis agree on, it is that Barak broke every conceivable
taboo and went as far as any Israeli prime minister had gone or could go. Coming into
TH E PALESTINIAN-ISR AELI CAMP DAV ID NEG OTIATIONS AND BEY OND 69
office on a pledge to retain Jerusalem as Israels eternal and undivided capital, he
ended up appearing to agree to Palestinian sovereignt yfirst over some, then over
all, of the Arab sectors of East Jerusalem. Originally adamant in rejecting the argument
that Israel should swap some of the occupied West Bank territory for land within its
1967 borders, he finally came around to that view. After initially speaking of a Pales-
tinian state covering roughly 80 percent of the West Bank, he gradually moved up to
the low 90s before acquiescing to the mid-90s range.
Even so, it is hard to state with confidence how far Barak was actually prepared to
go. His strategy was predicated on the belief that Israel ought not to reveal its final
positionsnot even to the United Statesunless and until the endgame was in sight.
Had any member of the U.S. peace team been asked to describe Baraks true positions
before or even during Camp Davidindeed, were any asked that question today
they would be hard-pressed to answer. Baraks worst fear was that he would put for-
ward Israeli concessions and pay the price domestically, only to see the Palestinians
using the concessions as a new point of departure. And his trust in the Americans
went only so far, fearing that they might reveal to the Palestinians what he was deter-
mined to conceal.
As a consequenc e, each Israeli position was presented as unmovable, a red line
that approached the bone of Israeli interests; this served as a means of both forcing
the Palestinians to make concessions and preserving Israels bargaining positions in
the event they did not. On the eve of Camp David, Israeli negotiators described their
purported red lines to their American counterparts: the annexation of more than 10
percent of the West Bank, sovereignt y over parts of the strip along the Jordan River,
and rejection of any territorial swaps. At the opening of Camp David, Barak warned
the Americans that he could not accept Palestinian sovereignt y over any part of East
Jerusalem other than a purely symbolic foothold. Earlier, he had claimed that if
Arafat asked for 95 percent of the West Bank, there would be no deal. Yet, at the same
time, he gave clear hints that Israel was willing to show more flexibility if Arafat was
prepared to contemplate the endgame. Bottom lines and false bottoms: the tension,
and the ambiguity, were always there.
Gradual shifts in Baraks positions also can be explained by the fact that each pro-
posal seemed to be based less on a firm estimate of what Israel had to hold on to and
more on a changing appraisal of what it could obtain. Barak apparently took the view
that, faced with a sufficiently attractive proposal and an appropriately unattractive al-
ternative, the Palestinians would have no choice but to say yes. In effect, each succes-
sive Palestinian no led to the next best Israeli assessment of what, in their right
minds, the Palestinians couldn t turn down.
The final and largely unnoticed consequence of Baraks approach is that, strictly
speaking, there never was an Israeli offer. Determined to preserve Israels position in
the event of failure, and resolved not to let the Palestinians take advantage of one-
sided compromises, the Israelis always stopped one, if not several, steps short of a
proposal. The ideas put forward at Camp David were never stated in writing, but
orally conveyed. They generally were presented as U.S. concepts, not Israeli ones;
indeed, despite having demanded the opportunity to negotiate face to face with
Arafat, Barak refused to hold any substantive meeting with him at Camp David out of
fear that the Palestinian leader would seek to put Israeli concessions on the record.
Nor were the proposals detailed. If written down, the American ideas at Camp David
would have covered no more than a few pages. Barak and the Americans insisted that
70 JOUR NAL OF PALESTINE STUDIES
Arafat accept them as general bases for negotiations before launching into more
rigorous negotiations.
According to those bases, Palestine would have sovereignt y over 91 percent of
the West Bank; Israel would annex 9 percent of the West Bank and, in exchange,
Palestine would have sovereignt y over parts of pre-1967 Israel equivalent to 1 percent
of the West Bank, but with no indication of where either would be. On the highly
sensitive issue of refugees, the proposal spoke only of a satisfactory solution. Even
on Jerusalem, where the most detail was provided, many blanks remained to be filled
in. Arafat was told that Palestine would have sovereignty over the Muslim and Chris-
tian Quarters of the Old City, but only a loosely defined permanent custodianship
over the Haram al-Sharif, the third holiest site in Islam. The status of the rest of the city
would fluctuate between Palestinian sovereignty and functional autonomy. Finally,
Barak was careful not to accept anything. His statements about positions he could
support were conditional, couched as a willingness to negotiate on the basis of the
U.S. proposals so long as Arafat did the same.
5.
Much as they tried, the Palestinian leaders have proved utterly unable to make
their case. In Israel and the U.S., they are consistentl y depicted as uncompromising
and incapable of responding to Baraks supreme effort. Yet, in their own eyes, they
were the ones who made the principal concessions.
For all the talk about peace and reconciliation, most Palestinians were more re-
signed to the two-state solution than they were willing to embrace it; they were pre-
pared to accept Israels existence, but not its moral legitimacy. The war for the whole
of Palestine was over because it had been lost. Oslo, as they saw it, was not about
negotiating peace terms but terms of surrender. Bearing this perspective in mind ex-
plains the Palestinians view that Oslo itself is the historic compromisean agreement
to concede 78 percent of mandatory Palestine to Israel. And it explains why they were
so sensitive to the Israelis use of language. The notion that Israel was offering land,
being generous, or making concessions seemed to them doubly wrongin a sin-
gle stroke both affirming Israels right and denying the Palestinians. For the Palestini-
ans, land was not given but given back.
Even during the period following the Oslo agreement, the Palestinians considered
that they were the ones who had come up with creative ideas to address Israeli con-
cerns. While denouncing Israeli settlements as illegal, they accepted the principle that
Israel would annex some of the West Bank settlements in exchange for an equivalent
amount of Israeli land being transferred to the Palestinians. While insisting on the
Palestinian refugees right to return to homes lost in 1948, they were prepared to tie
this right to a mechanism of implementation providing alternative choices for the ref-
ugees while limiting the numbers returning to Israel proper. Despite their insistence
on Israels withdrawal from all lands occupied in 1967, they were open to a division
of East Jerusalem granting Israel sovereignt y over its Jewish areas (the Jewish Quarter,
the Wailing Wall, and the Jewish neighborhoods) in clear contravention of this
principle.
These compromises notwithstanding, the Palestinians never managed to rid them-
selves of their intransigent image. Indeed, the Palestinians principal failing is that
from the beginning of the Camp David summit onward they were unable either to say
yes to the American ideas or to present a cogent and specific counterproposal of their
TH E PALESTINIAN-ISR AELI CAMP DAV ID NEG OTIATIONS AND BEY OND 71
own. In failing to do either, the Palestinians denied the U.S. the leverage it felt it
needed to test Baraks stated willingness to go the extra mile and thereby provoked
the president s anger. When Abu Ala [Ahmad Qurai], a leading Palestinian negotia-
tor, refused to work on a map to negotiate a possible solution, arguing that Israel first
had to concede that any territorial agreement must be based on the line of June 4,
1967, the president burst out, Dont simply say to the Israelis that their map is no
good. Give me something better! When Abu Ala again balked, the president stormed
out: This is a fraud. It is not a summit. I wont have the United States covering for
negotiations in bad faith. Lets quit! Toward the end of the summit, an irate Clinton
would tell Arafat: If the Israelis can make compromises and you cant, I should go
home. You have been here fourteen days and said no to everything. These things
have consequences; failure will mean the end of the peace process. . . . Lets let hell
break loose and live with the consequences.
How is one to explain the Palestinians behavior? As has been mentioned earlier,
Arafat was persuaded that the Israelis were setting a trap. His primary objective thus
became to cut his losses rather than maximize his gains. That did not mean that he
ruled out reaching a final deal, but that goal seemed far less attainable than others.
Beyond that, much has to do with the political climate that prevailed within Palestin-
ian society. Unlike the situation during and after Oslo, there was no coalition of pow-
erful Palestinian constituencies committed to the success of Camp David. Groups
whose support was necessary to sell any agreement had become disbelievers , con-
vinced that Israel would neither sign a fair agreement nor implement what it signed.
Palestinian negotiators, with one eye on the summit and another back home, went to
Camp David almost apologetically, determined to demonstrat e that this time they
would not be duped. More prone to caution than to creativity, they viewed any U.S. or
Israeli idea with suspicion. They could not accept the ambiguous formulations that
had served to bridge differences between the parties in the past and that later, in their
view, had been interpreted to Israels advantage; this time around, only clear and une-
quivocal understandi ngs would do.
Nowhere was this more evident than in the case of what is known as the Haram al-
Sharif to Palestinians and the Temple Mount to Jews. The Americans spent countless
hours seeking imaginative formulations to finesse the issue of which party would en-
joy sovereignty over this sacred placea coalition of nations, the United Nations Se-
curity Council, even God himself was proposed. In the end, the Palestinians would
have nothing of it: the agreement had to give them sovereignty, or there would be no
agreement at all.
Domestic hostility toward the summit also exacerbated tensions among the dozen
or so Palestinian negotiators , which, never far from the surface, had grown as the
stakes rose, with the possibility of a final deal and the coming struggle for succession.
The negotiators looked over their shoulders, fearful of adopting positions that would
undermine them back home. Appearing to act disparately and without a central pur-
pose, each Palestinian negotiator gave preeminence to a particular issue, making vir-
tually impossible the kinds of trade-offs that, inevitably, a compromise would entail.
Ultimately, most chose to go through the motions rather than go for a deal. Ironically,
Barak the democrat had far more individual leeway than Arafat the supposed autocrat.
Lacking internal cohesion, Palestinian negotiators were unable to treat Camp David as
a decisive, let alone a historic, gathering.
The Palestinians saw acceptance of the U.S. ideas, even as bases for further nego-
tiations, as presenting dangers of its own. The Camp David proposals were viewed
72 JOUR NAL OF PALESTINE STUDIES
as inadequate: they were silent on the question of refugees, the land exchange was
unbalanced, and both the Haram and much of Arab East Jerusalem were to remain
under Israeli sovereignt y. To accept these proposals in the hope that Barak would
then move further risked diluting the Palestinian position in a fundamental way: by
shifting the terms of debate from the international legitimacy of United Nations reso-
lutions on Israeli withdrawal and on refugee return to the imprecise ideas suggested
by the U.S. Without the guarantee of a deal, this was tantamount to gambling with
what the Palestinians considered their most valuable currency, international legality.
The Palestinians reluctance to do anything that might undercut the role of UN resolu-
tions that applied to them was reinforced by Israels decision to scrupulously imple-
ment those that applied to Lebanon and unilaterally withdraw from that country in the
months preceding Camp David. Full withdrawal, which had been obtained by Egypt
and basically offered to Syria, was now being granted to Lebanon. If Hizballah, an
armed militia that still considered itself at war with Israel, had achieved such an out-
come, surely a national movement that had been negotiating peacefully with Israel for
years should expect no less.
The Palestinians overall behavior, when coupled with Baraks conviction that
Arafat merely wanted to extract Israeli concessions, led to disastrous results. The mu-
tual and by then deeply entrenched suspicion meant that Barak would conceal his
final proposals, the endgame, until Arafat had moved, and that Arafat would not
move until he could see the endgame. Baraks strategy was predicated on the idea
that his firmness would lead to some Palestinian flexibility, which in turn would justify
Israels making further concessions. Instead, Baraks piecemeal negotiation style,
combined with Arafats unwillingness to budge, produced a paradoxical result. By
presenting early positions as bottom lines, the Israelis provoked the Palestinians mis-
trust; by subsequentl y shifting them, they whetted the Palestinians appetite. By the
end of the process, it was hard to tell which bottom lines were for real, and which
were not.
6.
The United States had several different roles in the negotiations, complex and
often contradictory: as principal broker of the putative peace deal; as guardian of the
peace process; as Israels strategic ally; and as its cultural and political partner. The
ideas it put forward throughout the process bore the imprint of each.
As the broker of the agreement , the president was expected to present a final deal
that Arafat could not refuse. Indeed, that notion was the premise of Baraks attraction
to a summit. But the United States ability to play the part was hamstrung by two of its
other roles. First, Americas political and cultural affinity with Israel translated into an
acute sensitivity to Israeli domestic concerns and an exaggerated appreciation of
Israels substantive moves. American officials initially were taken aback when Barak
indicated he could accept a division of the Old City or Palestinian sovereignty over
many of Jerusalem s Arab neighborhoodsa reaction that reflected less an assess-
ment of what a fair solution ought to be than a sense of what the Israeli public could
stomach. The U.S. team often pondered whether Barak could sell a given proposal to
his people, including some he himself had made. The question rarely, if ever, was
asked about Arafat.
A second constraint on the U.S. derived from its strategic relationship with Israel.
One consequence of this was the no-surprise rule, an American commitment, if not
TH E PALESTINIAN-ISR AELI CAMP DAV ID NEG OTIATIONS AND BEY OND 73
to clear, at least to share in advance, each of its ideas with Israel. Because Baraks
strategy precluded early exposure of his bottom lines to anyone (the president in-
cluded), he would invoke the no-surprise rule to argue against U.S. substantive pro-
posals he felt went too far. The U.S. ended up (often unwittingly) presenting Israeli
negotiating positions and couching them as rock-bottom red lines beyond which
Israel could not go. Faced with Arafats rejection, Clinton would obtain Baraks acqui-
escence in a somewhat improved proposal, and present it to the Palestinians as, once
again, the best any Israeli could be expected to do. With the U.S. playing an endgame
strategy (this is it!) in what was in fact the middle of the game (well, perhaps not),
the result was to depreciate the assets Barak most counted on for the real finale: the
Palestinians confidence in Clinton, U.S. credibility, and Americas ability to exercise
effective pressure. Nor was the U.S. tendency to justify its ideas by referring to Israeli
domestic concerns the most effective way to persuade the Palestinians to make con-
cessions. In short, the no-surprise rule held a few surprises of its own. In a curious,
boomerang-like effect, it helped convince the Palestinians that any U.S. idea, no mat-
ter how forthcoming, was an Israeli one, and therefore both immediatel y suspect and
eminently negotiable.
Seven years of fostering the peace process, often against difficult odds, further
eroded the United States effectiveness at this critical stage. The deeper Washingtons
investment in the process, the greater the stake in its success, and the quicker the
tendency to indulge either sides whims and destructive behavior for the sake of sal-
vaging it. U.S. threats and deadlines too often were ignored as Israelis and Palestinians
appeared confident that the Americans were too busy running after the parties to
think seriously of walking away.
Yet for all that, the United States had an important role in shaping the content of
the proposals. One of the more debilitating effects of the visible alignment between
Israel and the United States was that it obscured the real differences between them.
Time and again, and usually without the Palestinians being aware of it, the president
sought to convince the prime minister to accept what until then he had refused
among them the principle of land swaps, Palestinian sovereignt y over at least part of
Arab East Jerusalem, and, after Camp David, over the Haram al-Sharif, as well as a
significantly reduced area of Israeli annexation. This led Barak to comment to the
president that, on matters of substance, the U.S. was much closer to the Palestinians
position than to Israels. This was only one reflection of a far wider pattern of diver-
gence between Israeli and American positionsyet one that has systematically been
ignored by Palestinians and other Arabs alike.
This inability to grasp the complex relationship between Washington and Tel Aviv
cost Arafat dearly. By failing to put forward clear proposals, the Palestinians deprived
the Americans of the instrument they felt they needed to further press the Israelis, and
it led them to question both the seriousness of the Palestinians and their genuine
desire for a deal. As the president repeatedly told Arafat during Camp David, he was
not expecting him to agree to U.S. or Israeli proposals, but he was counting on him to
say something he could take back to Barak to get him to move some more. I need
something to tell him, he implored. So far, I have nothing.
Ultimately, the path of negotiation imagined by the Americansget a position that
was close to Israels genuine bottom line; present it to the Palestinians; get a counter-
proposal from them; bring it back to the Israelistook more than one wrong turn. It
started without a real bottom line, continued without a counterproposal, and ended
without a deal.
74 JOUR NAL OF PALESTINE STUDIES
7.
Beneath the superficial snapshotBaraks offer, Arafats rejectionlies a picture
that is both complex and confusing. Designed to preserve his assets for the moment
of truth, Baraks tactics helped to ensure that the parties never got there. His decision
to view everything through the prism of an all-or-nothing negotiation over a compre-
hensive deal led him to see every step as a test of wills, any confidence-building mea-
sure as a weakness-displaying one. Obsessed with Baraks tactics, Arafat spent far less
time worrying about the substance of a deal than he did fretting about a possible ploy.
Fixated on potential traps, he could not see potential opportunities. He never quite
realized how far the prime minister was prepared to go, how much the U.S. was pre-
pared to push, how strong a hand he had been dealt. Having spent a decade building
a relationshi p with Washington, he proved incapable of using it when he needed it
most. As for the United States, it never fully took control of the situation. Pulled in
various and inconsistent directions, it never quite figured out which way to go, too
often allowing itself to be used rather than using its authority.
Many of those inclined to blame Arafat alone for the collapse of the negotiations
point to his inability to accept the ideas for a settlement put forward by Clinton on 23
December, five months after the Camp David talks ended. During these months addi-
tional talks had taken place between Israelis and Palestinians, and furious violence
had broken out between the two sides. The president s proposal showed that the
distance traveled since Camp David was indeed considerable, and almost all in the
Palestinians direction. Under the settlement outlined by the president, Palestine
would have sovereignty over 94 to 96 percent of the West Bank and it would as well
have land belonging to pre-1967 Israel equivalent to another 1 to 3 percent of West
Bank territory. Palestinian refugees would have the right to return to their homeland
in historic Palestine, a right that would guarantee their unrestricted ability to live in
Palestine while subjecting their absorption into Israel to Israels sovereign decision. In
Jerusalem, all that is Arab would be Palestinian, all that is Jewish would be Israeli.
Palestine would exercise sovereignty over the Haram and Israel over the Western
Wall, through which it would preserve a connection to the location of the ancient
Jewish Temple.
Unlike at Camp David, and as shown both by the time it took him to react and by
the ambiguity of his reactions, Arafat thought hard before providing his response. But
in the end, many of the features that troubled him in July came back to haunt him in
December. As at Camp David, Clinton was not presenting the terms of a final deal, but
rather parameters within which accelerated, final negotiations were to take place. As
at Camp David, Arafat felt under pressure, with both Clinton and Barak announcing
that the ideas would be off the tablewould depart with the presidentunless they
were accepted by both sides. With only thirty days left in Clinton s presidency and
hardly more in Baraks premiership, the likelihood of reaching a deal was remote at
best; if no deal could be made, the Palestinians feared they would be left with princi-
ples that were detailed enough to supersede international resolutions yet too fuzzy to
constitute an agreement.
Besides, and given the history of the negotiations, they were unable to escape the
conclusion that these were warmed-over Israeli positions and that a better proposal
may still have been forthcoming. In this instance, in fact, the United States had resisted
last-minute Israeli attempts to water down the proposals on two key itemsPalestin-
ian sovereignty over the Haram and the extent of the territory of the Palestinian state.
All told, Arafat preferred to continue negotiating under the comforting umbrella of
TH E PALESTINIAN-ISR AELI CAMP DAV ID NEG OTIATIONS AND BEY OND 75
international resolutions rather than within the confines of Americas uncertain pro-
posals. In January, a final effort between Israeli and Palestinian negotiators in the
Egyptian town of Taba (without the Americans) produced more progress and some
hope. But it was, by then, at least to some of the negotiators, too late. On 20 January,
Clinton had packed his bags and was on his way out. In Israel, meanwhile, Sharon
was on his way in.
Had there been, in hindsight, a generous Israeli offer? Ask a member of the Ameri-
can team, and an honest answer might be that there was a moving target of ideas,
fluctuating impressions of the deal the U.S. could sell to the two sides, a work in
progress that reacted (and therefore was vulnerable) to the pressures and persuasion
of both. Ask Barak, and he might volunteer that there was no Israeli offer and, be-
sides, Arafat rejected it. Ask Arafat, and the response you might hear is that there was
no offer; besides, it was unacceptable; that said, it had better remain on the table.
Offer or no offer, the negotiations that took place between July 2000 and February
2001 make up an indelible chapter in the history of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.
This may be hard to discern today, amid the continuing violence and accumulated
mistrust. But taboos were shattered, the unspoken got spoken, and, during that pe-
riod, Israelis and Palestinians reached an unprecedented level of understanding of
what it will take to end their struggle. When the two sides resume their path toward a
permanent agreement and eventually, they willthey will come to it with the mem-
ory of those remarkable eight months, the experience of how far they had come and
how far they had yet to go, and with the sobering wisdom of an opportunity that was
missed by all, less by design than by mistake, more through miscalculation than
through mischief.
QUESTFOR MIDDLEEASTPEACE: HOWAND WHY ITFAILED, BY
DEBORAH SONTAG, NEWYORK TIMES, 26 JULY 2001
Days before the Palestinian uprising erupted in September, Prime Minister Ehud
Barak and Yasir Arafat held an unusually congenial dinner meeting in the Israelis
private home in Kochav Yair.
At one point, Mr. Barak even called President Clinton and, two months after the
Camp David peace talks had failed, proclaimed that he and Mr. Arafat would become
the ultimate Israeli-Palestinian peace partners. Within earshot of the Palestinian
leader, according to an Israeli participant, Mr. Barak theatrically announced, Im go-
ing to be the partner of this man even more so than Rabin was, referring to Yitzhak
Rabin, the late Israeli prime minister.
It was a moment that seems incredible in retrospect, now that Mr. Barak talks of
having revealed Arafats true face and Ariel Sharon, the present prime minister, rou-
tinely describes the Palestinian leader as a terrorist overlord.
But during the largely ineffectual cease-fire effort now under way in the Middle
East, peace advocates, academics, and diplomats have begun excavating such mo-
ments to see what can be learned from the diplomacy right before and after the out-
break of violence. Their premise is that any renewal of peace talks, however remote
that seems right now, would have to use the Barak-Clinton era as a point of departure
or as an object lessonor both.
In the tumble of the all-consuming violence, much has not been revealed or ex-
amined. Rather, a potent, simplistic narrative has taken hold in Israel and to some
extent in the United States. It says: Mr. Barak offered Mr. Arafat the moon at Camp