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After Geneva

By Bernard-Henri Lévy

December 5, 2003

What is so special about this now-famous Geneva Plan, signed on Dec. 1, by two non-official delegations -- led on one side by the former Israeli minister Yossi Beilin, and on the other, by the former Palestinian minister, Yasser Abed Rabbo? And why were we all there this past Monday, in this Swiss city, from Jimmy Carter to Lech Walesa, to Jews from all over the world, skeptical but enthusiastic, to see the birth of this new glimmer of hope? Here is why.

• This plan proves, firstly, that there remains, within both Israel and Palestine, another society of men and women who, against the lies and the war, the death, the doubt, the blood and the hatred, continue to want peace. What's more, they are ready to cede a part of their dream. Each had lost hope in the last three years, notably in the Israeli peace camp after the failure of Taba, having seen the Palestinians respond first with stones and then with war to Ehud Barak's offer of peace. But they all feel today that there is still, always, a partner -- we have the proof that, in the two camps, and at a high level, there still remains a desire to talk about peace.
  
  
• This Geneva Plan takes up exactly where Mr. Barak left off. It is the same exact plan that was proposed by Mr. Barak and Bill Clinton at Camp David, then later at Taba -- except that it confronts directly the two questions (the status of Jerusalem, and the right of return) on which the first plan stumbled. Plus, it demonstrates that it is possible to compromise on these two questions, and to come to an agreement.
  
  From the Israelis it obtains the painful sacrifice that the Temple Mount will become the "Esplanade of the Mosques." It extracts from the Palestinians their renunciation, equally painful, of the right of return: exception is made for those "refugees" whom a sovereign Israel will decide whether or not to welcome; the text stipulates that this right will be exercised inside the future Palestinian state. In providing a clear response to these two questions, in putting these two responses within the actual text of the plan, Geneva succeeds where Camp David and Taba failed -- it is a great lesson that shows us that failure, at Camp David and at Taba, was neither fatal nor necessary.
  
  
• The Accord states its grand intentions clearly. It reaffirms core tenets of the previous plans. It shares, along with all the plans since the Rogers plan of 1967 up until the "road map" of today, the assertion of the simultaneous existence of a viable Palestinian state and of an Israel with legitimate, secure borders. But it goes into detail. It traces, village to village, almost olive tree to olive tree, the line of partition. This is not, in other words, a plan of dreamers. It is not the Utopia denounced by its enemies in the two camps. It is a concrete plan, precisely negotiated, almost maniacally meticulous. For instance, it is a plan which carefully distinguishes between the settlements that must be dismantled, and those which, being near either the green line or Jerusalem, must be kept for an exchange of an equal amount of territory. It is a lesson in political pragmatism, handed out by the two civil societies to their leaders. It is the first plan to understand that the devil is in the details, and that nothing will come of an accord resting on principles that leave for tomorrow, or the day after, or for better days, the most delicate questions.
  
  
• Because the Accord avoids no obstacles, because it breaks with the old habit of leaving to the end the most difficult problems, because it never says of any questions "It's too hot, too complicated, we will see about it later," because in reality it even breaks with the ideas of "steps" and "process" that comprised the central concept of Oslo, and because it is presented as a whole, take it or leave it, the plan eradicates as much as possible the room given to stratagem, double-talk, or maneuvering. It does not allow anyone to say, "Yes, OK, I'll sign, I am in the process, but I know that I will leave at step X, that I will escape at step Y . . . ." Neither of the two partners has the liberty to only partially comply, or to say, "It costs nothing to sign, I see there will be many meetings yet, and I can, if I change my mind, take back my word." This is an "anti-escape" plan. This is an "anti-second-thoughts" plan. This is a new kind of plan, which, if accepted -- and which, if civil society, not just in Israel and Palestine but also elsewhere, forces this model on its statesmen -- will literally defuse the landmines planted on the road to peace.
  
  
• For all these reasons: because everything is on the table and nothing is left unsaid; because it takes both partners as they are, not as they would like the other to be; because it in no way presupposes, for example, that the people love one another or that there is democracy in Palestine; because it no longer proposes as a preliminary this famous twin recognition coming from the heart (of which the Oslo negotiators continued to dream); because it is the first that says, "Let us make peace, not love," or, "Let's sign, love will follow," or, "Let us have a 'dry' peace, without romance or pathos, between people who understand that, for the time being, we are still not brothers"; because of all this, yes, this plan is the first where one cannot say that it is a gamble, a leap into the unknown, an adventure. It is the first plan in 30 years which gives the friends of Israel, all of whom, like myself, know that Israel cannot afford a mistake and is too fragile to allow itself a leap into the unknown, no longer any real reason to say: "Yes, OK, we will sign -- but what about later?" So one could of course refuse to sign. One could, if one is Palestinian, continue to want to flood Israel with refugees. One could, if one is Israeli, decide that sacred stones and sites are worth continuing bloodshed. And one could, if one were American or European, refuse to join in, on the grounds that the plan is signed by men and women who are no longer in official capacities -- they may again return, but for now, they are not in power. But things, then, will be clear and it is the final merit of this plan that it obliges each to discover and determine for themselves: Who wants peace and who does not want it? Who pretend to want it, but in reality, consider it just a word? Who wants the word, but, when the moment comes to sit at the table and tell us a little more, and in detail, about the peace they want, say they have no plan at all? An operation for truth. A plan as a revealer, as a detector of hypocrisy, as a ruthless analyzer. It is not perfect, this plan. And there is no doubt that properly mandated negotiators will have to refine this or that provision. But at least it has the virtue of making everyone confront -- and be responsible for -- the truth. And in this sense, yes, there will be a "before" and an "after" Geneva.
  
  

Mr. Lévy is author of "Who Killed Daniel Perl?" (Melville House, 2003) and a European "ambassador" of the Geneva Accord.