16/11/01

What the Peace Process Has Come To

Wherever in the world Arafat is, you can be sure, Peres is a step behind.

    Shimon Peres awoke, rubbed his eyes, and -- dammit, his slippers had walked off again. He grumbled aloud. "Where in the world --?"
    His wife was on the phone. "Yes, dear, I know, we're looking everywhere."
    "Why can't everything be just where I want them?"
    "This may surprise you, but when you're asleep, the Earth revolves. Everything moves without your permission."
    Peres rolled his eyes. "But where --"
    "In Tajikistan, it seems. We're waiting for confirmation."
    "My slippers are in Tajikistan?!"
    "No, silly, Arafat's in Tajikistan. Now hurry up, you have a lot of planes to catch."
    "I think I'm getting cold feet."
    This is what the peace process has come to:
    Each morning, Arafat, getting a head start (he doesn't have to shave, or polish his hair), takes the first plane out, it doesn't matter where. On this particular day it is Tajikistan, but only because he was expected in Cameroon.
    Peres then has to guess which of the 200-or-so countries Arafat will turn up in, and go running after him. Steeped in Middle Eastern logic (and Israeli politics; it's the same thing), Peres is quick to deduce where Arafat isn't, based on where he didn't say he wouldn't go to, and therefore probably is -- which is precisely where he wouldn't be, because Arafat knows the Israelis would be quick to figure it out.
    Peres has no time to lose. He must meet Arafat. They must arrange the day's cease-fire. They must shake hands and smile. Peres must show the world that the Palestinians truly, truly want peace. This is very, very important, for diplomats and journalists, because otherwise, how would they know that Israel is to blame? 
    Along the way, Peres will pause now and then to deliver a pithy aphorism. Often, it is about eggs or the automotive industry, but always, the analogy is clearly the peace process. (When he specifically mentions "the peace process" he is often referring to something else entirely, such as eggs, or Shas.)
    Before Peres arrives, Arafat has the media to himself. Rather than wait, he gets things started, explaining that the Israelis are Nazis and terrorists and apartheidists and genocidists and how can we civilized people hope for world peace when the Jews are assassinating Palestinian babies and flying planes into American buildings?, but then Peres arrives, and he has to shut up and smile and shake hands.
    The peace process used to be thought of in terms of a permanent, everlasting eternity, but (and this is why it is called a "process") then they started discussing taking it in stages of a couple of years at a time, then they thought maybe they could achieve relative calm for a month, and then a reduction in violence for a week, until by now, the peace process is thought of in terms of a temporary cease-fire, more or less, for a couple of hours in the middle of the night in certain parts of the country. (It turns out, there was more hope in that everlasting eternity.)
    It is for those precious couple of hours that Peres goes chasing after Arafat, but it's worth it, because in the end, each day, they come to a triumphant (often called "historic") agreement that there will be absolutely no more firing, by Israel.
    Anyway, that's the background.
    This particular morning, Peres's slippers were, in fact, in Latvia (he had spent the previous night there on his way to Arafat in Italy), and by coincidence, so was Arafat. Peres, craftily outthinking him, was on his way to meeting him in Cameroon.
    Taking a quick look at the morning headlines -- they're all the same, every day, in every newspaper: "Peres seeks meeting with Arafat" -- Peres got dressed and went to seek a meeting with Arafat.
    He was full of hope and faith and optimism. 
    Shmulik, his driver, knew the way to the airport. He took the long route, to avoid the majority of terrorists stationed on the roadsides. Peres didn't even know there were any.
    The foreign minister was deep in thought, as he always was when creating pithy aphorisms on the way to seeking a meeting with Arafat. Presently, he lit up. "Shmulik! How about this one: 'From an egg you can make an omlet, but from an omlet you cannot make an egg.' Good, no?"
    "Very good, Mr. Peres. But I think you've used it too often already."
    "But not in Cameroon."
    "No sir."
    "OK, so I'll change it a little: 'A chicken can cross the street to lay on an egg, but --' no, no; 'If a rooster pecks his neighbor all day, the chicken won't get laid.' Nu? Isn't that the peace process in a nutshell?"
    "Very good, Mr. Peres. But maybe that should be 'the egg won't get laid.' "
    "Here's one I've been working on: 'If cats could talk, boy, would they be boring.' "
    "Very good, Mr. Peres. But I don't get it."
    "Never mind. This one even an idiot will understand: 'If there is any hope of making peace in this millennium, there's only 364,558 days left, so we better get moving.' "
    "Very good, Mr. Peres. It could be the Quote of the Week."
    "Yeah, at least in Cameroon. Gee, I hope the media's there."
    "If Arafat's there, they will be."
    Nobody was. In one of those double-triple twists of logic for which the Middle East is famous, Arafat hijacked his own plane to a destination unknown even to him, which would definitely throw his despised antagonist hopelessly off his trail.
    Peres got there first. 
    Peres got there first and he was already with the media! What a disaster! Arafat would have to scrap his Jewish-Nazis speech, for which he was famous, and worse, it would look to the whole world like he was seeking a meeting with Peres. What kind of a peace process was this?!
    "... And as I have always said," Peres was saying into the microphones (and not for the first time), "I will go to the ends of the Earth to seek a meeting with Arafat, in search of a just and comprehensive temporary cease-fire for a couple of hours in the middle of the night in certain parts of the country. That is why I have come here, to the Galapagos Islands. Yes, a large turtle on a small island must get its feet wet, eventually. The same could be said for the Middle East peace process."
    Applause rang out, just as Arafat arrived, huffing and puffing.
    They shook hands.
    And smiled.
    And then Peres asked Arafat if he would agree to an Israeli cease-fire, and Arafat hemmed and hawed but finally agreed.
    The local people were thrilled that a triumphant (and historic) agreement in the pursuit of world peace (even if only for a couple of hours, etc.) was consummated right here, under their flag.
    The two worldly statesmen shook hands again, and smiled, and then somebody suggested that, this being the Galapagos, they pose for the cameras doing what all visitors do: ride on the back of a gigantic tortoise.
    Which they did.
    Proving Peres wrong.
    Because the big turtle plodded off into the sunset, this Arab and that Jew together on its back, and it did not get its feet wet, because it went around in circles, mindlessly, stupidly, aimlessly. 
    The same could be said (proving Peres right, after all) for the Middle East peace process.