Palestine’s New Perspective

The Middle East is full of men who aim to impose order—it's been that way since at least the time of the pharaohs. But none has operated quite like Salam Fayyad, the Palestinian prime minister. Fayyad, 57, learned his methods partly in the United States, where he studied at the University of Texas and later worked for the International Monetary Fund. America's great institution builders are among his models. One of his favorite Founding Fathers is Alexander Hamilton, the aristocratic New York Federalist. At times Fayyad has also embraced the frontier ethos of the American West, where order more often takes the form of rough justice. (George W. Bush used to greet Fayyad in the Oval Office by flashing him the Texas "Hook 'em, Horns" sign.) One of Fayyad's most common remarks, which he repeats like a mumbled prayer, can sound very Middle American: "It has to make sense."

American-style attempts to impose order on the Middle East have not generally turned out well. Yet for once, something seems to be making sense in the Palestinian territories, thanks largely to Fayyad. Crime and lawlessness have been cut significantly in hot zones like Nablus and Jenin, and Hamas has become nearly invisible in the West Bank. The IMF pro-jects that the territories' economy could grow at a rate of 7 percent in 2009 (if Israel further eases restrictions on movement). Last summer the U.S. Congress felt comfortable enough with Fayyad to deposit $200 million into the Palestinian Authority's coffers, a rare occurrence in recent years. Fayyad's performance, Middle East envoy Tony Blair told me, has been "absolutely first class—professional, courageous, intelligent." In his unlikely way, Fayyad has become a paragon of Obama-era realism in the Middle East: unelected, slightly imperious, but also efficient and uncorrupt. In a recent column, Thomas Friedman of The New York Times hailed "Fayyadism" as a worthy model for potentates in the wider Arab world.

Now Fayyad has even greater ambitions. Last month he announced plans to build the institutions of a Palestinian state within two years—regardless of the progress of peace talks. Israeli officials balked, stressing that no real state will exist until Israeli demands for security are met. But for Fayyad, who has spent a lifetime trying to bring order to his life and the lives of his people, the Israelis were missing the point. "If you look at all the variables around us, we really don't have control over most of them," he told me one recent afternoon at his office in Ramallah. "This is the one element that lends itself to some measure of control. Who else is going to build it if we don't? We're not sitting on our hands waiting. We need to will this state if we want it. We should quit accepting things as fate." He called it a "high expression of self-responsibility" and said he didn't really understand why some Israelis were grumbling about it.

Still, Fayyad, the effective technocrat and pragmatist, will need to guard against morphing into a more familiar type in Middle Eastern capitals: the ruthless autocrat. He is not, after all, a democratically elected prime minister. The last time Palestinians went to the polls, in January 2006, Fayyad's constituents gave his party a dismal 2.4 percent of the vote. In a community where political factions have long raised their own militias, Fayyad commands the support of no private gunmen, nor even a party apparatus. (His tiny clique, which called itself the Third Way, disbanded after its lackluster showing in the elections.) It was only in the midst of a national crisis, after the Hamas takeover of Gaza in June 2007, that President Mahmoud Abbas elevated him to power in the West Bank by emergency fiat. "There was no way it was going to be democratic," Fayyad explained.

The prime minister has imposed the order he so values by helping to engineer a series of brutal crackdowns. In the past two years, PA troops have arrested some 8,000 Palestinians in the West Bank; nearly 700 are still in prison. Former inmates tell of beatings and torture. If prisoners see the inside of a courtroom, it is often presided over by a military judge. Critics contend that the arrests are largely political, aimed at West Bank Islamists. "The pendulum has swung from a state of lawlessness to a police state," said one Palestinian-rights advocate, who didn't want to be identified in order to stay on Fayyad's good side. The security sweeps also threaten to undermine any potential reconciliation between the West Bank and Hamas-controlled Gaza, which many observers believe is a prerequisite to any peace deal. Even some of the prime minister's closest friends have begun warning him in private that his heavy hand risks damaging his legitimacy. Looking like an American proxy is also a liability—one the Islamists do their best to exploit.

Over several days this summer I accompanied Fayyad on his journeys through the West Bank, where he seems to be trying to win popular support by funding hundreds of small projects like libraries and schools. Because the Palestinians are so heavily dependent on foreign aid—last year more than half of the PA's $3 billion budget came from abroad—West Bankers recognize that it is useful to have a leader on good terms with the West and well versed in global finance. Fayyad's reputation for honesty and transparency also helps. He is not shy about taking credit for the improvements and has become a ubiquitous presence in the territories, grinning for the cameras and snipping endless red ribbons.

The field trips had the manic air of the final days of a political campaign, though elections are not due until January of next year. As his armored black Mercedes wound its way through the rocky hills around Jenin, I asked him what he was running for. "Part of what you have to do is to be on a campaign," he told me—"all year long." He did not say whether he had studied the modern American concept of the "permanent campaign" during his years in Washington, but it's not something he picked up in Ramallah. "It's a new approach," he said. "Better than sitting behind a desk all day." Beads of sweat condensed on his lip and chin. Black curtains darkened the windows. He jumped out of the car, snipped a ribbon and pumped a few hands, then jumped back in. Later, after another stop to inaugurate a library, he glanced around the back seat of the Mercedes. "I can't find my cigarettes," he said quietly. A beefy bodyguard in a pin-striped suit snapped open the glove box to reveal a stash of five neatly shrink-wrapped packs of Winstons. As he found some relief in a smoke, I asked him about the accusations of the rights activists. "We're not a police state, with all due respect," he said. "I understand the substance [of the criticism]—that the pendulum has swung too far. But it had to happen. This country was going to go down the tubes unless something decisive happened."