New Red Lines For Lebanon

The calculus of Israel's long history in Lebanon seems, at first glance, simple enough. Add up the invasions, "operations," commando raids, kidnappings and massacres by proxy militias. Then count the dead: thousands of Lebanese and Palestinian civilians, more than 900 Israeli soldiers, "martyrs" of Islamic and secular guerrilla groups, fighters of the Israeli-backed South Lebanon Army, and Israeli civilians killed in rocket attacks or terrorist incursions. Assess the damage to Lebanon's economy and infrastructure. Analyze its brutalized psyche. Make the calculations, any way you like, and the end result is the same: Israeli soldiers retreating across the international border last week, looking over their shoulders at Islamic guerrillas cheerfully looting abandoned posts. "I closed the gate for the last time and it feels bad," said a 21-year-old sergeant from Jerusalem. "Such a waste of lives."

Some call Lebanon "Israel's Vietnam." And in several respects, the analogy is apt. A small, ideologically driven guerrilla army chased the Middle East's preeminent military out of territory it had occupied for 22 years. In the end, the guerrillas were willing to die for their cause, and the Israelis were not. Israel took in many of its Lebanese allies and their families last week, but hundreds remained behind to face prison terms or worse for collaborating with the enemy (box). Ariel Sharon, leader of Israel's opposition Likud bloc, who led the disastrous 1982 invasion of Lebanon, called the chaotic pullback "a disgraceful retreat." Hizbullah officials were giddy. "In village after village, we'd hear the Israelis had left," gushed spokesman Hussein Naboulsi. "It was surprise after surprise. We didn't know what to do."

But the Vietnam analogy has limits. "The distance between Hanoi and Los Angeles is about 10,000 miles," Ephraim Sneh, Israel's deputy Defense minister, points out. "The distance between the Lebanese village Adessa and Kibbutz Misgav Am is about a half mile." The last Israeli soldier may be out of Lebanon, but Israel's security is still inextricably linked to what happens across the border. In some eyes, Israel seems more vulnerable. Even one of Prime Minister Ehud Barak's top military advisers now calls southern Lebanon, regarded until last week as Israel's security buffer, "Hizbullah Land."

Will the Party of God be able to capitalize on last week's events? It clearly aims to score politically. Banners fluttered across the streets of southern Lebanese villages last week proclaiming, in both Arabic and English, thanks to hizbullah. It may also keep up its attacks on Israeli positions, particularly in an area called the Shebaa farms that it claims is part of Lebanon, but which Israel regards as part of Syria (and thus subject to future negotiations). "Who's to say the resistance is over?" says Hizbullah's Naboulsi. "The Shebaa farms are still occupied. After they leave it, then we'll talk."

Israel, in this case, will rely on the United Nations to back up its position. "All the maps given by the Lebanese to the U.N., except for one which appears to be false, indicate that the Shebaa farm territory was originally a Syrian one," says Israeli Ambassador to the United Nations Yehuda Lancry. "This is a Lebanese-Syrian maneuver to leave to Hizbullah a role to play in the future against Israel." Faced with Lebanese and Syrian insistence that the land, captured from Syria in 1967, actually belonged to Lebanon, the United Nations would only say that it lay outside the zone of its mandate for verifying Israel's withdrawal. The organization last week sent cartographers, a military adviser and a legal adviser to confirm that the pullout was complete, in accordance with Security Council Resolutions 425 and 426 of 1978. It also plans to bolster UNIFIL, its peacekeeping force in the area, from 4,500 troops to roughly 8,000.

Even as it celebrates, Hizbullah has its own reasons to worry. In Lebanon's grim recent history, military victories have often proved pyrrhic. (Just ask the Israelis.) Yes, Israel retreated under pressure. And yes, Hizbullah's regional prestige got a boost. (Across the Middle East, fundamentalists were wagging their fingers and saying, in effect, "Negotiations never got you this.") But in Lebanon, Hizbullah's shared glory today is likely to provoke jealousy tomorrow. The rival Shiite political force Amal will try to assert its position, the Lebanese Army will assume local responsibilities and Syria will reimpose its authority behind the scenes. "The movement whose symbol is a Kalashnikov in a clenched fist will have less raison d'etre," says Magnus Ranstorp, a Swedish academic who has sometimes served as an informal go-between for Israel and the fundamentalist guerrillas.