OSCAR ARIAS, DEFIANTLY
THE NOBEL-WINNING COSTA RICAN AND HIS POWER PLAY FOR PEACE
By Julia Preston
Washington Post Foreign Service
Friday, October 30, 1987
; Page D01
SAN JOSE, COSTA RICA
-- SAN JOSE, COSTA RICA -- In December 1986, when Costa Rican President Oscar
Arias Sanchez was visiting Washington, the late CIA Director William Casey
summoned him over to Langley for a secret one-on-one meeting.
Arias refused to go.
Instead the Costa Rican, winner this month of the 1987 Nobel Peace Prize,
said he would see Casey in his Westin Hotel presidential suite. There the
aging spy master was greeted by a noisy roomful of Costa Rican officials,
Arias' entire delegation, all dying to ogle the renowned chief of American
intelligence.
For half an hour Casey perched awkwardly next to Arias in front of the
delighted spectators as the two men exchanged what one Costa Rican remembered
as "laughable pleasantries." Casey apparently expected Arias to dismiss the
crowd so they could get down to business. But Arias never did. Casey,
smoldering, finally left.
Little wonder Washington conservatives regard Arias, main author of a peace
accord signed Aug. 7 in Guatemala by Central America's five presidents, as a
closet communist and insufferable upstart. With his peace plan and laurels,
Arias has put the Reagan administration's passionate policy of support for the
war waged by the Nicaraguan rebels, or contras, into checkmate.
But Arias' aides argue the 46-year-old president of Latin America's oldest
democracy wasn't being cocky with Casey that day; he was just exposing the
late CIA director to a few basic elements of his political thought. For one
thing, Arias has no taste for covert cabals, an unexpected attribute in the
head of a country best known up to now as the former hideout of fugitive
financier Robert Vesco and one-time rear guard of contra comandante Eden
Pastora.
Arias also believes, in defiance of common Central American wisdom, that he
and his nation of 2.6 million have enough stature to enter into a gentlemen's
disagreement with the White House -- and get away with it.
The Dec. 5 meeting was not the first time Arias gave Casey a hard time. On
Oct. 6 of the same year, Casey roared unannounced into the San Jose airport
aboard a U.S. Air Force Galaxy, just about the biggest aircraft ever to land
in Costa Rica -- and demanded a top-secret meeting with the president. That
time Arias left Casey high and dry, sending his foreign minister out to field
the CIA director's petitions for more sub rosa Costa Rican collaboration with
the contras.
"We were trying to rebuild Costa Rica's credibility as a neutral country,
to establish some authority to become a regional mediator. We wanted to show
we are not just a blind instrument of the Yankees," said a senior Costa Rican
diplomat.
Last June, before the peace plan was signed, President Reagan called Arias
to the White House when the Costa Rican was passing through the United States.
Reagan expected to remind Arias that he was determined to back the contras.
Instead, in the presence of Reagan's top foreign policy team, he got a
half-hour oration from Arias on why the contras would never be able to
vanquish Nicaragua's leftist Sandinista government.
Recalled John Biehl, Arias' Chilean speechwriter and alter ego who also
attended the White House meeting: "Oscar was talking, and Reagan kept looking
over at his advisers as if to ask, 'Who let this midget in here?' "
Long before he became a prophet of peace, Arias was an egghead with a
determination to lead his country but none of the appeal he needed to do so,
according to both detractors and friends.
"I always said I would be president, but many government ministers made fun
of my pretensions," Arias said in an interview at his home.
His younger brother Rodrigo, now his chief of staff, remembered that Arias
first unveiled his plan to be head of state in his 1958 high school yearbook.
Years later, in January 1986, at a time when Arias was lagging behind in his
presidential race at home, he attended Vinicio Cerezo's inauguration as
president of Guatemala in that country's capital. During the ceremony Arias
wanted to meet another guest, Vice President George Bush. Arias says he
plunged through a wall of Secret Service men and grabbed Bush's hand,
introducing himself as "the man who will be the next president of Costa Rica."
His drives were nurtured at his family's hearth in the aristocratic San
Jose suburb of Heredia, where he still goes most Sundays to lunch with his
parents. Like many Latin men, the president still calls his mother "Mammi."
One of Arias' grandfathers was a self-made coffee baron and the family is
still monied. The house is somber, all mahogany sideboards and gray stuffed
chairs. Framed on one wall are different currency bills issued and signed by
three generations of Ariases: a grandfather, Oscar's father and later Oscar
himself all held the country's top treasury post.
A ponderous pewter rendering of the Last Supper on a maroon velvet
background looms over the dining room table, a reminder to all present that
Catholic morality doesn't let up, not even during meals.
"When Oscar Arias first came on the political scene in Costa Rica, he was a
real novelty: a colorless, introverted man with no known leadership qualities
and no roots in his own political party," said Rolando Lacle, a lawyer who
helped manage the losing campaign of Rafael Angel Calderon, a conservative
Christian Democrat who ran against Arias for president in 1986.
Arias said that once in the mid-'70s, when he was a young minister under
Costa Rican patriarch and then-president Jose Figueres, the two men went to a
bridge christening. Arias, with a fresh graduate degree from the London School
of Economics, gave a high-toned speech to a pool of impassive peasant faces.
Then the practiced populist Figueres got up and announced he would translate
what Arias had said into Spanish everyone could understand, drawing hoots of
joy from the grass-roots gathering and a hot blush from Arias.
"It was hard for me to make people feel I was just one of them," Arias
said. He claims: "It wasn't arrogance, it was timidity."
But Arias wasn't timid about maneuvering his way in record time to the top
of his social democratic National Liberation Party. He won the 1985 nomination
for presidential candidate by committing the impudent heresy of crossing party
elders, among them his mentor Figueres, who wanted to run again despite his
advanced age.
In fact, modesty hasn't been one of his strong suits. In the days after his
peace plan was signed, he was asked in an interview how accord was achieved
among the notoriously disputatious presidents in the Aug. 7 meeting. Arias
gave a one-sentence reply: "They signed because I gave them a really great
proposal."
At his home on a recent Sunday, Arias was eager to show some television
spots he used during his presidential campaign to demonstrate that peace was
already one of his central themes back then. But as soon as the ads began to
play on his video recorder screen, he became utterly mesmerized by the
publicity images of Arias with cheerful children hanging on his neck, Arias
before the microphones, Arias acclaimed by a crowd of 300,000 party
sympathizers. He sat in reverent silence for 15 minutes as he watched all
eight ads.
"Can Ronald Reagan tell you off the top of his head what year Karl Marx was
born?" Arias asked rhetorically over lunch. (It was 1818.) He showed off his
library, quoting from memory such favorite authors as Karl Popper and Isaiah
Berlin; he quoted them from memory. "Tell them," he said, "that the president
of Costa Rica is a man who could be president of any European country."
He can't resist the Latin man's temptation of presenting himself as both
model family man and reckless rake. By all accounts his wife Margarita, who
took a BA in chemistry from Vassar, is a thoughtful member of his political
inner circle who taught him, among other things, some of her easygoing warmth
with the public. The president, a short-statured asthmatic with a jowly frown
and melancholy tone of voice, hardly fits the role of irrepressible macho.
Nevertheless San Jose is rife with gossip of presidential peccadilloes, rumors
happily fueled by Arias' top aides. They like to point out with a wink that
Costa Rican women were one of his most important voting blocs.
Still, behind such ego props lies a substantial intelligence that Arias has
trained on enhancing the standing of his country. Under his predecessor, Luis
Alberto Monge, Costa Rica was just one more isthmian pocket nation that pacted
with the American devil to help the contras in exchange for U.S. economic aid.
Arias, by contrast, cuts his course closer to a more cerebral Costa Rican
tradition of peaceful neutrality, the same wellspring that inspired abolition
of the national army in 1948. "Peace builds," read the plaques on his new
public constructions, reminding Costa Ricans his peace plan is also partly a
strategy to stimulate economic investment.
Moreover, Arias seems uninterested in the perquisites of power. A Sunday
afternoon found the head of state in a leather jacket and loafers, driving
himself across San Jose to his parents' home in a plain Jeep station wagon,
windows rolled down. No chauffeur, no sirens, no zooming machine-gun-armed
motorcycle convoys like those that accompany the other violence-conscious
Central American presidents. In fact, no Costa Ricans on the tranquil streets
that day seemed to notice their president at all.
Late that Sunday he drove back to his residence at dusk just as his
presidential contingent, totaling four guards, had stopped traffic momentarily
in the street outside for a routine two-minute flag-lowering ceremony. Arias
fumed at the delay. He muttered: "Those people are sitting waiting in their
cars and wondering: Who does the jerk who lives in that house think he is?"
The first draft of the peace plan that won Arias the Nobel Prize was
composed on a napkin in the cafeteria of Washington's Mayflower Hotel in
September 1985, eight months before Arias was elected president. Arias and two
aides were on their way to a panel discussion, and decided right then and
there to hammer out a position on the regional convulsion centering on
Nicaragua's Sandinista government.
They agreed in the scribbled notes, according to Housing Minister Fernando
Zumbado, who was there, that the contras would never succeed in driving out
the Sandinistas. So Costa Rica would have a chronic war on its northern border
if it did not aggressively push a diplomatic settlement.
There were many more drafts -- reportedly adviser Biehl wrote the one that
Arias polished and made his final plan. Another core belief behind it is that
Costa Rica, with only an 8,500-member police force, could never excel in the
arts of war but might make its mark at peace. Aides say Arias felt the U.S.
contra policy was an effort by an ambivalent post-Vietnam Washington to use
Costa Rica as a proxy to defend American security interests. But if Washington
truly wanted guarantees against the Sandinistas, Arias reasoned, the
administration should deal directly with Nicaragua.
From those early beginnings Arias and his Young Turks sensed their plan
would put them on "a collision course," as Arias puts it, with Reagan, the
contras' most unflagging supporter. But he wasn't dissuaded.
"Oscar always has said the United States is history's most benign empire.
It tolerates dissent," Biehl explained.
On one hand, Arias knew there would never be any deep tensions with
Washington because Costa Ricans, perhaps more than any other Latin nation,
adore the United States. One wall slogan in San Jose reads, "Yankee go home,"
and then after it, in Spanish, "And take me with you!"
Also, events handed Arias some leverage over administration officials.
Before he took office in May 1986, Arias was told by the outgoing Monge and
then-U.S. ambassador Lewis Tambs that an airstrip was being readied in
northern Costa Rica for resupply missions for the contras. The United States
also hoped to build an antenna in Costa Rica to intercept Sandinista radio
messages and pass them on to the contras, and third, it wanted Costa Rica to
give preferential treatment to contra war wounded in its social security
hospitals. Arias nixed all three projects.
During that period, Costa Rican officials say, Tambs invited Arias to
declare him persona non grata if the airfield was ever used without Arias'
permission. Assistant Secretary of State Elliott Abrams once came to Costa
Rica and said the U.S. government was not involved in the contra airdrops.
Then the press and the Iran-contra hearings revealed that the airstrip was
used without Arias' permission and the Reagan administration was involved. So,
Arias' aides said, the president eventually knew that Tambs, who resigned, and
Abrams had lied.
Arias confesses he is not awed by the threat posed by Sandinista Nicaragua.
As a scholar he pondered and rejected many Marxist texts that compel the
Sandinistas. Nor are they strangers to him: Nicaraguan Vice President Sergio
Ramirez published two of Arias' books when Ramirez was an exiled editor in
Costa Rica in the 1970s.
Arias thinks the East-West clash in the region can be managed. Critics say
the most dangerous loophole in his peace plan is its lack of restraints on
Soviet bloc military aid to Nicaragua. But Arias says he left that out for a
practical, not ideological, reason: He would also have been obliged to include
a clause forcing other regional governments to give up their military aid from
the United States.
El Salvador's President Jose Napoleon Duarte, a close U.S. ally who
recently kissed the American flag in Washington, "would have thought I was
trying to get rid of him," Arias chuckled.
Perhaps Arias' most singular contribution was to discover the unlikely
brotherhood of the Central American presidents. Arias and his Nicaraguan
counterpart Daniel Ortega have both said openly and often that they despise
each other's politics. But as two young buck Central Americans seeking margins
of independence from the United States, they have found enough common ground
since Aug. 7 to parlay. Ortega, who is almost the same age as Arias, was the
first head of state to congratulate him on the Nobel Prize, reaching the still
astonished laureate by phone at his beach house the morning of the Oct. 13
announcement.
Arias said he seized the moment to ask Ortega to open mediated talks with
the contras, which the Sandinistas so far have categorically refused to do.
Arias says Ortega agreed to try to do so, but cautioned he needed time to
prepare his followers at home.
Costa Rican officials say so far they have paid no price in U.S. aid or
cooperation for their insubordination, while gaining the unparalleled prestige
of the Nobel. However, they say their diplomats in Washington have been
virtually frozen out by the State Department since August.
"President Reagan and Secretary {George} Shultz sent me kind messages of
congratulations about the prize. But I wonder what is in their hearts. I
suspect un poco de mixed feelings," Arias said.
Now Arias has a prize for a peace that hasn't happened yet. He doesn't know
how to shoot a gun, and as president he has never had to order any Costa Rican
to kill another in any military operation. With the peace plan's Nov. 7
deadline less than two weeks away, he has only his brains and tenacity to face
his greatest test.
Articles appear as they were originally printed in The Washington
Post and may not include subsequent corrections.
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