TIME TO KEEP THE PROMISE

By Kevin Fedarko

FOR TWO DAYS LAST WEEK, THREE OF Bill Clinton's top national-security advisers trudged up the steps of the U.S. Capitol and tried to explain to Congress why the White House wants to send up to 20,000 American soldiers to Bosnia. The Senators who listened had plenty of questions for the President's emissaries. Some of the queries were pointed, others acerbic, a few downright hostile. One, however, stood out for the succinctness with which it cut to the heart of the matter. It came from Oklahoma Republican Senator James Inhofe, who is known for making crisp and at times incendiary remarks (he once denounced the Environmental Protection Agency as a "gestapo bureaucracy"). "If we're going to have hundreds of young Americans dying over there," demanded Inhofe, glaring at Defense Secretary William Perry, "is this mission justification for their deaths?" Perry stared straight at his inquisitor. "Yes," he replied unflinchingly.

That response, which was emphatically echoed by Secretary of State Warren Christopher and John Shalikashvili, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, would be a bold statement for members of any presidential Administration. But it is especially daring considering that more than three years of war in the Balkans have barely managed to capture the attention, much less the conscience, of American voters. Last Friday, as news arrived that as many as 2,000 Muslims may have been massacred by Bosnian Serbs near Banja Luka, a TIME/CNN poll indicated that only one-third of Americans believe the U.S. has a moral obligation to stop the fighting in Bosnia. Despite public skittishness, however, last week's testimony made three things clear. When and if a peace agreement is reached, the President is determined to send troops to Bosnia. Congress, for its part, has no appetite for approving that decision--but also has little stomach for standing in Clinton's way. And the White House is still struggling with questions that experts say cannot be ignored if Clinton hopes to avoid the disasters of previous deployments in Lebanon and Somalia.

It is more than a little ironic that on the threshold of an election campaign, Clinton, who has never given so much as a single speech exclusively devoted to Bosnia, is undertaking his largest and riskiest foreign venture in this part of the world. But he feels bound by a promise, made during his first month in office, to back a peace agreement with U.S. soldiers. The subsequent years of seemingly incessant Balkan warfare made it unlikely Clinton would ever have to redeem that pledge, but remarkable diplomatic progress in recent months--much of it stemming from the efforts of Clinton's envoy, Assistant Secretary of State Richard Holbrooke--has forced the President to confront his commitment. Last week the indefatigable Holbrooke was flitting between the Balkan capitals in an effort to, as he told TIME, "get fuller compliance" on the region's fragile cease-fire. It was his final trip before three-way peace talks, refereed by the U.S., kick off Oct. 31 in Dayton, Ohio. While those negotiations promise to be rancorous, the Presidents of Bosnia, Serbia and Croatia are eventually expected to emerge from Wright-Patterson Air Force Base with an agreement. And soon thereafter, 20,000 U.S. soldiers will be en route to blood-soaked Bosnia.

They will be part of a roughly 60,000-strong NATO contingent, known by the acronym I-FOR (Implementation Force), which will enforce peace for up to one year. As a concession to Moscow's touchiness about being locked out of a region where it has historic ties, Russian troops may participate as well, although their role has yet to be determined. "We are proposing a powerful force," said Perry. "If attacked by anyone, it will bring a large hammer down on them. It will be the biggest, the toughest and the meanest dog in town." In keeping with the cost of Pentagon hardware, the American contribution to the price tag on this hammer will come to about $1.5 billion.

Officials say the U.S. contingent will be "a pure transition force." This means troops will not be involved in "nation-building" tasks that can transform foreign troops into targets of terror: disarming combatants, policing cities, moving refugees back to their homes. Instead, soldiers will concentrate on guarding borders, enforcing cease-fires and keeping the warring parties separate. Once the region is stabilized, says a Pentagon spokesman, "we hope that the economic rebuilders, the refugee resettlers, the bridge builders, will come in and start laying a foundation for growth and prosperity in Bosnia."

That may sound impressive, but many lawmakers found the Administration's strategy ill-conceived. Several noted that while there is a detailed blueprint for getting troops into Bosnia, plans remain disturbingly vague on how anyone will know when it is time to go home. If the fighting resumes, will the peace enforcers simply pack up and leave? If so, when? What if peace holds only because I-FOR is there? Will it still depart? If so, at what point and at what cost? Ignoring such questions, which are essential to defining a mission, can make for confused soldiers. It can also make for dead ones, as demonstrated by deployments in Vietnam and Beirut, where these problems were never adequately addressed.

Surely one of the oddest features of the plan is the proposal for redressing the region's lopsided balance of power. The U.S. intends to ask the Bosnian Serbs to give up some of their heavy weapons; if they don't, the Americans want to use soldiers and civilian contractors to arm and train the Bosnian Muslim army. The Administration seems convinced that troops can do this and still remain evenhanded peacekeepers; critics say it's the fastest way to destroy the perception of neutrality, and the surest strategy for provoking the Serbs and Croatians. Perry, Christopher and Shalikashvili seemed unruffled by such issues, pointing out that it will be weeks before the Balkan leaders finish their haggling in Ohio--plenty of time, they said, to smooth out wrinkles in the strategy. "Do I believe we have a good solid plan?" remarked an official. "No. Will we get there in time? Yes."

Virtually every member of Congress at the hearings urged the White House to seek congressional authorization before going ahead with the mission. Late in the week, Clinton indicated that he intends to do this; if he declines, however, few seem prepared to challenge him. The reason is that Congress's preferred tactic when confronted with knotty foreign policy problems is to make lots of noise but leave the hard calls to the President. "If he succeeds, they'll praise him; if he fails, they'll criticize him," said Representative Lee Hamilton, an Indiana Democrat. A Republican congressional staff member was even more blunt. "If the Commander in Chief wants to hang himself," he said, "who are we to take away his rope?"

Such sentiments should no doubt give the Administration pause, but it seems to feel that its only choice is to follow through. When asked to offer justification for American participation in I-FOR, officials argued that a renewed Balkan war could swiftly spread to Albania and Macedonia, thereby threatening to involve Greece and Turkey. Christopher also invoked the responsibility that comes with being "the centerpiece" of NATO. "It's just not conceivable for them to undertake this job without the U.S.," he declared. These points were well taken (and have been made for years by advocates of a stronger U.S. role in Bosnia). Even those who oppose the policy concede that it would be disastrous to back out now. For Washington to send troops "is a terrible idea," said Brent Scowcroft, former National Security Adviser--but reneging on that pledge "could immediately destroy NATO." (As if to underscore NATO's need for leadership, the alliance was left rudderless last week when corruption charges forced Secretary-General Willy Claes to resign.)

Amid such complex strategic considerations, the human need for peace is sometimes lost. Last week, when a U.N. convoy made the first unimpeded run into the Muslim enclave of Gorazde since 1992, those on board encountered a city that in little more than 36 months has been transformed from a 20th century industrial center to a medieval encampment. Dr. Alija Begovic, who runs the hospital, described how doctors have performed amputations with kitchen knives, anesthetized patients with plum brandy and transfused blood from their own veins.

When the U.N. trucks arrived, Begovic thought for a moment that his repeatedly shattered hopes for the future might revive. But then he was reminded that in Bosnia, happy endings no longer seem to take place. "For three years there has been nothing here but war and death," he said, calling to mind an especially painful memory--the recollection of a little girl who was hit by a sniper, then woke up in the middle of her operation and asked Begovic to "tell Mummy I love her." And with that, she died.

--Reported by Edward Barnes/Gorazde, J.F.O. McAllister and Mark Thompson/Washington and Bruce van Voorst with Holbrooke

With reporting by EDWARD BARNES/GORAZDE, J.F.O. MCALLISTER AND MARK THOMPSON/WASHINGTON AND BRUCE VAN VOORST WITH HOLBROOKE