Most Americans have probably never heard of the Western Sahara. If the name of this Colorado-sized territory in northwest Africa evokes any image at all, it is likely to be one of nomads with their tents and camels against a background of blinding sunlight and endless sand engaged in the ancient and timeless confrontation between man and nature. During a visit to the region last summer, I often wondered at the contemporary international significance of this vast and empty-looking land with its parching 120° days, fierce sandstorms, and blue-robed, nomadic inhabitants.
Stephen J. Solarz is a member of the U.S. House of Representatives from New York and Chairman of the Subcommittee on Africa of the House Foreign Affairs Committee.
Most Americans have probably never heard of the Western Sahara. If the name of this Colorado-sized territory in northwest Africa evokes any image at all, it is likely to be one of nomads with their tents and camels against a background of blinding sunlight and endless sand engaged in the ancient and timeless confrontation between man and nature. During a visit to the region last summer, I often wondered at the contemporary international significance of this vast and empty-looking land with its parching 120° days, fierce sandstorms, and blue-robed, nomadic inhabitants.
Yet the Western Sahara is the scene of a major four-year-old war for national independence waged by Algerian-backed Polisario Front guerrillas against Morocco and, until recently, Mauritania-a struggle which now threatens to escalate into a large-scale regional and even international conflict. In that struggle, an old friend of the United States, the Kingdom of Morocco, seeks American military support for a cause which the overwhelming majority of countries in the world oppose as a contradiction of the very principle of national self-determination. Most important, perhaps, the Moroccan request poses anew the fundamental question raised by our experiences in Angola, Iran and Nicaragua-whether U.S. policy must always accommodate our friends even when they cling to ill-conceived or untenable positions, or whether our interests are better served by adapting to compelling regional circumstances...
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Despite the hectic diplomatic activity of the last few months, peace in the Middle East seems as elusive today as ever. Sadat's dramatic visit to Jerusalem less than a year ago appears now as a semi-legendary event that must have happened eons ago, hardly related to the real texture of Israeli-Arab relations. Both sides have reverted to accusations and counter-accusations, questions and counter-questions, and appear to be bogged down in a procedural quagmire, with a harassed United States serving as a go-between, desperately trying to keep the flicker of hope from being extinguished.
Throughout 1978 the Middle East was at or near the top of the Carter Administration's foreign policy agenda. For the first time in 30 years an Arab-Israeli peace settlement - at least a partial one - was a practical possibility once President Sadat's visit to Jerusalem in November 1977 had opened the door. As the year began, it was clear that the parties would need mediation and help to reach the promised land of peace and that the United States, the old friend of Israel and new friend of Egypt, was admirably placed to escort them there. The Soviet Union, on bad terms with both Israel and Egypt, was out of the picture. The signs for productive American diplomacy were favorable.
Most Americans approach the problems of the Middle East with a pro-Israeli bias - and rightly so. The desire of a dispersed people for a homeland cannot help but enlist the sympathy even of those with no Jewish roots, nor can any sensitive man or woman fail to be moved by the countless tales of valor and self-sacrifice in the years both preceding and following the creation of Israel. The brave Beauharnais with its desperate human cargo challenging the British destroyers, the poignant sage of the Exodus-47 - these and many similar incidents must recall for all Americans proud chapters from our own earlier history. Set against the grim background of the Holocaust, the story of Israel is a continuing chronicle of grit and enterprise, in which the Entebbe foray is only the most recent footnote. Yet the wonder of it all is that, while engaged in a seemingly endless struggle, the Israelis have managed to turn a desert into a garden.

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