/ BARAK / 54 Chapter Twenty-One President Clinton and I met the next morning. My aim was to persuade him that the time had come for a make-or-break summit with Yasir Arafat. I suspected it would not be easy to convince him, and it wasn’t. But I made the argument that if we were to have any hope of moving Oslo forward, we now faced a stark choice. We were three years behind the timeline for starting work on a “permanent status” agreement, and only six months from an American election that would choose President Clinton’s successor. We could, of course, pursue the Oslo process along its current, meandering path. But even though Bibi had slowed it down, that would inevitably mean Israel handing back yet more West Bank land to Arafat — in return for familiar, but still unfulfilled and untested, verbal assurances that he wanted peace. Each successive Israeli withdrawal reduced his incentive to engage of the core issues like final borders, refugees, or Jerusalem. I could not in good conscience justify that, either to myself or my country. The second option was the summit. I realized there was no guarantee it would succeed. But it would finally force Arafat to negotiate on the core issues — before the departure of an American President who had a grasp of the all issues and characters involved, and a personal commitment to converting the promise of Oslo into a genuine peace. The obvious political risk, for both Clinton and me, was that after convening a summit — with all the heightened expectations and pressures it would bring — we’d fail to get an agreement. Though I’d be more directly affected, however, it was a more straightforward choice for me. In part because I’d been in front-line politics so briefly, but mostly because of what I’d done for the three-and-a-half decades before then, I viewed the political risk as just one of many, and by no means the most important. That was an obvious weakness in me as a traditional politician. I would indeed pay a political price