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TODAY, De Klerk talks about beach apartheid and Separate Amenities Act, but what about those pillars of apartheid like the Group Areas Act, the Population Registration Act and the very fundamental laws that govern the political life of our country?
What is the use of going to open beaches when we must return to segregated residential areas and schools and suffer under the laws that make the best medical treatment the prerogative of the whites only in our country?
What is the point of bathing together in the beaches when in fact we can not sit together to make the laws of our country?
We have demonstrated against petty apartheid because we are taking on the entire system of apartheid on all fronts.
But these campaigns have never been isolated from the fundamental issue of power, the issue of who rules our country, who has this right to make and unmake the law.
ANC radio, Addis Ababa,
November 17 (BBC monitoring)
Obituary Rene Muawad.
Controversial conciliator:.
LEBANESE President Rene Muawad, killed in a car bomb assassination on Wednesday, was a conciliator who tried to restore Lebanese peace and unity after 14 years of civil war.
He was 64.
He was murdered one day after he told Lebanese, on the eve of their 46th independence anniversary, that their divided country was close to peace.
In the short period since his election by Parliament on November 5, Muawad tried in vain to spread his government's hold beyond Syrian-controlled regions and a part of the Christian enclave north of Beirut.
Muawad was elected during a Parliament session held at an air base in northern Lebanon.
The election was part of an Arab League-sponsored peace plan.
But he immediately faced opposition from a fellow Maronite, the Christian army commander Gen Michel Aoun, who denounced Muawad as a Syrian puppet and claimed his election was unconstitutional.
Muawad had been a member of the 99-seat Parliament since he was elected to represent his home region in 1957 at age 32.
An early advocate of national reconciliation, Muawad had taken part in the 20-member ' national dialogue committee ' formed in September 1975 to find a settlement to the civil war, then five months old.
The Muawad family, and the Issa Khoury clan to which his wife Naila belongs, are allied with the powerful Franjiehs in the northeastern region.
The Franjiehs, who have their own Marada, or Giants, militia, are headed by former president Suleiman Franjieh, one of the last of the old-style Maronite warlords.
Muawad graduated from the French-affilated St. Joseph University in Christian east Beirut with a law degree in 1947.
He started his own practice in the northern provincial capital of Tripoli two years later, but gave it up when he entered Parliament.
But Muawad spent his first year in Parliament as an exile in the Syrian port city of Lattakia, after a member of a rival family accused him of taking part in an inter-clan clash in June 1957 near Zghotra in which 16 people were killed.
The House refused demands it stripped Muawad of his parliamentary immunity.
He returned to Lebanon in 1958, shortly after newly elected President Fuad Chahab dropped charges against him for ' lack of undisputed evidence. '
Later, the witness who had testified against Muawad withdrew his allegation, saying it was' politically motivated. '
Muawad was Minister of Telegraphs and Telecommunications from 1961.
He was named Minister of Public Works in 1969 and Minister of Education in 1980.
While he held the Education Portfolio, Muawad sliced through sectarian hatreds to organise school examinations for Christian and Moslem youngsters whose studies had been interrupted by the war.
Muawad married Nayla Khoury on Feb. 11, 1965.
They have a daughter, Rima, 22, and a son, Michel, 17.
Muawad (right) meeting the Soviet Ambassador this month
The Russians are coming Faced with social turbulence and resurgent anti-Semitism, many thousands of Soviet Jews are emigrating to their spiritual home.
Ian Black in Tel Aviv asks whether Israel, willing but hardly prepared for the influx, can cope.
VALERY and Ina and their children were visibly tired as they traipsed into the Ministry of Immigrant Absorption reception hall at Ben Gurion Airport.
It had been a long, slow journey from Odessa and although it was already 1am there were still many more official forms to fill out before their new life in Israel could begin.
Victoria, aged 12, made a beeline for the reconstituted orange juice and sandwiches prepared by a pair of stout volunteer ladies who arrived from Russia themselves a few years back, and two-year-old Oleg was soon roaring about wildly on a plastic fire-engine in the playroom.
There were about 100 of them on Sunday's evening flight from Bucharest to Tel Aviv, unmistakably Soviet with their fur hats, cheap wintry clothes and suitcases and quiet, mechanical submission to the first taste of Israeli bureaucracy.
Fair-haired Jews from Moscow and Leningrad mingled with olive-skinned Georgians to read the Cyrillic slogans welcoming them and then sank down in rows of plastic chairs or gazed at the panoramic photograph of Jerusalem covering an entire wall.
A toothless old man from Baku, his double-breasted jacket beribboned with the medals of two world wars, looked dazed.
At 93, little remained of the liturgical Hebrew he had studied before the October Revolution, but he was pleased to be leaving his quarrelsome Armenian and Azerbaijani neighbours behind.
Dimitri Bogakovsky, a 36-year-old doctor from Kiev, was radiantly happy.
' I feel I have come home, ' he said.
' I 'm only sorry I didn't come to Israel 20 years ago. '
Ina, a teacher, was more cautious.
' At the moment I can say I wanted to come here and not to America, ' she smiled.
' What I 'll be saying in a year's time I don't know. '
Several flights like these, some from Budapest and Vienna, are now arriving at Ben Gurion every week, their human cargoes eloquent testimony to the swelling numbers of Soviet Jewish emigrants and the vast changes that Mikhail Gorbachev's policies have wrought in their homeland.
Economic and political uncertainty and the rise of truculent local nationalisms from the Baltic to the Caspian have raised the ancient spectre of anti-Semitism, never far below the surface of Soviet life.
Under glasnost and perestroika, the last great untapped pool of world Jewry is on the move.
Exact numbers are unavailable: 2.5 to three million is the accepted figure, though 70 years of cultural and religious suppression, intermarriage and assimilation means that the real number  in Zionist terms those who qualify for automatic Israeli citizenship under the Law of Return  may be far higher.
Turbulence at home, combined with an American decision to restrict Jewish immigrants from the Soviet Union, mean that the stream of emigration is now directed almost exclusively at Israel.
The challenge is immense, and no one is sure whether it can be met.
According to the latest projections, 100,000 Soviet Jews will arrive in Israel over the next three years, and the numbers may be even higher if and when direct flights start from Moscow to Tel Aviv, the most important tangible sign of the rapid thaw in Soviet-Israeli relations.
In comparative terms, such an influx is the equivalent of the movement of three million East Germans to West Germany, a country (unlike Israel) with a healthy economy where difficulties of acclimatization for the newcomers will be at a minimum and language problems non-existent.
If the Russians do arrive on this scale it will be the largest single wave of what Israelis call aliya (literally ' ascent ') since the immediate post independence years in the early 1950s, a heady return to the heart of the Zionist idea at a time when the country  still fighting the Palestinian uprising, on a permanent war footing and its economy slipping into recession  is far from ready.
THE FIRST big wave of Russians came after the 1967 war, when Zionist feelings were awakened by Israel's six day victory and Soviet support for the Arabs.
Moscow underestimated the phenomenon, believing that if the hard core of ' provocateurs' were allowed to emigrate the vast majority would stay.
The emigration movement reached a peak in 1973 with 33,000 Jews leaving.
It dipped after the Yom Kippur war, rising again to 51,000 in 1979.
Until 1982 figures dropped steadily again, reaching a low point in 1986.
Even in the good years Israel had only a share.
Between 1968 and 1988 280,000 Jews emigrated, but only 165,000 came to Israel.
In 1988 the drop-out rate reached a staggering 92 per cent.
But in the first 10 months of 1989 alone over 7,000 have arrived, and there are expected to be 10,000 by the end of the year.
The new wave is not in the heroic mould of famous' refuseniks' like Anatoly Scharansky, Ida Nudel and Josef Begun, who finally arrived in Israel after years of persecution, exile and imprisonment.
Few of the newcomers know any Hebrew and few have more than the vaguest idea about Israel.
Many would have preferred America.
With the Berlin Wall, the most famous barrier of all, falling, the more media-conscious activists among the Soviet Jews already here are warning that Israel is just not prepared for the influx.
' Israel's lack of preparedness for mass Soviet Jewish immigration is psychologically understandable but not politically forgivable, ' says Yuri Stern, a Muscovite who came in 1981.
' Its very difficult to appreciate a revolution, to see today as really qualitatively, dramatically different from the day before.
Its difficult to go beyond normal scepticism and see this huge number not just as a potential but as a reality. '
Israelis are pleased with the change in the US regulations, which effectively signal an end to the drop-out phenomenon.
' Israel, ' says one senior official, ' has never been interested in emigration as such, but in aliya  in having as many Jews as possible come to Israel. '
In this perspective, places like the Ladispoli transit camp near Rome, where thousands of Soviet Jews are still awaiting visas to the US, are a disgrace.
A thriving Jewish life in New York's Brighton Beach will not reinforce Israel.
Freedom of choice is no longer on the agenda, especially now that American Jews have discovered that it is easier to raise money for absorbing Soviet Jews in Israel than it is for resettling them in the US.
The Israeli government has been agonisingly slow to take up the challenge, although it has calculated that US$3 billion will be needed over three years for housing, job creation and other aspects of large-scale immigrant absorption.
The bureaucracy certainly needs streamlining: the immigrants are met initially by the Absorption Ministry, but once in the country many of their needs are looked after by the Jewish Agency, the semi-private organisation that dates back to the early years of Jewish settlement in Palestine.
The two bodies are often at loggerheads, and there are constant disputes over methods: are the newcomers best served by direct absorption  being given money and subsidies for their first year and then left to cope on their own, or by being placed in one of the 38 Jewish Agency absorption centres.
LEARNING Hebrew is a priority for all, and places in the famous ulpan system are available at once.
But even after six months of intensive study many other problems remain.
A Soviet engineer who lost his job a decade ago after applying to emigrate needs to catch up.
Doctors need to retrain for eight months.
At the big Mevasseret absorption centre near Jerusalem, where there are 77 Russian families in different stages of acclimatization, only half the breadwinners are working.
Unskilled workers tend to do better than the professionals, enjoying the advantages of a free market for the first time in their lives.
On the positive side, the changes inside the Soviet Union will help: with the unprecedented flowering of Jewish cultural freedom, Hebrew classes are now a possibility; potential immigrants can now learn more about Israel before they come.
Another innovation is the stream of Jewish tourists visiting Israel from Russia: 25,000 have been since 1988, and the Jewish Agency sees this is a uniquely helpful way to win hearts and minds.
Forty thousand are expected next year.
The new arrivals, like their predecessors, tend towards the right of the political spectrum.
' Of course we thought about political problems, but everyone in Israel suffers from the same ones, ' says Igor, a railway engineer studying at the Mevasseret ulpan.
' I 'm content to go into the army, and I 'm definitely against giving up territory to the Arabs. '
The veterans are pleased, but accept that the newcomers are coming here less out of choice than of necessity.
Haim Scheider, an economist who left Lithuania 10 years ago, has been unemployed for 18 months, but still has no regrets.
He visited his former homeland last summer and couldn't bear it.
' You make comparisons all the time and the comparison is in Israel's favour, there's no doubt about it.
People have achieved things here that they coudn't do in Russia, not even in their wildest dreams. '
Haim, who speaks halting Hebrew with a heavy accent, still leads an intensely Russian life in the new West Bank settlement north of Jerusalem where he lives with his wife and two children.
' My son is already an Israeli, ' he laughs, ' he prefers humus and felafel to gefilte fish. '
Difficulties abound, but it seems that the Russians are coming anyway.
' In times of emergency we behave differently from normal times, ' says Meir Edlestein, the director of the Mevasseret absorption centre.
' This is a very Zionist answer. '
More practical answers will have to be provided as the Jews pour in, huddled on the platform of rapidly changing history, anxious to change their lives in an imperfect world.
' The marriage between Soviet Jews and Israel is a marriage that is probably going to happen, ' argues Yuri Stern, ' whether or not the bride and groom feel they are really ready for it. '
And did those feet... predecessors of the new wave of Soviet Jews walking to Palestine in the 1930sPHOTOGRAPH: BBC HULTON PICTURE LIBRARY corrections page 19
