La patrie en danger!
May 24th, 1968
Richard Mayne for The Times
It has been several weeks since anyone in the centre of Paris has had an uninterrupted night’s sleep. Students, ensconced in their university faculties that dot the capital, have been at the heart of the riots that have drawn the attention of the world’s media and the ire of Charles de Gaulle’s government. Certainly, the view of many international readers may indeed be that this is little more than a childish uprising by the idle youth. This has unquestionably been the impression that the Élysée have been keen to promote. Only yesterday, the President’s Official Spokesperson was quick to denounce the occupation of the Sorbonne as a “random act” by one of the myriad of Trotskyist organisations that make up the French hard-left.
This image is entirely false. There is far more to this month of chaos than the usual young adult rebellion over textbooks and exam results. It goes to the very heart of the French body politic, to the so-called Guerre des trois directions that will determine the future of Europe.
The “trois directions” are; Nationalism, Internationalism, and Communism, with supporters of each one apparently unwilling or unable to countenance continued cohabitation with the other. Three years ago, whilst running for his second term as President, M de Gaulle made headlines across the continent with his demands for realpolitik with regard to the future of the Republic’s relationship with the European Defence Community.
"Bien entendu, on peut sauter sur sa chaise comme un cabri en disant l’Europe! l’Europe! l’Europe! mais cela n’aboutit à rien et cela ne signifie rien."
I meet Denis Healey in the lobby of the Hotel Bristol, a stone’s throw (and goodness, there have been a lot of attempts at that) from the Presidential Palace. The Foreign Secretary is tall and imposing man, but with an impeccable accent that puts my own to shame. I ask him if it is true that there resistance in the Cabinet to membership of the EDC. He laughs uproariously.
“The idea that an off-the-cuff remark by the President and a couple of broken windows would lead to an about-turn on the cornerstone of our foreign policy is a calumny.” Healey says, recovering. “The United Kingdom’s future is as a fully integrated member of an assertive and pro-active European fighting force that is able to act as a barrier on experticious foreign adventuring, and as a bar on Soviet designs across the Elbe. We are joining the EDC because of the advantages that the Royal Navy and our independent nuclear deterrent give to the bloc, and I know that our membership will only complement a strong Franco-German land army and the auxiliary efforts provided by our colleagues in the Low Countries.”
The nuclear issue is a grave one, and I press the Foreign Secretary on this. After-all, was he not the Defence Secretary who had blocked any co-operation with his colleagues across the Channel on developing a joint rocket programme with the capacity to carry atomic weaponry?
“The sharing of such sensitive technology would have been very foolish without assurances of mutual co-operation under the Treaty of Strasbourg.” Healey pauses to take a sip of tea (I know how even such an illustrious institution as the Hotel Bristol simply cannot get the beverage right, and have opted for coffee), “but I am confident that once we have ratified the agreement, the possibility of a joint-European programme will accelerate. The Strategic Affairs White Paper that my colleague, Mr Jenkins, has authored works under the assumption that we will have a working prototype by 1975.”
Our interview is interrupted by a cacophony outside. The Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré is a narrow one, and the trickle of student protesters, many waving red flags, soon becomes a stream, then a torrent, and finally a flood. For a moment I am fearful that they will storm the bastion of bourgeois decadence that I am currently sat in, but my fears are allayed when the jeers become screams. Through the window of the Hotel’s Café Antonia, the protesters have turned heel and fled away from the direction of the Élysée, pursued by Gendarmes, tear gas and - oh - a police bulldozer. Within minutes, relative peace is restored. I return our conversation.
Would matters be different, I opine, if the United States had been more proactive as part of their commitment to the defence of Western Europe?
“I understand that Washington is keen to play a more assertive position in the years to come,” the Foreign Secretary continues, “and certainly, I am keen to discuss the matter with Secretary of State Shriver at the Group of Five summit in Tokyo next month. The MacArthur Doctrine, wherein America looks to the East, whilst a United Europe holds the fort - so to speak - nearer to home has survived its creator’s death, but I am confident that whoever succeeds Stevenson will continue his quietly efficient policy of continued engagement with Western Europe.”
We talk a little more about nothing much in particular before the Foreign Secretary is whisked away (by the back door, I note), to meet with his counterpart at the Quai d'Orsay. I am slightly bolder, and make my way to my next meeting via the main entrance. The street is quieter now, and some of the more confident shopkeepers of the many expensive boutiques that fill this most exclusive of thoroughfares are starting to raise their shutters, having hastily dropped them during the excitement of the afternoon.
I kick a discarded canister of lachrymator in a suitably lachrymose manner and head towards the Metro, only to find it shut. A necessary precaution, I suppose, but hardly a useful one. I steel myself and make my way to the Gare de l'Est on foot, praying that industrial action has not affected the mainline rail services.
I am half-right, but it is dark by the time I arrive in ever-hyphenated Sarrebruck-Saarbrücken. The agonisingly slow pace of work at the border, coupled with a broken signal at Metz, means that I have missed my original meeting time and I am thus forced to spend the evening finding something to do in one of Europe’s smallest and certainly least charming capital cities. The Free Republic of the Saar remains an unloved anomaly, neither relishing independence nor willing to be absorbed by its nominal guarantor. This is my fifth time visiting the place, and as ever, I am drawn into the constitutional question by my host at a mediocre trattoria near the Ludwigskirche, wondering what on earth would possess someone to move from rural Tuscany to open a restaurant in this grim little town on the banks of one of the least inspiring rivers in Europe.
After the War, the Saarland was occupied by France, who promptly used as much of the coal and steel the region is known for to rebuild as ,many of the bombed out cities and railways as possible. In time, the intention was to give the place back to the Federal Republic of Germany, but inertia and nationalism led to the inevitable delays, and by the time that the Treaty of Strasbourg was being mooted, very little action had been taken to actually reunify the region with the Vaterland.
At the long negotiations during the winter of 1952, René Pleven’s plans for a united European army looked on the verge of collapse. The treaty remained locked in the Assembly, whilst outside, an out-of-office de Gaulle railed against the “affront” to national sovereignty. Outside France, an aloof United Kingdom at that point wished to have nothing to do with it, whilst President-elect MacArthur’s found himself locked out of meetings at the White House by a shell-shocked Harry Truman. With the proposals on the verge of collapse, President Auriol turned once again to the old lion of French politics, Robert Schuman. The Proposition Saar, which resulted after dozens of clandestine meetings in grim restaurants such as the one that I was currently occupying with cloying cacio e pepe and corked chianti, ended up saving the Treaty, but opening a dozen and one other issues.
For Sarrebruck-Saarbrücken is now a fortress city, capital of the world’s only Democratic Stratocracy. In the vast concrete bunkers and command centres that encircle the town, military planners from France, the Federal Republic of Germany, Italy, the Netherlands, Belgium and Luxembourg, draw up defence stratagems, organise war games, and further integrate command structures. In this little corner of the Moselle basin, Western Europe plans its defence.
After a poor night’s sleep and an even poorer breakfast, I finally have chance to meet with General Joseph "Joop" Haex - formerly of the Royal Netherlands Army, now Commander-in-Chief of the European Defence Forces (III) Corps - at his headquarters in a long, grey building on the outskirts of city. The room we are in is low ceilinged, but surprisingly well-furnished, with what appears to be a seascape by Bakhuizen hanging above his desk. Haex is a tall man and has a vaguely aristocratic bearing, but he is warm and engaging. After thanking him for rescheduling our meeting, I ask him what his views are on the future of the EDC, given tribulations in Paris and nervousness in London.
“I am very much of the view that the Community has much to look forward to,” he begins, briskly. “England’s aims and ambitions mirror those of the rest of the Alliance, and I am confidant that we will be able to reach an amicable arrangement on the merging of command systems without too much fuss.”
I admire his optimism, and tell him so. In the Commons, backbenchers of all stripes, and more than a few retired Field Marshals in the Lords, have been in various stages of apoplexy over the rumours that age-old regiments will be consigned to the history books once Britain enters the Universal Battalion Structure. I mention the remarks of The Viscount Montgomery of Alamein that had resulted in uproar only last week.
"Should the Royal Green Jackets, The Light Infantry and the Blues and Royals be reduced to little more than a meaningless badge, should they have their centuries of service record - forged in blood - cast aside by a stroke of a diplomat’s pen and be forced to serve in the same uniforms as the Hitlerite murderers and butchers of the last war - then I fear we shall witness insurrection on our streets of our military towns."
We are briefly interrupted as a junior officer, wearing the standard khaki summer uniform and the insignia of a Major, enters the room with a file. Haex takes a pen from the bureau to sign whatever state secrets are contained inside the malina holder. As he comes close, I note that it is only the small tricolour pin on the lapel that gives away the Major’s nationality. As the Major leaves, I express the concerns shared by many people back home at the idea of uniforms that are perhaps too uniform. My host smiles and indicates a number of photographs on the mantelpiece behind him, showing a number of troops in a mish-mash of parade dress.
”Tradition uniforms are not just tolerated, but positively encouraged. At the Non-commissioned level, regulations only ask for a standard form of garment whilst undertaking joint exercises - and we have found that morale has actually improved thanks to this.”
That may well be the case, I say, but can he really give assurances to squaddies and veterans that Britain’s entry into the Community will not lead to the end of the old order. Above all, does it really not bother him that he - someone who fought against Germans and Italians - now has to serve alongside them?”
Haex looks thoughtful for a moment.
“I confess that it was a challenge,” he continues, “and I found it easier than most. Indeed - several of my colleagues resigned their commissions. But I have found that we are united by a shared belief in the protection of the new order. Our military units - especially conscripted ones - are actively sent across all member states during tours of duty precisely because it encourages them to see other nations and cultures. I would not be so brazen to compare it to the likes of the Grand Tour of the 18th Century, but it ensures a sense of shared experiences by young men from Bordeaux to Berlin, and I hope that we can continue that in the years to come, and it is my sincere wish that it is an offer we can extend to your countrymen in Britain.”
I thank General Haex for his time and leave. My train back across the border is not delayed, and I have time to reflect on my two meetings of the week. All things being equal, George Brown will indeed have the votes needed to approve the European Defence Community (Membership) Bill next week, but is it truly something that will settle the issue. I recall the furious denunciation of the proposals by Viscount Montgomery, the letters to the newspapers - not simply from Bufton-Tufton types, but ordinary squaddies from camps in Malaya and Saigon, and of the fears of a joint-nuclear programme falling into the hands of a hypothetical-President Mitterrand or Rochet.
In 1792, as the First Coalition stormed into Northern France to strangle the infant revolution, the Government declared “the fatherland in danger”. Now, as I head back to a Paris apparently ripe for another uprising, amidst rumours of the Presidential motorcade fleeing to Colombey-les-Deux-Églises, an American presidency still focused on the Pacific, and a resurgent General Secretary Suslov eyeing the chaos currently gripping Balochistan, I wonder if more than France is at risk.
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