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An anniversary
Jun. 18th, 2010 12:52 pmSeventy years ago today, Charles De Gaulle, two-star general and junior French Minister for Defence, made his historic broadcast from London, calling for France not to surrender.
De Gaulle's position was feeble at best. Neither as an officer nor as a minister did he have anything more than junior authority; he was little known (mainly as the author of an intelligent book about tank warfare) and had no political standing whatever. The way he parlayed this hand, weak almost to nonexistence, into a position as military and political leader, allied commander, and eventually father of his nation, is one of the wonders of that tremendous stretch of history.
It is a commonplace (mostly an Anglo-American one) that the French did not seriously start resisting until the tide of war had clearly started going the other way. Well, and if that is so, so what? Individuals and families do not, unless they are mad or suicidal, set out to go to war on their own. The fact that the French ruling class as a whole, exhausted by twenty years of economic crisis, social conflict, and three-sided external cold war against Germany, Italy AND Britain (whose policy until 1938 was consistently pro-German and anti-French), just folded, and eventually walked quietly into the camp of the enemy, meant that the range of action of individuals was very limited. At first, anyone who wanted to continue the war against the Germans would have had to do so against the government, the police, and pretty much the whole establishment. To organize a nationwide movement without the support of at least a part of the establishment is hard enough in free countries; in a country that was the favoured resting place of a ruthless occupier, and in which a fraction of the establishment was busy taking vengeance for their own private humiliations in the days of the Popular Front, it would be even harder. Most people who dreamed of it would give up in despair, or run into traitors and Germans before they had the opportunity to do anything serious.
De Gaulle, however, was right, instinctively right, on one matter that transcended all this: the French did not really want a peace with Germany. They swallowed it because they could see no way out; but their deeper desire - except for the fraction which sincerely identified with Petain's fascism and enthusiastically chased down Jews and political enemies - was for Germany to be somehow, however unimaginable it might seem, driven back.
The speech was barely noticed in England; a few days later, De Gaulle was annoyed to find that it had not even been recorded by BBC technicians. But it made an immediate impression in France. I have read a touching story. In one of the enormous columns of refugees fleeing the Paris area ahead of the advancing Wehrmacht, a commotion suddenly arose. A young priest who was with the refugees started telling everyone that a French general in London had made a speech saying that France must not surrender. The name was mentioned, and an elderly lady who was with them suddenly burst out crying: "Monsieur le Cure'," she sobbed, "that is my son!" It was indeed Madame De Gaulle senior, and she was fortunate enough to die peacefully a month later, before the Gestapo or the new French government had become aware of her existence.
From that moment, that little known general with the towering body and the enormous nose, a gift to caricaturists, became the focus of all the unspoken hopes of the majority of the French. He had done a very brave thing: practically without men, without authority, without a political position or a following, he had put himself forward as the face of everything in France that still hoped or dreamed of continued fight and victory. He had painted a target on his own back, and if the Germans had won he would have been lucky to have died by firing squad as a soldier instead of being strangled with piano wire. And he knew it. If he was notoriously prickly, even insufferable, it was because he had, every day and in every condition, to be the embodiment of his country; to stand for soldiers and administration, industries and people, colonies and values, and demand the treatment and position of a full-fledged allied government.
In another situation, this could have been described as delusion or megalomania; as it proved, it was far-sightedness. De Gaulle had understood that, whatever thread of formal legitimacy might tie the government of Vichy to the pre-war Republic, and whatever residual ties of loyalty held soldiers and people to it, it had essentially delegitimated itself, by making itself the servile tool of its own enemies. Roosevelt, partly misled by his idiot ambassador to Vichy, and partly out of dislike for the arrogant minor aristocrat, did everything in his power to destroy De Gaulle's position - and all his plots and plans simply broke down, not just on the professional soldier's unexpected political skills, but above all on the undoubted fact that De Gaulle was the chosen leader of every Frenchman who would side with the allies. As soon as the Allies entered French territory, the Vichy government institutions simply crumpled, the locals reorganized the administration and started recruiting soldiers in De Gaulle's name. There was nothing anyone could do about it.
Just as De Gaulle's prickly attitude rested not on delusion but on a clear political need to be perceived and treated as the head of an allied country, so his original gamble rested not on heedless courage, but on a correct evaluation of factors. The rest of the French ruling classes, exhausted by twenty years of restless pressure, could only focus on the collapse of their domestic defences: but De Gaulle could see, and correctly said, that this was not just a French war, but a world war, and other powers would inevitably be drawn in before the end. No doubt this attitude also suited his own personality, just as defiance and endurance suited Churchill's; but both men did what they did not to satisfy some inner need, but because they could clearly see the future direction of events, in a way that lesser minds could not. It was not just because of their moral courage, but because of their rational insight, that they shared in the glory of having resisted and defeated evil, and in the name of fathers of their countries and leaders of free men.
De Gaulle's position was feeble at best. Neither as an officer nor as a minister did he have anything more than junior authority; he was little known (mainly as the author of an intelligent book about tank warfare) and had no political standing whatever. The way he parlayed this hand, weak almost to nonexistence, into a position as military and political leader, allied commander, and eventually father of his nation, is one of the wonders of that tremendous stretch of history.
It is a commonplace (mostly an Anglo-American one) that the French did not seriously start resisting until the tide of war had clearly started going the other way. Well, and if that is so, so what? Individuals and families do not, unless they are mad or suicidal, set out to go to war on their own. The fact that the French ruling class as a whole, exhausted by twenty years of economic crisis, social conflict, and three-sided external cold war against Germany, Italy AND Britain (whose policy until 1938 was consistently pro-German and anti-French), just folded, and eventually walked quietly into the camp of the enemy, meant that the range of action of individuals was very limited. At first, anyone who wanted to continue the war against the Germans would have had to do so against the government, the police, and pretty much the whole establishment. To organize a nationwide movement without the support of at least a part of the establishment is hard enough in free countries; in a country that was the favoured resting place of a ruthless occupier, and in which a fraction of the establishment was busy taking vengeance for their own private humiliations in the days of the Popular Front, it would be even harder. Most people who dreamed of it would give up in despair, or run into traitors and Germans before they had the opportunity to do anything serious.
De Gaulle, however, was right, instinctively right, on one matter that transcended all this: the French did not really want a peace with Germany. They swallowed it because they could see no way out; but their deeper desire - except for the fraction which sincerely identified with Petain's fascism and enthusiastically chased down Jews and political enemies - was for Germany to be somehow, however unimaginable it might seem, driven back.
The speech was barely noticed in England; a few days later, De Gaulle was annoyed to find that it had not even been recorded by BBC technicians. But it made an immediate impression in France. I have read a touching story. In one of the enormous columns of refugees fleeing the Paris area ahead of the advancing Wehrmacht, a commotion suddenly arose. A young priest who was with the refugees started telling everyone that a French general in London had made a speech saying that France must not surrender. The name was mentioned, and an elderly lady who was with them suddenly burst out crying: "Monsieur le Cure'," she sobbed, "that is my son!" It was indeed Madame De Gaulle senior, and she was fortunate enough to die peacefully a month later, before the Gestapo or the new French government had become aware of her existence.
From that moment, that little known general with the towering body and the enormous nose, a gift to caricaturists, became the focus of all the unspoken hopes of the majority of the French. He had done a very brave thing: practically without men, without authority, without a political position or a following, he had put himself forward as the face of everything in France that still hoped or dreamed of continued fight and victory. He had painted a target on his own back, and if the Germans had won he would have been lucky to have died by firing squad as a soldier instead of being strangled with piano wire. And he knew it. If he was notoriously prickly, even insufferable, it was because he had, every day and in every condition, to be the embodiment of his country; to stand for soldiers and administration, industries and people, colonies and values, and demand the treatment and position of a full-fledged allied government.
In another situation, this could have been described as delusion or megalomania; as it proved, it was far-sightedness. De Gaulle had understood that, whatever thread of formal legitimacy might tie the government of Vichy to the pre-war Republic, and whatever residual ties of loyalty held soldiers and people to it, it had essentially delegitimated itself, by making itself the servile tool of its own enemies. Roosevelt, partly misled by his idiot ambassador to Vichy, and partly out of dislike for the arrogant minor aristocrat, did everything in his power to destroy De Gaulle's position - and all his plots and plans simply broke down, not just on the professional soldier's unexpected political skills, but above all on the undoubted fact that De Gaulle was the chosen leader of every Frenchman who would side with the allies. As soon as the Allies entered French territory, the Vichy government institutions simply crumpled, the locals reorganized the administration and started recruiting soldiers in De Gaulle's name. There was nothing anyone could do about it.
Just as De Gaulle's prickly attitude rested not on delusion but on a clear political need to be perceived and treated as the head of an allied country, so his original gamble rested not on heedless courage, but on a correct evaluation of factors. The rest of the French ruling classes, exhausted by twenty years of restless pressure, could only focus on the collapse of their domestic defences: but De Gaulle could see, and correctly said, that this was not just a French war, but a world war, and other powers would inevitably be drawn in before the end. No doubt this attitude also suited his own personality, just as defiance and endurance suited Churchill's; but both men did what they did not to satisfy some inner need, but because they could clearly see the future direction of events, in a way that lesser minds could not. It was not just because of their moral courage, but because of their rational insight, that they shared in the glory of having resisted and defeated evil, and in the name of fathers of their countries and leaders of free men.
