French-US relations took a dive after the Second World War and it needs to be understood as not a particularly "de Gaulle thing". The French and American approaches world views were fundamentally different, of which de Gaulle represented one pole. I've edited this excellent article by Bernard Fall, which appeared in the New York Times in the '60's. It goes over some of the issues which chafed and is written by an American with an intimate insight into the French perspective.
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IN
December, 1942, a few weeks after the liberation of North Africa, the
late Secretary of the Treasury, Henry Morgenthau, arrived in Algiers.
One of the problems he had to deal with concerned the Free French
minister for finance. “About this man,” said Morgenthau to Ambassador Robert Murphy, “I think, we should get rid of him.”Murphy,
who knew the man's services to the Allied cause and his pro-American
sentiments, eloquently objected, but Morgenthau was adamant and the Free
French were told that one of their key civil servants was
“unacceptable.” He was summarily dismissed.
Today, that official, Maurice Couve de Murville, is Foreign Minister of France and a key figure in French American relations.
In July, 1945, a French lieutenant-colonel.was
parachuted into Japanese held North Vietnam as the new
governor‐designate. Captured by Communist Vietminh guerrillas, he was
beaten and tortured, and his aide was murdered by poison. American
liaison officers with the Vietminh refused to help, arguing that the
Potsdam Agreement did not provide for the return of French control to
Indochina.
Today,
that French officer, Pierre Messmer, is Minister of Defense, and a key
figure in France's disagreements with the United States over NATO and
the Multilateral Nuclear Force (M.L.F.). At least two other members of
President de Gaulle's cabinet were also imprisoned in Hanoi while
American military missions were there.
AND
then, there were the wartime relations between the Free French leaders
and the United States. “I am sorry,” Roosevelt confided to Winston
Churchill on May 8, 1943, “but it seems to me the conduct of the Bride
continues to be more and more aggravated. His course and attitude is
well‐nigh in- tolerable. ... de Gaulle may be an honest fellow but he has the messianic complex. Further, he has the idea that the people of
France itself are strongly behind him personally. This I doubt.
On
the other hand, America's relations with the Nazi's French puppets at
Vichy were discouragingly “normal” until late in the war. The United
States maintained an embassy there until almost one year after Pearl
Harbor—in fact, until Pierre Laval (later executed for treason)
expelled the American mission after the North African landings. When the
Free French liberated two tiny Vichy‐held islands near Newfoundland,
Washington indignantly demanded their return to Vichy; and in North
Africa, Americans at first insisted on dealing with Vichy officials who
were universally despised.
Having
failed to Impose them as leaders on the Free French (it is amusing, with
the benefit of hindsight, to see wartime American diplomats refer to
de Gaulle as a “British puppet”), Washington became the last of
the Allied nations to treat the de Gaulle administration as the
legal government of France. This happened five months after France was
liberated—and only after America had failed to impose an Allied Military
Government, which would have issued uncontrolled amounts of “liberation
currency”—something not even the Nazis had done.
From
then on, French‐American relations went downhill. Only the openness of
disagreement changed from time to time. Washington would tend to “go
easy” on France whenever French acquiescence was required; and
conversely, Paris would rein in its temper whenever it needed American
economic and military support. But neither side was ever really fooled
by the other.
As
seen by France, the United States was first of all (but to a lesser
extent than Britain) “guilty” of allowing Nazi Germany to become a
military Frankenstein. The “Anglo‐Saxons,” for the sake of “peace,” had
leaned heavily on France in 1936 when Hitler's troops entered the
Rhineland in violation of the Versailles Treaty. France again yielded to
Anglo‐American pressure when she stopped helping the Spanish Republic
against the Fascists, and when “peace for 20 years”, was bought at
Munich by selling out Czechoslovakia. And France was left almost alone
to face the onslaught of the Nazi Wehrmacht in 1940.
In
10 months of “Phony War,” Britain contributed five infantry divisions
(as against 103 French) and hardly more than an armored brigade (as
against France's three divisions). The The Germans fielded 126 divisions (including 10 armored) and the result was the bloody débâcle of Dunkirk.
Dunkirk,
a name which stands almost as a victory for “Anglo‐Saxons” since more
than a quarter‐million Britons were saved, is still a synonym for
betrayal to the French. To this day, everybody remembers the gallant Britishs ships
at Dunkirk; the fact that 10 French destroyers were sunk defending the
evacuation (as against six British) is usually forgotten. Echoes of the
fear of another “Anglo‐Saxon” Dunkirk may well be heard in de Gaulle's
speeches about a French national nuclear striking force.
Senator
J. W. Fulbright, in his “Old Myths and New Realities.” assures France
that a “third World War could not possibly follow the pattern of 1914
and 1939, in which France was attacked while the United States remained
temporarily unscathed . . .” To de Gaulle and millions of his
countrymen, however, it did happen—twice
in their lifetimes—and the tragic consequences of American lateness are
writ large on French tombstones. In war dead, France lost 1,357,800 men
in 1914-1918, compared with Britain's 908,371 and America's 126,000.
From 1939-1945, the totals of dead and missing were 580,000; 412,000 and
325,000 respectively.
The collapse
of France in June, 1940, however, revealed the fragility of her
military edifice and political fabric. From then on, despite sympathy
for the plight of the French people and admiration for the gallantry of
the Free French, the United States never took France quite seriously
again. After the war, France was regarded as a sort of king‐sized
“banana republic” whose continual changes of government and chaotic
finances inspired a stream of books and articles written in the vein of
bedroom farce.
France
then was fairly easy for American and British statesmen to handle. If
the reigning Government coalition balked at a given policy, they could
be fairly sure that another one would be along, like the proverbial
street car, that would probably accept it. Whether it was over the
Indochina War (the French were ready to negotiate in 1952 but were told
to keep fighting to ease the pressure in Korea), or the ill‐fated Suez
expedition, the French were in no position to uphold their views even in
matters affecting them vitally. De Gaulle—with grating effect—dubbed
this the period of “American hegemony.” It ended with the birth of the
Fifth Republic.
Today,
the really important question is: Do American and French interests
really collide throughout the world — from NATO to Vietnam, Peking,
Latin America and the United Nations—or is there merely a conflict in
“styles?”
HERE
again, there is a clue in the wartime relations between France and the
U. S. Both de Gaulle and Washington agreed that France's fall in 1940
was due as much to moral decay as to military defeat. Hence, in de
Gaulle's view, the rebuilding of a French mystique was
an immensely important factor in putting France back into the war on a
large scale. Roosevelt, too, was interested in getting the French back
into the war, but merely as soldiers —not with a French Government (and,
above all, not with a mystique).His
representative in Algiers expressed that point of view to de Gaulle in
these terms: “The United States Government and people are not thinking
politically about France, but are thinking solely in terms of getting on
with the war and defeating Hitler.”
This
difference in attitude is essentially what is wrong with
American‐French relations today. The Americans, practical and pragmatic
as ever, are constantly “getting on with the war,” whether against
poverty at home or the Vietcong in South Vietnam. The French, on the
other hand, want to see Europe united and Communism contained on a more
lasting political basis than a precarious balance of military power. The
difference, therefore, is not so much in the aims of policy as in the
range of policy.
THE
French feel that alliances .constructed under enemy pressure tend to
disintegrate when the immediate threat recedes. This is what happened to
the anti‐German alliances of 1914-18 and of 1939-45—and it may well be
the fate of NATO unless it is given meaningful political underpinnings.
The
United States, however, feels that Europeans are too steeped in their
“petty quarrels of the past” and, at the same time, “unrealistic” when
they call the American‐Cuban dispute, for example, a “petty quarrel.” De
Gaulle's lack of tact in expressing his differences, which are more
apparent than real, is particularly wounding because tactlessness seems
such an “un‐French” attribute.
Washington
hardly needs a reminder from Paris, for example, that its attitude
toward China is somewhat rigid; that the war in Vietnam is not going
according to plan; that the collapse of Castro is not imminent, or that
the Congo, four years and $400 million dollars later, is at best exactly
where it was. American
reactions to French doubts or advice, however, were typified by
President Kennedy in a television interview after de Gaulle's first
resounding statement on Vietnam:
“[France]
doesn’t have any forces there or any program of economic assistance, so
while these expressions are welcome, the burden is carried, as it
usually is, by the United States and the people there...we are glad to
get counsel, but we should like a little more assistance, real
assistance....”
De GAULLE
must have read that statement with a sardonic smile (if he read it at
all), for it embodied precisely the same kind of reproach as the French
have often addressed to their American ally : If you can’t help me, at
least don’t bother me. In fact, the French aid program to South Vietnam
is still larger than that of all other nations combined (except for the
United States). Worldwide French foreign aid—thanks to France's own
réhabilitation through the Marshall Plan—is today second only to
America's in dollar value and, as a percentage of gross national
product, far greater—2.2 per cent as against 0.9 per cent for the United
States.
Yet
there is no disguising the fact that today the United States and France
are out of step. Many Americans seem to believe that the divergence
began with de Gaulle and will finally be burled with him, but that will
prove as much an illusion as the hope that aggressive Communism would be
buried with Stalin, who never challenged the United States as directly
as Khrushchev did with his missiles in Cuba.
It
was not de Gaulle who began building the French nuclear arsenal, but
the French Socialist Premier Guy Mollet. It was not de Gaulle who
excluded Britain from the Common Market as much as the accumulated
rancor built up by Britain's attitude toward the Common Market in its
early days under the Fourth Republic.
And it was not de Gaulle who turned down the idea of an‐integrated
European army but the French Parliament under Prime Minister
Mendès France.
Yet again,
conflicts of “style” have counted for much. French leaders were
deliberately (and often humiliatingly) excluded from conferences at
Casablanca, Cairo, Tehran, Yalta and Potsdam. President Kennedy called
British Prime Minister Macmillan to Nassau first,and then made
a joint offer to de Gaulle of an inter-allied nuclear force. Coming from
an American leader, who, like F.D.R., could rightfully take pride in
his “style,” this smacked of deliberate insult. Even to have attempted to
make the strategic control of nuclear weapons the subject of a
unilateral Anglo‐American decision vitiated the whole idea for the
French, regardless of the intrinsic merits of the project.
It is precisely because the Franco‐American rift is not a
“Gaullist challenge”—as Senator Fulbright describes it—but a
deep‐seated crisis of mutual confidence that restoring the entente
cordiale between the United States and her oldest ally will require a
great deal of give and take on both sides.
DISAGREEMENTS
with the United States over the Common Market or the Multilateral Force
are symptoms of a need for what the French like to call “mutual
respect.” It merely confirmed their belief, for example, that Britain's
potential role in the Common Market was as an American “Trojan Horse”
when de Gaulle's veto on Britain's entry was greeted with louder howls
of indignation in Washington than in London. Or, when after being told
at least once a week that the United States treats all her allies
“equally,” France is confronted with what she fancies to be further
evidence of a “special relationship” between Washington and London — as
in the Nassau agreement on nuclear arms. France is not content to be
treated on a footing of equality with Luxembourg, Iceland and the former
enemy states.