Until Charles de Gaulle came to power, the 1,500,000 French soldiers and settlers of Algeria had stood shoulder to shoulder against Paris, united by their common contempt for the fumbling politicians of the Fourth Republic. Last week, deprived of their one common bond, the men of Algiers turned to intramural intrigue.
The politically naive balcony generals seemed merely confused by events, but diehards on the 72-man insurgent junta in Algiers were plainly disenchanted by De Gaulle. They were angered by his insistence that the insurrectionary Public Safety Committees must get out of politics, and by his refusal to endorse their plan for complete integration of Algeria into France. They were alarmed by the report that, as a gesture to Morocco’s King Mohammed V, De Gaulle was trying to find a graceful way to release Rebel Chieftain Mohammed ben Bella, whom the French had kidnaped off a Moroccan plane late in 1956 (TIME, Nov. 5, 1956).
Early last week, determined to get power back into their own hands, the die-hards prepared a parliamentary mousetrap for Paratroop General Jacques Massu, who had pledged his soldierly loyalty to De Gaulle on De Gaulle’s visit to Algiers a fortnight ago. By careful prearrangement, a decoy faction among the diehards noisily proposed that the junta adopt a resolution denouncing De Gaulle and all his works. When Massu, as co-president of the junta, protested, the remainder of the diehards introduced a “moderate” counter-resolution. And when the decoy faction grumblingly accepted the second resolution, Massu was convinced that he had achieved a great compromise. In no time at all the committee got the approval of General Raoul Salan, De Gaulle’s vacillating Delegate General in Algiers, and forwarded the resolution to Paris.
Typing Trouble. In Paris the junta’s resolution was seen for what it was: open defiance of De Gaulle’s authority. Deliberately misinterpreting De Gaulle’s speeches, the junta expressed its delight “at having been able to obtain the promise of total integration of Algeria into Metropolitan France.” In an excess of arrogance, the resolution went on to demand “the disappearance” of political parties in France, and the formation of “a genuine government of public safety.”
Scarcely had this extraordinary document arrived in his office in the Hotel de Matignon when De Gaulle got on the phone to General Salan. “Did you approve this manifesto?” barked De Gaulle. Dodging desperately, Salan replied that he had only transmitted it.
“Did you approve it—yes or no?” insisted De Gaulle. “No,” squeaked Salan—whose office promptly put out the explanation that the fact that Salan’s signature appeared on the manifesto was the result of a typing error.
“I will make that known,” snapped De Gaulle—and promptly released the text of a telegram that he had sent to Salan: “Concerning the annoying and untimely incident caused by the peremptory motion of the Committee of Public Safety of Algiers, I remind you that this committee has no other rights and role than to express, under your control, the opinions of its members.”
The Lure of Paris. The assured tone of De Gaulle’s telegram set the diehards back on their heels. They quickly discovered that they were being “betrayed” not only by De Gaulle but by some of their local heroes as well. Leon Delbecque, the zealot wool salesman who got the settlers and soldiers together in the first place (TIME, June 9), returned from a flying trip to France “to see my sick daughter,” full of penitence for his earlier fiery criticisms of De Gaulle’s Cabinet. He unctuously proclaimed: “Unity behind General de Gaulle must be complete . . . We must avoid creating obstacles which can only disturb General de Gaulle.”
Even harder to bear was the return to De Gaulle of Jacques Soustelle, the beetle-browed ex-Governor General of Algeria whose demagogic appeals for integration into France had made him the white hope of the Algerian diehards. At De Gaulle’s behest, Soustelle last week slipped off to Paris in a special plane, trailing behind him uncharacteristically moderate remarks about “federal possibilities” for Algeria, and a cloud of rumors that he was about to receive a government post. Watching him go, the diehards suddenly recognized that there might be more than one explanation for the fact that cold-eyed Jacques Soustelle had always modestly refused to accept leadership of the Algerian Committee of Public Safety.
Abandoned by their idols and outflanked by the Army—which has quietly taken over almost all key posts in the Algerian civil administration—the diehards had little choice but to make what amounted to a humiliating confession of defeat, joining the other members of the Public Safety Committee in a pledge of “devotion to General de Gaulle.”
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