FOREIGN RELATIONS
To millions of Americans who have fractured French while extolling the beauties of France, any entente that is less than cordiale with the land of par-lez-vous is as unthinkable as Paris with out spring or onion soup minus the crouton. But now la soupe is spoiled—and most Americans are blaming one chef d'etat too many. Grated raw by the rough edge of the French President's tongue, they are kindled with an ardent wish to divide Charles de Gaulle into three parts.
In the view of the French—well, the Americans—they have short memories. They forget that the Marquis de Lafayette came to help out in America's fight against those beastly British, that Frenchmen helped defend America in two world wars and showed no silly pride about taking part in the Marshall Plan, which put American taxpayers' leftover dollars to work. Instead, Americans get upset by De Gaulle's peremptory marching orders to American .fighting men belonging to NATO and his helpful comments on the U.S. dollar. Indulgent Frenchmen who have allowed Americans to dally with their daughters—and occasionally to marry their sisters—are at a loss to explain the Yankee ingratitude. Meanwhile, Americans are trying some coy and contrary ways of counterattacking.
Many would like to hit De Gaulle right where it really hurts—square in the francs. Earlier this month, a party of Bostonians dressed as red Indians dumped francs into their harbor on the anniversary of the Boston Tea Party. Individual Americans are pointedly dropping France from their holiday tours, and some are refusing to fly Air France. For the first time, U.S. visitors to Britain in 1967 outnumbered tourists to France—by 100,000. Cote d'Azur hotel owners complained of a 20% slump in reservations last summer. Lately there have been some cancellations by American Jews incensed by De Gaulle's chutzpah. At Sage's Chicago restaurants, notices urge customers not to buy French wines. California wine growers are enjoying a record year, in part because some bibbers are switching from the cheaper grades of French wine to domestic brands. But the higher-priced types of French wines and brandies are holding up well. Oenological experts are not yet angry enough to cut off De Gaulle's nose to spite their own palates.
Congressmen and other critics have proposed a variety of retaliatory schemes. Among them: shaming De Gaulle by bringing home from French soil the remains of 60,501 U.S. soldiers who died defending France in two wars, demanding that France repay more than $4 billion in World War I debts (which France and other European debtors except Finland ceased paying in 1932), swamping France's lucrative grain-export markets with American wheat, or putting a tax on American tourists to France. These are the kind of ideas that sound attractive-until one remembers that France, too, has great retaliatory powers, because it buys more from the U.S. than it sells.
If all-out economic warfare won't work, at least a few blows can be struck by wit. One cabal of American businessmen in Paris has contrived a sneaky conversational ploy:
Q. What do you think of De Gaulle?
A. Who?
Q. De Gaulle?
A. Compared to what?