The Gouvernement-Général seized
Meanwhile, sheltering under his desk from the flying glass and stones, Lacoste’s deputy, Pierre Chaussade, telephoned the absent governor-general in Paris to ask for instructions. Lacoste ordered that under no circumstances were the insurgents to be fired upon. But beyond Lacoste no helpful authority was forthcoming; the outgoing Gaillard felt he was no longer responsible, and Pflimlin had not yet been sworn in. In an attempt to pacify the mob, Ducournau—unable to make his voice heard—appeared on the balcony with a blackboard bearing the words: “I have just telephoned Paris to call for a government of public safety.” The crowd applauded, but continued with its sack of the building. Having received news of what was happening Salan, after a brief hesitation, set off for the “G—G” along a tunnel connecting it with his headquarters. It was less than an hour and a half since the ceremony at the monument aux morts. He was told that there were no casualties “except Marianne, and she doesn’t count”. Massu had arrived at about the same time, in a violent rage at the shambles (to one eye-witness the corridors of the “G—G” resembled “a packet-boat at the moment of foundering, after the mutiny of the crew”) and at the affront to good military order. Angrily he demanded, “What sort of bordel is this?” and, in an aggressive aside to Lagaillarde, “Qu’est-ce-que vous foutez en uniform?” Acclaims of “Massu au pouvoir!” only enraged him further, and the robust nose thrust out at a more belligerent angle than usual. Appearing on the balcony, Salan was greeted with all the long-nourished mistrust of the pieds noirs, dating back to the affaire du bazooka: “Foutez le camp!” “Salan, bradeur!” “Indochine!” “Vive Massu!” “Vive Soustelle!” Massu, on the other hand, the popular hero of the Battle of Algiers, received the kind of applause hitherto reserved for Lagaillarde. But when asked to say a few encouraging words to the mob about “Algérie française”, he growled: “Ces cons-là me font tous chier!” Then, after a whispered conference with Salan, he turned brusquely to the nearest ringleader and asked for names for a committee of public safety.
Massu forms a committee of public safety
The invasion by the mob, the volleys of paper streaming from the “G—G” windows, all bore an extraordinary resemblance to that other bizarre episode in French history—the seizure of the Hôtel de Ville by the Paris Communards in 1870. So did the scenes that followed. A young man in glasses who pushed himself forward, when asked for his name replied: “André Baudier, clerk in council housing….”
“But whom do you represent?”
“The mob!”
Massu wrote down Baudier at the top of his list. Then came Lagaillarde, followed by a series of illustres inconnus drawn from the crowd immediately at hand. The only senior army officers present were Colonels Trinquier (now commanding Bigeard’s 3rd R.P.C.) and Ducasse (Massu’s chief-of-staff), so their names too were added. Now the ubiquitous Nez-de-Cuir arrived and asked to be included on the list. Announcing the formation of the Committee of Public Safety and reading out its members from the balcony of the “G—G”, Massu received a rapturous endorsement from the crowd outside, followed by another fervent singing of the Marseillaise. Appeased, and in a fiesta-like mood, the crowd now settled down in the Forum to await whatever further excitements this gala night would bring, with children asleep on their knees.
There now took place a telephone call between Massu and Lacoste in Paris, nervously wanting to know what had happened in Algiers. Massu was heard to say:
Yes, it’s true, we have constituted a committee…. There is no question of a coup d’état…. It’s just to confirm to parliament the will of Algeria to remain French…. I could not act otherwise. Or we would have had to fire on the mob. Do you give me the order to fire? No! …
In the meantime the Committee was drafting a telegram to President Coty, which Massu then signed and despatched. Explaining that the Committee had been formed to “maintain order” and avert bloodshed, it urged “creation in Paris of a government of public safety, alone capable of preserving Algeria as an integral part of the mother country”. At about ten o’clock Delbecque arrived on the scene, having been caught out of Algiers that day and somewhat discountenanced to have been beaten to the draw by Lagaillarde, who remarked to him sardonically: “I recognise that I am a little ahead of your scenario!” Initially there were some sharp words between Delbecque and the military, with Colonel Ducournau accusing him of opening the way for a front populaire by his conspiracy. It was only at this point, so it seems, that an outraged Massu certainly, and Salan probably, first became aware of the various complots. Under the influence of Nez-de-Cuir Thomazo, however, Delbecque and several other members of the Gaullist faction were admitted to Massu’s Committee of Public Safety, together with Sérigny, Martel and Lefèvre representing the “ultras”. Almost as an afterthought, three Muslim worthies representing nine million Algerians were also included on the list, which would eventually reach the unwieldy total of seventy-four members.
Later that night, the Gaullists—adroitly turning the situation to their advantage—prevailed upon Salan to send a new and crucial message to President Coty, stating: “the responsible military authorities esteem it an imperative necessity to appeal to a national arbiter with a view to constituting a government of public safety. A call for calm by this high authority is alone capable of re-establishing the situation”. Salan, cautious as ever, had expunged from the original draft the name of de Gaulle, but the reference to “a national arbiter” and “this high authority” was explicit enough. At the same time a direct appeal was sent to de Gaulle himself. The cat was out of the bag. The army of Algeria, though grudgingly and under pressure, had committed itself.
In Paris, Pflimlin invested
In Paris the events in Algiers had been followed by utmost confusion. There was a feeling that never since the bloody clashes of February 1934 had circumstances so favoured a seizure of power by the mob. Rumours ran round the Assembly that Chaban-Delmas was in Algiers preparing a coup d’état; in fact he was in his Bordeaux constituency. A number of panicky arrests were made; one major of the general staff on his way to a conspiratorial meeting was apprehended and, after lamely pretending that he was visiting his mistress, spent the next fortnight in a cell along with Algerian suspects. Soustelle, particularly, was placed under strict police surveillance. The “lame-duck” Gaillard sent a signal to Salan, granting him full powers; then regretted it and sent a further signal limiting those powers to the Algiers zone only. Under the stress of events, the Assembly hastened to invest Pflimlin, at 2.45 on the morning of the 14th—with a substantial backing of 280 to 126 votes. Pflimlin spoke critically of “factious generals”, then regretted it on realising that Salan had behaved with almost complete propriety, so far, following Gaillard’s act of “enablement”. His new cabinet wavered between desires of keeping the bridges with Algiers open and threats of cutting off supplies and communications until the Committee of Public Safety promised loyal intent.
News of the investiture came as a severe blow to the Committee of Public Safety in the “G—G” and was greeted with howls of rage from the still attendant crowd outside. Salan, the inscrutable “Chinois”, for reasons best known to himself did not immediately reveal Gaillard’s “enabling” instruction to the Committee of Public Safety; on the other hand, he was also to ignore completely the second, restrictive instruction. Meanwhile, the persuasive Thomazo had got among the crowd, begging it to cry “ ‘Vive Salan!’—because he’s one of you.” With all the volatility that composed the character of the mediterranéen-et-demi pied noir, on the next appearance of the mistrusted Commander-in-Chief whom it had booed only a few hours previously, the crowd burst forth in rapturous acclaim. As the situation grew more complex, the non-political Massu showed himself quite out of his depth, longing to get off the hook and get back to the officers’ mess. To one of the journalists who saw him later on the 14th, he “resembled the cursèd Jackdaw of Rheims:
His feathers all seemed to be turned the
wrong way;
His pinions drooped—he could hardly stand….”
Salan, on the other hand, the calmest of all, instantly showed considerable political acumen, and prudence. Suddenly, overnight and for the ensuing days until de Gaulle committed himself, Salan found himself supreme arbiter of the situation
14 May
The 14th was a black day for the “factious” leaders inside the “G—G”. De Gaulle had not come forward. As it was a Wednesday, he was making his weekly visit to Paris, and when his publisher expressed concern that “events” might delay completion of his memoirs he had replied absentmindedly, “What events?” Soustelle, whose arrival Delbecque had disingenuously declared to be imminent, was more or less under house-arrest in Paris; President Coty had appealed to the army for loyalty, and units in Germany and France showed no signs of rallying to Algiers; the Poujadists had not moved as their comrades of the “Seven” had expected. There were indications that Pflimlin would cut off supplies, and it was reckoned that petrol and money would run out within ten to fifteen days. Delbecque went through the day in fear that Salan, who showed signs of recoiling a step or two from his exposed position, might actually have him arrested. If something did not break it looked momentarily as if the “revolution” might simply collapse. Perhaps only the continuing enthusiasm of the crowd and the junior officers of the paras sustained it. Exclaimed Captain Sergent of the 1st R.E.P., who was unknowingly embarking that day on a long career of revolt: “It’s a dream! It’s just not possible!…So all is saved. Algeria will remain French…!” Meanwhile, in Paris that night Simone de Beauvoir recorded how, at a Brecht play attacking war and generals, a left-wing audience “nearly brought the roof down with its applause”.
15 May: Salan: “Vive de Gaulle!”
15 May was a public holiday, and little effective was done by the new government in Paris that day. In bewilderment, and pushed this way and that by his ministers, Pflimlin embarked upon what looked conspicuously like a double game: on the one hand he endorsed Salan’s actions and responsibility; on the other he imposed a blockade of Algeria, severing communications between it and the homeland, and entertaining the absurdity of a loyal “redoubt” in Kabylia. Encouraged by this pusillanimity and urged on by Delbecque, as well as now obviously beginning to enjoy his new position of power, Salan appeared once more on the “G—G” balcony before the ever-present crowds in the Forum below. He spoke in moving terms of his attachment to the soil of Algeria, which contained the human remains of his beloved son, and added: “What has been done here will show to the world that Algeria wants to remain French. Our sincerity will carry with us all the Muslims.” He concluded his address with a vibrant “Vive la France! Vive l’Algérie française!”, whereupon, from behind, Delbecque whispered in his ear: “Shout Vive de Gaulle!” Salan turned about, grasped the microphone again, and pronounced, not with the most overwhelming conviction: “…et vive de Gaulle!”
Though not exactly uttered fortissimo, the decisive words were nevertheless out. At lunch-time an angry Pflimlin telephoned Salan to ask what he meant by it. Salan explained that, in his view—as well as that of “the entire population of Algeria”—only de Gaulle legitimately at the head of a government could save both Algeria and France. Pflimlin hung up. Salan had stepped firmly across the Rubicon; the army in Algeria was publicly committed; the bridges with metropolitan France were down. Meanwhile, in Paris another eminent general was lobbying the Socialist leader now serving as Pflimlin’s vice-premier, Guy Mollet. Maurice Challe had had close contact with Mollet dating from Suez when he had been despatched to London to co-ordinate with Eden the Franco-British plan. Now, as deputy to the Gaullist Chief of the General Staff, General Ely, he went to warn Mollet that the situation was “heading for disaster”; that the Pflimlin government was “unviable”; that if things went on as they were, the army of Algeria would be obliged to intervene, which it could effectively achieve within forty-eight hours; and that he, Challe, personally would “never fire on my brothers-in-arms”. Mollet chided him for exceeding his brief, and shortly afterwards Challe too was placed under housearrest; but not before he was able to make arrangements for a substantial portion of the air transport command to move to Algeria, to lessen the impact of the government’s blockade.
Sparked by Salan’s utterance, de Gaulle (“The issue which was already at the back of everyone’s mind had at last been publicly raised,” he explained) now came out of his hermit-crab shell for the first time. Using carefully measured words, he declared to the nation that “in the face of the trials that again are mounting toward it, it should know that I am ready to assume the powers of the republic”. But there was no how or when. As Prime Minister Macmillan noted in his journal, it was “an equivocal statement, but one which has terrified the French politicians. It is cast in his usual scornful but enigmatic language.”
16 May: “Here are our Muslim brothers”
In Algiers, however, de Gaulle’s declaration was greeted with wildest enthusiasm. A new confidence bolstered up the leaders in the “G—G”; as exemplified by Massu, they now, said Michael Clark, “assumed the aspect of the jackdaw after plenary absolution:
He grew sleek and fat;
In addition to that,
A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a mat….”
More than ever, Salan was now the hero of the hour, and this sudden access of popularity and influence could not help but affect him as indeed it had Soustelle two years previously. The next day, 16 May, the euphoria of the moment occasioned one of the more remarkable and inexplicable phenomena of the whole war. Into the excited pied noir crowds that thronged the Forum, which had now become well-established as the centre of the daily entertainment, that evening there merged dense groups of Muslims. Waving tricolours and crosses of Lorraine, and banners that proclaimed “We demand a Government of National Unity”, or even “Vive Massu!”, they came in their thousands from the Algiers Casbah and from douars throughout Algeria; old men sporting wartime decorations, young students, pregnant fatmas in haiks. A voice from the “G—G” balcony shouted, “Here are our Muslim brothers! Make a place for them!” and there followed extraordinary scenes of mass emotion. Pieds noirs linked arms with Muslims, embraced them; European girls lifted the veils of acquiescent Muslim women; all together sang the Marseillaise and the military Chant des Africains. From the famous balcony the stentorian voice of Massu rang out, welcoming “with pride” this “spontaneously organised” assemblage of Muslims, and asserting, “Let them know that France will never abandon them.” Heady new slogans of “From Dunkirk to Tamanrasset, fifty-five million French!” passed among the crowd. Suddenly the horrors of the Milk-Bar and Casino bombings, of the backlash ratonnades, seemed all but forgotten.
Historians still find the “fraternisation” phenomenon of 16 May hard to explain. The official line of the F.L.N., as well as that of French sceptics, is that the whole demonstration was phoney, rigged by the psychological warfare experts of the French Cinquième Bureau; that the women who had so joyfully cast away their haiks were simply tarts rounded up for the occasion. But this at best can only be a half-truth. It is true that on the previous day para teams organised by Godard, Trinquier and Léger, who had all become intimately acquainted with the Casbah during the Battle of Algiers, had been hard at work coaxing the Muslims to turn out and stirring them up with heady assurances of equality and integration. But, unaccountably, success snowballed beyond all their expectations; instead of a hoped-for 5,000, it was a crowd of something like 30,000 Muslims that reached the Forum that evening. Stern critics of Algérie française like Le Monde and François Mauriac agreed on the genuineness of the demonstration, acclaiming it as a basis for new optimism. What thoughts and hopes lay behind those deeply etched, inscrutable Muslim faces on the Forum that day is difficult to divine, except perhaps a mystical, irrational belief that somehow the magical figure of de Gaulle was going to solve everything. Disillusion was bound to follow on both sides as euphoria was r
eplaced by the realisation that the fraternisers were still each worshipping different gods. It was solely the army (i.e. the paras) who were the initiators, and—though carried along by the emotion of the moment—Lagaillarde and the pied noir “ultras” were not prepared to pay more than lip-service to such tenets as “equality”. Nevertheless, as in that other dawn celebrated by Wordsworth, it was bliss to be alive in Algiers on that day of 16 May, and for a brief spell it looked as if all might be possible—so long as de Gaulle would grasp the reins.
A Savage War of Peace Page 42