A Savage War of Peace

by Alistair Horne

Of all the people able to bring insight into de Gaulle’s intentions, Bernard Tricot—the Elysée counsellor, distrusted alike by the pieds noirs and Algérie française army generals, but constantly at de Gaulle’s elbow from 1958 onwards—should have been the best situated. Summing up de Gaulle’s policy as he saw it, he says that he “undertook at first useful reforms for the future, whatever that might be, and based his long-term policy on the right of the people to dispose of themselves, ending—in default of a solution within the community—with one of independence….” Admitting (which was as revealing as it was honest) that it was pure supposition on his part, Tricot goes on to speculate that, having realised it was too late for “integration”, he had at least “to give a chance, if one still existed, to the idea of francisation”. But, referring to de Gaulle’s own account of his policy as rendered in his memoirs, Tricot states that when sent the manuscript he queried the passage “there was in my view no longer any alternative for Algeria but self-determination” with the rather courageous comment, “I lived through all this period at your side, and the facts then seemed to me less simple.”

  One is left with the question, why did de Gaulle practise such ambiguity, even to baffling Tricot and fudging up the record afterwards (a practice not unknown in the memoirs of ex-heads of state)? If he had believed in “self-determination” in 1958, why had he not then said so outright, instead of letting his supporters deceive themselves and the war drag on for over another year before coming out with it? Tricot, bravely loyal, suggests that part of the reason may have lain in the hazards of communication between de Gaulle and his subordinates. Explaining for himself why his own memoirs, covering the four crucial years of his service at the Elysée, reproduced virtually no conversations with de Gaulle in oratio directa, he says: “I felt there was something dishonest about coming out of his office and then immediately writing down what he had said; but then, afterwards, in a curious way one’s mind became almost a blank as to what he had actually said.” This almost mesmeric impact of de Gaulle’s presence and eloquence was experienced by many others, but at best it offers no more than a fraction of the truth. Tricot recognises a more intrinsic fact: French public opinion was certainly not ready in 1958 to admit the possibility of Algerian autonomy. So many thousands of young Frenchmen had done their national service in Algeria and their emotions were still deeply committed there. Admitting his need for “tactics” whereby “to proceed cautiously from one stage to the next”, de Gaulle himself explains in an eloquent metaphor:

  Were I to announce my intentions point-blank, there was no doubt that the sea of ignorant fear, of shocked surprise, of concerted malevolence through which I was navigating would cause such a tidal wave of alarms and passions in every walk of life that the ship would capsize. I must, therefore, manoeuvre without ever changing course until such time as, unmistakably, common sense broke through the mists….

  The use of the word “manoeuvre” reminds one that, above all, de Gaulle remained the eternal, quintessential soldier. The fragile “ship”, in danger of capsizing, to which he referred, was not specifically public opinion. It was the army, his army. From his earliest days as a “prophet without glory”, de Gaulle had always been a military innovator, profoundly deploring the backward mentality of the French army. “And what did he find in 1958?” asks Tricot:

  An enemy conducting a totally archaic battle, without tanks, just rifles and machine-guns, and with the French army combating them with the slowest aircraft—which were the most useful. It was all very distasteful to him. What he really desired to do was to modernise the French army, bring it into the atomic era, and this was always impeded by Algeria.

  If it was for the future salvation of the army that de Gaulle wanted to be disencumbered of Algeria, then it was for the sake of preserving it intact that he could not risk telling it the whole truth of his intentions. Thus, to save it for a brilliant future that only he could see glimmering in the distance, de Gaulle had—from 1958 onwards—to speak carefully to the army in a special language; or, more crudely put, lie to it for its own good. This seems to be the most fundamental explanation for de Gaulle’s “double-talk”. To some extent he may have deceived himself by it. In formulating his policy for Algeria he seems throughout to have suffered from three basic misconceptions. The first was that his great personal prestige would persuade the Muslim majority to accept his terms. (Whether the pieds noirs would was always of secondary importance to de Gaulle.) But, as he received one snub after another from the F.L.N., his prestige waned until by the end of 1960 it was doubtful whether it could have carried an effective majority. Secondly, he fundamentally misunderstood the nature of the F.L.N., thinking, as a military man himself, that he was dealing with a conventional armed insurrection led by modern Abd-el-Kaders who would sooner or later recognise military defeat and the advantages of sensible compromise. But he could not seem to grasp that his adversaries were ruthless and adroit political revolutionaries, deeply committed to totalitarian principles of “no compromise”. Finally, he somehow persuaded himself that time would wait upon him while he found the correct formula and then imposed peace with it. But time would be wrenched from him.

  Challe goes: de Gaulle’s new team

  On 23 April General Challe left Algiers as Commander-in-Chief. At the time of his departure he had many reasons for bitterness, and better ones than his predecessor, Salan, who was already in a state of extreme disaffection. First of all, though never so ambitious as Salan for professional advancement, Challe had just cause for feeling let down personally. In February, when told of de Gaulle’s intention to transfer him from Algiers, he had been promised the top job in the French armed forces. Now here he was, posted in mid-stream in April, and only to replace General Valmy as commander of N.A.T.O. forces, Central Europe, a promotion of a kind, but nothing like what had originally been proffered. But of much more serious consequence to Challe was the disruption this posting signified to the eponymous plan to which he had been so deeply committed all through his career in Algeria. The withdrawal of élite troops from the bled necessitated by “Barricades Week” had come as an infuriating interruption to Challe, just at a moment when Deuxième Bureau reports were giving the impression that the A.L.N. was on the verge of breaking. Immediately afterwards he had strained at the leash to get on with the Challe offensive by cleaning up the last “unpacified” area and the birthplace of the revolt: the Aurès—Nementchas. This new, final operation was due to begin on 19 April, but Challe’s successor, General Crépin (promoted after replacing Massu in January), had other ideas.

  Crépin was a fifty-two-year-old gunner, who during the Liberation had commanded the artillery of the famous Second Armoured Division, which had supplied France’s post-war army with so many of its ranking officers. Sometimes known as “Casse-Noisette” because of a stubbornly prognathous jaw, he was a stolid personality, principally distinguished for having pioneered the S.S.-10 anti-tank missile. Crépin was unusual in the army of the time in having no political attachments, but was unconditionally loyal to de Gaulle and for this reason he had been selected to replace the fallen Massu in January 1960. The new Commander-in-Chief was a coldly scientific polytechnicien, totally lacking the panache of a Massu or the popularity of a Challe, and of whom para captains said “Crépin?…never seen him!” To Challe, on the eve of his departure, Crépin expressed reluctance to persist with the Aurès offensive, explaining: “It’s a difficult operation and I wouldn’t like to run up against this affair coming fresh on the job….” Subsequently Crépin would, in fact, resume Challe’s offensive policy—but never with quite the same thrust. Thus Challe saw himself frustrated of his final victory after such brilliant military successes over the past year. At the moment of his departure the balance sheet claimed that 26,600 rebels had been “knocked out”, 11,000 captured, and nearly 21,000 arms recovered in that period, while Boumedienne’s 10,000 strong “army of the exterior” showed every sign of being—at least temporarily—neutralised. The A.L
.N. of the “interior” could no longer muster more than 8,000 men, in scattered and generally demoralised groups.

  Painfully conscious of de Gaulle’s mistrust of him, aware of the frustration of his own chef-d’oeuvre, as Challe left Algiers his overflowing cup of gall contained one final ingredient. During the crisis of “Barricades Week” he had been induced to give those various assurances to the men under him that they were “fighting in order that Algeria shall remain definitively French”, and that de Gaulle had promised him “there will be no negotiations with the F.L.N.” Over the course of the next few months he was to come to believe that he had been permitted, if not actively encouraged, by de Gaulle to perjure himself. It was therefore perhaps not surprising that Challe had refused, somewhat brusquely, the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honour which Michel Debré had come to bestow upon him on his departure.

  For the other half of the ruling tandem, Paul Delouvrier, the withdrawal of Challe was also bad news. While their association had been so fruitfully close that it had been remarked “you could never slide a cigarette-paper between them”, between Delouvrier and Crépin relations would never be more than stiffly formal. Like Challe, Delouvrier recognised that de Gaulle had lost confidence in him since “the Barricades”, and this awareness was not helped when, in its aftermath, de Gaulle imposed on the Delegate-General “his man” to fill the re-created post of Director of Political Affairs. His choice was Colonel François Coulet, a remarkable figure. A close aide of de Gaulle’s in wartime London, when the Algerian war began, Coulet had resigned a senior diplomatic post as Minister in Belgrade to rejoin the colours (at the ripe age of fifty) and form his own “private army” of air force paratroops. For the previous four years his regiment had acquitted itself with distinction; then he had been summoned to the presidential bosom, to hold himself ready for “political tasks”. His new role in Algiers was clearly to act as an “observer” reporting directly to de Gaulle on the performance of the Delegate-General, and as a “stiffener” in case of a repeat of “the Barricades”:—a function that was as embarrassing for Coulet as it was humiliating for Delouvrier.

  Meanwhile, as de Gaulle had intimated to the army during his last tournée des popotes in March, consonant with his view of France’s role as a great power, many things had been happening in the outside world to prove that Algeria was not his only worry. At home, de Gaulle had been confronted by the first major wave of social strife since he had assumed power: the farmers of the north had taken to the streets in revolt against his agricultural price policy; there were strikes and lock-outs in many factories; by 1 June 1,300,000 civil servants were out on strike for higher wages. But the biggest shock had come in May when, in pique at the shooting-down of Gary Powers’s U.2 spy-plane over the Urals, Khrushchev had arbitrarily broken off the Paris Summit. The snub aimed at Eisenhower also rubbed off on de Gaulle, who had cherished hopes of deriving international kudos for France from the meeting. Explaining away this set-back in a broadcast at the end of May, de Gaulle declared his determination to give the lead in building up a strong, united and independent Europe. In the meantime, relations with the United States were beginning to crumble after de Gaulle (partly reacting against the Summit debacle) had banned the stocking of American nuclear war-heads on French territory. The U.S.A.A.F. riposted by transferring its bomber squadrons to Germany. De Gaulle ordered the withdrawal of French naval units from the N.A.T.O. Mediterranean fleet, and on 9 June the project of France’s “go-it-alone” force de frappe was placed before the Assembly. Five days later, on television, de Gaulle revealed how his thoughts were now evolving. Though couched in general terms, it would also bear particular relevance to France’s future in Algeria, when he told his countrymen of the urgent need “to transform our old France into a new country and make her marry her time”.

  The G.P.R.A. and the rough road to negotiations

  Since the “self-determination” speech of September 1959, endeavours towards negotiating a cease-fire had jolted along in their usual fruitless and frustrating way, with neither side seemingly able to find a formula for beginning talks that would satisfy promises extracted for internal consumption. (And how often in the history of war does the killing of young men and civilians continue for no better reason than this failure to discover just such a face-saving formula?) The problems of each side ran curiously parallel; no sooner had a peaceful-sounding overture been made than pressure from the protagonists of “no compromise” would force the respective leader to counterpoint with harsh and intransigent noises towards the other side, which in turn would engender more mistrustful reservations. For de Gaulle the governing factor at this stage was to avoid any move that could in any way be interpreted as recognising the F.L.N. as the one competent negotiating partner, while for the G.P.R.A. recognition was their abiding objective. Already, early in 1959, an illustrative episode, one of the several mysterious démarches of the war, had taken place. Antoine Pinay, Foreign Minister in the dying days of the Fourth Republic and currently de Gaulle’s Minister of Finance, received word through a Swiss newspaper editor that “responsible” leaders of the F.L.N. (including Ahmed Francis and Maître Ahmed Boumendjel) would be receptive to opening talks with the French government. The person of Pinay was selected on account of his previous negotiations with Morocco where he was well trusted. But de Gaulle had refused, saying: “I don’t want it; because the day after you’ve seen them they will say that I have recognised the F.L.N. government.”

  Pinay: “Let me make a proposition, then: if it works, you can take the responsibility; if it fails, you can say it’s just that imbecile Pinay acting on his own initiative!”

  De Gaulle: “But who are they, who nominated them?”

  Pinay: “In 1940 people were asking exactly the same about you.”

  To the chagrin of Pinay, de Gaulle remained adamant. No talks.

  Then, some six months later, de Gaulle had made his “self-determination” bid, and the G.P.R.A., after carefully digesting what its attitude should be, had countered with, yet again, a discouragingly negative reply. Yes, they would discuss “self-determination” with de Gaulle, but their delegates to any talks would have to be Ben Bella and the other four hijacked leaders, still languishing under lock and key in France. It was an adroitly calculated move, designed to provoke rejection by de Gaulle. For the G.P.R.A. recognised that the “self-determination” gambit had won for France more points both in Washington and at the United Nations than anything previously attempted; therefore, de Gaulle’s initiative could not be allowed to prosper, and he himself must be made to appear culpable for torpedoing it. Thrown into a state of angry pessimism, de Gaulle reacted as predicted, declaring haughtily that his olive branch was intended for “those who are fighting, not those who are hors de combat”.

  Thus, by the end of the year and the beginning of “the Barricades” crisis, the chasm between de Gaulle and the G.P.R.A. yawned unhopefully as wide as ever. On 13 December, behind the closed doors of the Legislative Palace in Tripoli and surrounded by the usual strict secrecy, the F.L.N. began its Third National Council of the Algerian Revolution (C.N.R.A.). It was immediately apparent that the revolutionary camp was confronted with its most serious crisis since the “liquidation” of Ramdane Abane, whose shadow still cast its pall over the conference table. There was, once again, the rift between the combatant leaders of the “interior” and the “ministers” of the “exterior”, a rift now made more bitter than ever by the savage pressures of the Challe offensive. This time the attack was directed against the veteran maquisard, long held to be the strong man of the F.L.N., Belkacem Krim, in his capacity as Minister of War, and against the President of the G.P.R.A., Ferhat Abbas, and his fellow “moderates”. In a defensive statement Krim admitted that the previous month’s fighting had been “the hardest of the war”, and that the A.L.N. of the “interior” had suffered heavy losses. He then came under fierce attack for failing to supply it with arms and reinforcements, and was criticised for being, though
an excellent commander in the field, no chief-of-staff. The fact that his attackers included those who previously had been his loyal supporters made Krim seem increasingly isolated. At the centre of the attack appeared Boussouf, described by Claude Paillat as become “the Fouché of the rebellion, but a revolutionary Fouché like Saint-Just, and provided with troops like Napoleon”. Behind Boussouf, and strongly backed by his powerful patron, stood the silent and reflective figure of Boumedienne; a new force to be reckoned with, he emerged as the focal point of what were henceforth to be recognised as the hard-liners, the guerre à outrance faction of the F.L.N. Boumedienne now suggested that Krim and his “Ministry of War” be replaced by an army chief-of-staff and an inter-ministerial war committee. There was little doubt whom Boumedienne had in mind for the supreme military post, and — according to Krim in the aftermath of war — he, Krim, muttered angrily under his breath, “You are just awaiting your moment!” Amid mounting passions and antagonisms, Krim found himself over a whole month fighting a fierce rearguard action for his own survival.

  At the same time the hard-liners were pressing vigorously for a new policy of sharpened revolutionary zeal within Algeria, involving imposition of a tighter control over the population. Supported by the moderate Saad Dahlab, Ferhat Abbas resisted this on the grounds that it would only make the F.L.N. look more extremist to the outside world, and thus render the prospects of negotiations with de Gaulle even more precarious. But it was plain that Abbas was in a minority position, and his own future increasingly uncomfortable. After thirty-three days of heated discussion, the Third C.N.R.A. closed. On 19 January (the day after the bombe Massu exploded) it was announced that a new constitution for the G.P.R.A. had been evolved — as well as a new ministerial structure. Krim finally, and no doubt fortified by recollections of the fate of Abane in his isolation, had given in. Abbas would remain president — though more than ever in a “window-dressing” capacity; Krim, still vice-president, would become Minister of Foreign Affairs and one of a “troika” (the others being Boussouf and Ben Tobbal) on the new “inter-ministerial war committee” proposed by Boumedienne. And, in the new post of chief-of-staff of the army, responsible for the whole military conduct of the war in the “interior” and “exterior” — Boumedienne. It would soon be plain that this was where the real focus of power in the F.L.N. now lay; at the same time, the Third C.N.R.A. marked the beginning of the eclipse both of Abbas and the “moderates”, and of Krim himself. Between Boumedienne and Krim — resentful and jealous of leaving the army in the hands of the former — the antagonism would continue.