This was clearly an intolerable challenge, both to Delouvrier and to de Gaulle himself. A week later Salan received the humiliating order to report back to the Ministry of Defence in Paris. Banned also from any further access to Algeria, the former Commander-in-Chief, once covered in every glory, could now only return to his old fiefdom as an outlaw. With hindsight, one might ask whether this was not perhaps a tactical error on the part of de Gaulle; would a Salan out in the open, in Algiers and under Delouvrier’s eye, have proved the lesser liability than the “Mandarin” henceforth taking to the shadows? But meanwhile, hardly had Salan departed than his fellow Algérie française general, Edmond Jouhaud, was arriving in Algiers to exacerbate Delouvrier’s problems.
Born in 1905 in humble surroundings near Oran and educated there, Jouhaud was the only one of the dissident generals to be actually a pied noir; as such he could not be denied entry to his home. An air force general like Challe, Jouhaud had fought in the French campaign of 1940, had joined the Free French and then commanded the air force in Indo-China in the final months of defeat. Disgusted at the sad spectacle of the Tonkinese refugees forced out of their homes in North Vietnam, in April 1957 he had arrived in Algeria to take command of the 5th Air Region. The following May he had been one of the activist officers pushing his senior, Salan, forward and had been nominated vice-president of the Algiers Committee of Public Safety. Little trusted by de Gaulle, Jouhaud had been among the first batch of purged officers, transferred home to become chief-of-staff to the air force, from which he had retired in October 1960. A burly man whose face bespoke ill-temper, Jouhaud had neither the intelligence of Salan nor the popularity of Challe. But he was probably more violently Algérie française than either. One of his favourite quotations was from John Dos Passos: “You can wrench a man away from his country, but you can never wrench the country away from the heart of the man.” On bidding farewell to de Gaulle, Jouhaud had delivered a forty-five minute homily on the need for it to be made clear that France had decided to “maintain the peace of France and its flag in Algeria”. Thanking him perfunctorily, de Gaulle had said he hoped Jouhaud would not “lose contact” with him.[2] Arrived back in Algiers, Jouhaud, like Salan, assured Delouvrier that he would cause no trouble: — then immediately set to taking up relations with the F.A.F.
Back in Paris and out of grace, Salan showed himself more than ever to be a thoroughly embittered man. He was acid about the pieds noirs — with whom “one can never do anything serious” — and deeply distrustful of Soustelle, who had come to him to propose a regroupement nationale to defend the cause of Algérie française. Above all, he ranted at the name of de Gaulle. On 25 October he held a Press conference, declaring total war on de Gaulle, and officially placing himself at the head of the Algérie française movement. But it was clear that little could be achieved in France; everywhere Salan turned he met the eye of vigilant men in raincoats detailed to keep him under twenty-four-hour surveillance. One day Salan ostentatiously ordered from the concierge of his hotel tickets for Bordeaux; then doubled round to Cook’s to switch them for a night-sleeper to Nîmes. Arriving there, Salan — accompanied by Captain Ferrandi, a sharp-tongued Corsican deserter who followed him devotedly into exile — after several other ruses to throw the watchers off his track, hopped into a taxi and drove over the Pyrenees. Once safely in Spain, Salan set up court, first in Barcelona, then in Madrid. The news of his flight shook France — except for de Gaulle, who dismissed it with the laconic observation, “I’m not surprised about him.”
Delouvrier: point of no return
For the harassed Delegate-General in Algiers, the hejira of Salan came as a distinct relief. But the reappearance of the two generals represented no more than the clearly visible iceberg tip of Delouvrier’s ever-mounting problems that were now rapidly reaching an intolerable peak. With the F.L.N.’s new programme of hit-and-run terrorist pinpricks, the security situation round Algiers, and inside the city itself, seemed to be deteriorating again. Pied noir opinion had been particularly outraged by an incident on 31 July, when a uniformed detachment of the F.L.N. had attacked unarmed bathers — men and women — on a beach at Chénoua, west of Algiers, killing a dozen. The incident had provided fresh grist to the mill of the F.A.F. extremists. This selective terrorism, plus the new assertiveness of the G.P.R.A. in the world at large since Melun, also made it harder than ever to find those “third force” Muslims, not just to stand as candidates in national or local elections, but simply to fill the various administrative posts which it had so long been a French priority to create in order to appease Muslim demands. Over the previous two years, no more than a hundred Muslims had actually been inducted into senior administrative posts.
It was, however, the Constantine Plan — the prime purpose for Delouvrier’s appointment in the first place — which continued to be his major source of concern. The visit of Premier Debré on 3 October, to celebrate the second anniversary of the Plan, furnished an occasion to survey its achievements. The agricultural programme of constructing “a thousand villages” had been virtually completed, and arable production had been augmented from 270,000 tonnes to 390,000 in one year. Over the same period industrial output had risen by ten per cent; the 400th new enterprise had just been launched; 100 milliard francs had already been invested, while a further 400 milliard were budgeted for 1961. As far as education was concerned, the number of pupils in primary schools had increased from 650,000 in 1958 to nearly a million in 1960, an improvement of well over fifty per cent. So much for the credit side of the balance. But more than half of all Algerian children still did not attend school, and technical education was paralysed for want of skilled personnel. Technicians in the new industries were equally lacking and, for all the vast efforts made, only 28,000 new jobs had actually been created — compared with the target of 400,000. In land redistribution the original target of 250,000 hectares to be shared out among 15,000 families (there were in fact an estimated 600,000 needing land) had been revised drastically downwards to 41,000 hectares to be shared among a paltry 1,800 families. Although forty-five per cent of the investment funds for 1961 would come from government sources, little more than a quarter of the remainder was forthcoming from pied noir enterprises — justly apprehensive about the future. With each new advance Gaullist policy took towards Algerian independence, Delouvrier began to question more and more the honesty of a programme of enticing firms in metropolitan France to take a stake in Algeria.
Finally, by the time of Debré’s October visit, Delouvrier’s relations with the Commander-in-Chief, “Casse-Noisette” Crépin, had reached a nadir Despite the stresses “the Barricades” had imposed, Delouvrier deeply missed his harmonious relationship with Challe. Always rather aggressively cold towards Delouvrier, Crépin had become progressively more partisan to the Algérie française factions in his command, and he enraged the Delegate-General by criticising him openly to Debré. The Europeans were “in a state of permanent fear”, complained Crépin, implying that Delouvrier was at fault for never making the least encouraging noise about “francisation”. Delouvrier’s protests gained little redress from Debré; meanwhile, his communication with the Elysée continued to offer minimal satisfaction.
By the beginning of November Delouvrier’s isolation became absolute. On the 4th de Gaulle made a new broadcast to the nation. It was, he explains, designed to appear “full of resolution and assurance”, because recent bitterness marking the budget discussions for the first time since 1958 had been taken by him to be “an indication of the intense impatience and anxiety of the French people”. But what he said about Algeria was to take developments one vital stage further, showing that he was determined to execute his ideas at a faster pace. Having assumed the leadership of France, he had embarked upon “a new course” leading, he explained “from government of Algeria by metropolitan France to an Algerian Algeria. That means an emancipated Algeria…an Algeria which, if the Algerians so wish — and I believe this to be the case — will have its
own government, its own institutions, its own laws”. Later he slipped in a reference to “an Algerian Republic, which will one day exist, but has never yet existed”. As so often with de Gaulle’s more controversial and decisive utterances, there was an element of the impromptu about this first pronouncing of the fateful words, “an Algerian Republic”. They had not figured in the typescript; de Gaulle, as was his wont had added them in as he went along. Tricot — in common with the other Elysée advisors — thought the words “bad and dangerous”. Pressed by them, de Gaulle enquired whether — since the broadcast was pre-taped — it would be possible to delete the offending phrase. The technicians replied that the radio broadcast could be doctored, yes, but there would be no time to re-record the television programme. De Gaulle supposedly then shrugged his shoulders, saying: “Well, in that case, let it stand.”
Since the step taken at Melun it was perhaps only logical that what de Gaulle now said about an “Algerian Algeria” with its right to secede (which, by extension, could surely lead to nothing but “an Algerian Republic”) had to be said sooner or later. But, as Tricot noted, it meant the disappearance of “one of the elements of the triptych, francisation”. Reactions were tempestuous. Debré, says de Gaulle, “could not hide his chagrin” — which was an understatement. After all he had been required to say in the name of francisation, Debré in fact felt compelled to offer his resignation that day. De Gaulle who privately called Debré his “Saint Sebastian” — “every time he receives an arrow, he suffers, but that gives him pleasure!” — waved it aside, saying, “No, Debré; remain I still have need of you.” Debré remained. The next day de Gaulle’s comrade-in-arms and friend of fifty years standing, Marshal Juin, broke with him publicly, accusing de Gaulle of “deserting our Algerian brothers”. In Madrid, Claude Paillat recalls watching the “Mandarin”, Salan, perform a curious pas seul in an attempt to tune a minute transistor radio he was clutching in the palm of his hand. As de Gaulle’s speech came feebly through, he grunted “Oh! Oh!” on deciphering the words “Algerian Republic”. Afterwards he declared to the Press, “from now on, every man must face up to his responsibilities…the time for evasions is over”.
In Algiers Delouvrier’s secretary-general and closest collaborator, André Jacomet, resigned in a manner Delouvrier construed as pulling the rug out from underneath him. “I consider it regrettable”, said Jacomet, “that, before any cease-fire, the G.P.R.A. should receive satisfaction on its principal war aim — the Republic of Algeria”. With other resignations in the wind, it looked to Delouvrier as if the whole structure of the Délégation-Général was tottering. At the Armistice Day ceremony of 11 November he found himself surrounded by a ragingly angry crowd at the monument aux morts. His car was spat upon, and a young woman thrusting her face forward shouted: “Delouvrier — Assassin!” It was too much. Never before had he been called this. Delouvrier was now at the end of his resources, exhausted after twenty-four thankless months in a hopeless task. To his cabinet he admitted: “This time I no longer feel I am master of the situation.” As a final blow, de Gaulle — quite unsympathetic — had chided him when warned that it would not be safe to make the visit to Algeria he intended the following month. Delouvrier decided to resign. Speaking to de Gaulle he explained that he no longer possessed any moral authority: “All my words of hope, my contacts, the Constantine Plan, have been swept away by ‘Algerian Algeria’ and above all by ‘the Algerian Republic’.”
Another new team: Joxe, Morin, Gambiez
On 23 November Delouvrier’s resignation was made public. His “loyalty had never for one moment faltered” was de Gaulle’s handsome epitaph to the lieutenant whom he had never once made privy to his full intentions. The post was to be divided in two, with a new Minister of State for Algeria, Louis Joxe, answerable directly to de Gaulle and residing in Paris but in contant contact with Algiers; under him Jean Morin, the Government-Delegate (a subtle reduction in nomenclature from Delouvrier’s title Delegate-General) in Algiers but with diminished responsibilities. Joxe, a sagacious, donnish figure with prematurely white hair, had been a career diplomat, Ambassador to Moscow from 1952 to 1956, then made de Gaulle’s Minister of Education. The choice of such a skilled diplomatist for the new post seemed to indicate just how much de Gaulle’s thoughts were now turning on the prospects of future negotiations.
Jean Morin, super-prefect of the Haute-Garonne, was another fonction-naire and as unknown to the public eye as Delouvrier had been. Short, bald and with the rather sharp looks of the Meridional (though none of the warmth), at the Liberation he had been charged with the awkward responsibility of purging the corps préféctoral. This he had executed honestly, but with some ruthlessness; he was then France’s youngest prefect, aged only twenty-six. De Gaulle despatched his new Government-Delegate with the ringing words: “Morin, if the task is arduous, the mission is noble!” Otherwise Morin left with no more precise instructions than his predecessor had had as to de Gaulle’s future policy. His first task, however, was to prepare the ground for de Gaulle’s visit on 9 December. Among his last communications with the General, Delouvrier had strongly advised him against coming with the mood as it was currently among the pieds noirs. But de Gaulle was adamant; he wanted to launch the campaign for his second referendum, announced on 16 November and to be held in early January, to gain both French and Algerian endorsement for “self-determination”. Morin’s second duty was to prepare, in the utmost secrecy, a new headquarters outside the dangerous cauldron of Algiers, at Rocher-Noir, a few miles along the coast. The purpose was to avoid a possible repeat of the embarrassing predicament of January, where the representative of France might find himself confronted with the choice of either beating an undignified retreat, or being made a prisoner of an “ultra” mob. The principle was a wise one; only its execution would be too late.
De Gaulle’s next change in Algeria, scheduled for early in the new year, was to replace the Commander-in-Chief, General Crépin, by General Gambiez, commander of the Oran sector. Apart from the unqestionable Gaullist fidelity shared by both, there could hardly have been a greater contrast between two men. Gambiez, at fifty-seven, was diminutive with a gentle and slightly lisping voice; bald, bespectacled and studious-looking, his face bore a constantly amiable expression that reminded one more of a country curate than a fighting general. In fact, this rather timorous and unmilitary-looking exterior belied a warrior of utmost distinction who had been one of the first to set foot on French soil in 1944, Gambiez had also lost both a son and a nephew in the hell of Indo-China. But his appearance did symbolise a major change in the conduct of the war; with the departure of Crépin, military “pacification” was to reach its end. Says de Gaulle, “The war was all but over. Military success was achieved. Operations had been reduced to next to nothing. Instead, politics dominated the scene, and in this respect the two communities were further apart than they had ever been….”
Mobilising for de Gaulle’s visit
Regarding de Gaulle’s new referendum as a major threat to their interests for different reasons, both the opposing extremes now mobilised to counter his Algerian visit of 9 December. For the F.L.N. it was of top priority that every obstacle should be put in the way of de Gaulle holding this new referendum on his terms. For, as always, it could not countenance any “free choice” for the Algerians which might threaten the F.L.N.’s mastery of the situation. Synchronous with de Gaulle’s visit was the opening, in New York, of the crucial “Algerian debate” in the Political Committee of the United Nations. This key Fifteenth Session of the United Nations was attended by the most weighty F.L.N. delegation yet assembled. Its principal object was to fight tooth-and-nail for acceptance of the extant Afro-Asian resolution, which envisaged the holding of an Algerian referendum under control of the United Nations, which de Gaulle, backed by his Western allies, adamantly opposed, insisting as always that Algeria was an “internal” French problem. Counting heads, those veterans of United Nations infighting, Yazid and Chanderli, re
ckoned that the F.L.N. prospects were considerably at risk. Therefore, it was essential that the maximum display of “Algerian solidarity” be arranged to coincide both with de Gaulle’s visit to Algeria and the United Nations debate. With the pressure of the Challe offensive removed, the F.L.N. was able to launch a new terrorist campaign; whereas in November 710 incidents were recorded (the lowest number since 1955), in December they rose to 1,258. This resurgence of terrorism was enough to be heard in New York, and enough to enrage the pieds noirs, but not enough to provoke a reluctant de Gaulle into massive counter-measures. Pre-eminent was the new F.L.N. network in Algiers, patiently and surreptitiously rebuilt by Larbi Alilat, out of sight of French Intelligence and unhindered by it. With a nucleus now some 400 strong it received orders to prepare to get the largest number of Muslim demonstrators out on the Algiers streets during the presidential visit.
At the other end of the spectrum, the reception planned for de Gaulle had a far more dangerous — and desperate — look about it. Not for nothing had Delouvrier tried to head de Gaulle off. Nearer the time he had also been warned that an assassination attempt was probable; in fact, no less than four separate plots were in the offing — though each one was more inept than the last. Delouvrier’s newly-arrived successor, Morin, was aware that the F.A.F. were mobilising to the limit for the visit. But they were still, in essence, leaderless. What was far more disquieting were fresh rumbles of disaffection from the army. From now on and for the next six months, it was the army — not the pieds noirs — which was to call the tune. At the epicentre was the elitist 1st R.E.P., which had played such a prominent but equivocal role in the “Barricades Week” of nearly a year ago. Its fiercely outspoken colonel, Dufour, had — curiously enough — been one of the few to remain unpurged. During the Quatorze Juillet march past he had shocked Delouvrier’s political adviser, Francois Coulet, a distinguished para colonel himself, by leading his much-decorated regiment without wearing a single medal. This was a clearly stated gesture of public disrespect towards the head of state, and after another outburst of the same order in November Dufour was finally posted home. But to an astonished Morin it was reported that the illustrious colonel had “gone absent”, removing with him the regimental colours! Thus his successor could not take over ceremonially in front of the regiment; in theory, Dufour remained regimental colonel.
A Savage War of Peace Page 62