Crisis

The showdown was at hand. Almost continuously since liberation, French Communists had been part of France's Government, had played along with a democratic system they sought to destroy. Despite their avowed patriotism, the Communists' allegiance to Moscow had constantly conflicted with the interests of France. Last week, this anomalous situation was over--at least for the time being. The Communists were out of the Government. The crucial question now was: Could any French Government govern France without the Communists?

Trouble chez Renault. The crisis started when 2,500 workers at the nationalized Renault automobile plant struck for a ten-franc-an-hour raise. Their demands ran counter to the Government's hold-the-line policy (TIME, March 3), which the Communist Party (and its five Cabinet ministers) had approved. To deal with the situation, beetle-browed Benoit Frachon, Communist Co-Secretary General of France's General Federation of Labor, called in Eugene Henaff, a tough Communist disciplinarian (whose chief claim to distinction is that he has worn a red tie every day for the past eleven years). Benoit Frachon issued instructions: "We have a small wildcat strike chez Renault. Get down there and fix it."

Henaff reasoned with the workers. He told them they could have a bonus, but no wage raise that would wreck the price policy which the Communists and all parties were supporting. A storm of boos almost drowned the end of his speech.

Switch. That night, Communist Boss Maurice Thorez called a meeting of the political bureau. The question: should the party side with the Government of which it was a part, or with the workers of its own rank & file? Andre Marty, French Communism's third in command (a longtime opponent of Thorez' "respectable" policy of collaborating with bourgeois politics), pounded the table. Cried he: "If we allow this situation to develop, we will have broken our most important tactical rule, which is never to permit our left flank to be turned."

The others, including Thorez, agreed. It was time for a switch. A communique announced: "The political bureau has decided to support without reserve the legitimate demands [of the strikers]." The Communist paper Humanite, which had at first denounced the wildcat strike as a "provocation" by "troublemaking elements," now referred to it as "a disciplined, justified protest of the exploited workers."

On the eve of May Day, Socialist Premier Paul Ramadier called his precarious coalition Cabinet into an emergency session in the ornate Hotel Matignon. The five Communist ministers sat grim and silent. Thorez intently studied the gilt cherubs on the ceiling. Said Ramadier: "I ask you not to reverse a policy which is the right one for the nation."

Replied Thorez: "The General Federation of Labor has been overrun, or is in danger of being overrun, by Trotskyist elements. In order to prevent this movement from getting out of hand, we decided last night to support the workers' demands."

Ramadier blinked rapidly. Then he said: "In that case, this Cabinet is no longer possible. Let us separate."

Temperatures ran high. Socialist Minister of the Interior Edouard Depreux had police reinforcements patrolling the center of Paris all night. Radio stations received instructions on what to do in case of sabotage. President of the Republic Auriol was away in Africa (see below), and his standin, good, grey Edouard Herriot, was abed in Lyons with acute phlebitis. In the absence of Auriol or Herriot, the First Vice President of the Assembly, Communist Jacques Duclos, would be interim President of the Republic. Panicky M.R.P. Minister of Justice Pierre-Henri Teitgen sent a special plane to bring Herriot to Paris on a stretcher.

Ramadier announced that he would ask the Assembly for a vote of confidence. As the debate opened, the Communists made light of the crisis. Portly Duclos was at his wittiest. He urged that the workers' wages be boosted at the expense of employers' profits. Said he: "You know, it is a mistake to think that the principle of profit-taking was established on Mount Sinai, amid thunder and lightning. . . ."

But Ramadier, usually a mild and vacillating man, faced the Communists like an enraged billy goat, his grey hair rising in two horn-like spikes. Cried he: "I will fight this through to a finish!"

When it came to the vote, the Communists cast their ballots against the Government. But Ramadier won by a wide margin (360 for, 186 against, 63 abstentions). This was the obvious moment for the Communists to resign. They did not budge. Cried Ramadier: "You cannot enjoy the benefits of being in the opposition and stay in the Government at the same time --not while I am Premier." The Communists left it up to Ramadier to fire them.

Dismissals. For Ramadier's Socialist Party the situation was embarrassing. Its official policy was collaboration with the Communists. But after an impassioned plea from Elder Statesman Leon Blum, the Socialist directorate decided on a break. It authorized Ramadier to drop the Communists from his Cabinet. Once more the Cabinet convened. Ramadier told the Communists: "Thank you for your cooperation." The Communists had permit" ted themselves to be dismissed.

But the crisis was only just beginning. The Communists, France's biggest party, might be more dangerous outside the Government than in it. Now that they had sided with the strikers, their grip on the labor unions was firmer than ever before --and through them they had a grip on France's entire economy. It was doubtful whether brave little Ramadier's centrist Government could run the country against Communist opposition. Inside Ramadier's own Socialist Party, a large faction, still bitterly opposed to the break with the Communists, might force Ramadier's resignation. Worried Frenchmen saw two alternatives: 1) the Communists would triumphantly return to the Government, stronger than ever; 2) they would adopt a policy of increasingly violent opposition, precipitating strikes, strife and bloodshed.

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