The Lengthening Shadow

For British politicians it has long been a cardinal principle of after-dinner oratory to throw in at least one glowing reference to the intangible strength of the Commonwealth, a globe-girdling club whose members are allegedly linked by spiritual bonds so powerful that they do not need to encumber themselves with rules or bylaws. But last week, as the leaders of ten nations assembled in London for the ninth Commonwealth Prime Ministers' conference since World War II (see cut), the ties that bind the Commonwealth were under greater strain than ever before. Said India's Nehru bluntly: "Whether or not it is mentioned in polite society, the Commonwealth is facing difficult basic problems, and some people begin to doubt whether the Commonwealth is becoming too vague to be identified as anything at all."

Foremost among the problems Nehru had in mind was the recent near-revolt of South Africa's blacks against apartheid. With Nigeria and Sierra Leone slated for early independence, this may be the last Commonwealth meeting at which there are as many white Prime Ministers as colored. The leaders of the Commonwealth's Asian and African nations, resplendent in achkans and bright-colored togas, had come to London determined to register their distaste for apartheid. "The eyes of the world are on the conference," said Ghana's Nkrumah. "I will not be silent on the issue."

The Impenitent. Britain's Harold Macmillan moved skillfully to avoid formal public condemnation of South Africa. Before the conference sessions began, he invited his Commonwealth colleagues to a weekend at Chequers, country home of Britain's Prime Ministers. In a series of tete-a-tete he won agreement to avoid open discussion of South Africa's problems at the conference's plenary meetings; in return, South African External Affairs Minister Eric Louw, substituting for recuperating Prime Minister Hendrik Verwoerd, agreed to discuss the matter with other Commonwealth leaders informally.

But within two days Macmillan's carefully wrought compromise shattered on the intransigent arrogance of Eric Louw. Calling a press conference (for white reporters only), Louw aggressively announced, "I have come to London neither as an accused nor as a penitent nor as a suppliant." and added that his government saw "no reason for any basic change" in its racial policies. That afternoon, when Louw took the same line at his promised informal meeting with the Prime Ministers, Malaya's normally genial Tengku Abdul Rahman walked out in a rage, called his own press conference to announce: "I shall invite the attention of all Asian and African countries to this impasse." Although his walkout was the first in the history of the Commonwealth Prime Ministers' conferences, the Tengku clearly had the sympathy of most Britains. In a moment of irate hyperbole, London's Daily Herald sourly demanded "Who wants a Commonwealth that Hitler could have belonged to?"

A Matter of Preferences. Apartheid was the most heated but not the most important business before the Commonwealth conference. In the long run, the weight that Britain and the Commonwealth would carry in international councils would be determined far more by what the London meeting did--or failed to do--about Britain's increasing estrangement from the six nations that make up the European Common Market.

British statesmen since 1955 have vehemently insisted that Britain's leadership of the Commonwealth ruled out British membership in the Common Market. If Britain joined the Common Market, the argument ran, it would have to abandon the "imperial preference" system, which allows Commonwealth nations to export many agricultural products to Britain duty-free, gives them a substantial tariff advantage even on the manufactured goods they ship to Britain. As a counter, Britain organized the European Free Trade Area--the so-called Outer Seven.

The Dubious Bludgeon. As the British first conceived it, the Outer Seven could be used as a bludgeon to force the Common Market nations to abandon their tariff discrimination against the rest of Europe. But last week, as the Outer Seven deposited the articles of ratification in Stockholm and became a formal reality. Swedish Commerce Minister Gunnar Lange glumly conceded that prospects of bringing about a wider association between the Outer Seven and the Inner Six "do not seem very bright."

Most of the Commonwealth nations show little enthusiasm for the Outer Seven. Since 80% of their exports to Europe already go to Common Market countries, they are openly interested in the possibilities of doing more business with the booming Six. And in increasing numbers British economists and editorialists argue that, even without imperial preference, a Common Market that included Britain would, in the long run, offer Commonwealth nations a far better sales ground than the Outer Seven ever could.

Britain's distaste for the Common Market has roused old hostilities and rancors on the Continent, which has long been irritated at Britain's traditional "balance of power" policy designed to control Europe's destiny without sharing it, dabbling in its politics only to ensure that no power emerge to challenge the tight little isle. British leaders have been slow to recognize that the Common Market represents, beyond all economic considerations, a political reality; that, at long last, Europe's wrangling nations are drawing together in a new unity.

For West Germany's Chancellor Konrad Adenauer the Common Market is, above all, a means to the prime goal of his career: integration of Germany into Western Europe. For France's De Gaulle it embodies his conviction that Europe's future greatness can only be based on a permanent alliance between France and Germany; he also dreams of French leadership of the Rhine community of nations, which lie at the heart of Europe.

But to Harold Macmillan's government, "joining Europe" and weakening the Commonwealth bond still seems a sure recipe for reducing Britain to the status of a minor power. In the eyes of most British policymakers, Britain's international influence still rests 1) on leadership of the Commonwealth, with its 630 million diverse people, and 2) on Britain's special relationship with the U.S.--which, in turn, derives partly from Commonwealth leadership.

No Cause to Cheer. Britain has its economic allies within the Six--notably the powerful industrialists of West Germany, who send 28% of their exports to Outer Seven countries. Acting as their spokesman, West German Economics Minister Ludwig Erhard has long fought to moderate Common Market planning so as to prevent a trade war between the Six and the Seven. Last month, when the Common Market nations talked of starting to erect a common tariff wall next July, 18 months ahead of schedule, Erhard raised his voice in protest. Last week, his point seemingly won. Erhard announced that West Germany would urge postponement of the new tariff schedules till next January in the hope that the Common Market nations and the Outer Seven, meanwhile, could find a way of "bridging" their widening economic gap.

In London, Erhard's announcement was received as "a breath of fresh air." But Erhard had bought his "victory" at the price of accepting Adenauer's view that, in the end, the Common Market must push ahead with or without Britain. The Six have a vision of a united community of 168 million people that can stand on equal terms with the British Commonwealth.

The question that confronted Britain and the Commonwealth Prime Ministers in London was whether to oppose the New Europe--or to join it.

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