LOVE-AND COMPLAINTS-FOR TEACHER

THE biennial meeting of the Commonwealth Prime Ministers is something like a school reunion: it's nice to see the old classmates again, but each time the participants find that they have less in common. Of the 28 Commonwealth members represented at the ten-day conference that ended in London last week, a majority no longer recognize Queen Elizabeth as their sovereign, several have left the sterling area, scarcely any regard their citizenships as interchangeable, and only two (Australia and New Zealand) still display the Union Jack on their flags. The only thing that seemed to unite them was that each had at least one grievance against the old schoolmaster, Britain.

Most African states were seething at British Prime Minister Harold Wilson's efforts to reach a settlement with Ian Smith's breakaway white regime in Rhodesia. Singapore and Malaysia deplored Britain's planned military withdrawal from points east of Suez. Australia and New Zealand were unhappy about London's hankerings to join Europe's Common Market, a move that would cost them dearly in tariff concessions. Four East African members that are anxious to get rid of their Asian minorities (Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda and Zambia) were outraged because Britain was not willing to take them off their hands and decided to boycott the conference's discussions on the subject.

Echo of Empire. For all its drawbacks, the Commonwealth gives Britons something -they might regret losing: an echo of empire. An amorphous grouping of white and yellow, black and brown, it is well-nigh unequaled for sheer curiosity and panoply. There in London last week were the Daimler sedans, each with a Special Branch man riding shotgun in the front, whisking delegates from their suites in Claridges, Grosvenor House or the Dorchester to the Regency-style Marlborough House. There at the meeting itself was Harold Wilson, impatiently tapping his outsize Tanzanian meerschaum on the mahogany conference table when a speaker droned on. There, too, were Malawi's Hastings Banda, waving his fly whisk imperiously, and Canada's Pierre Elliott Trudeau, impetuously sliding down a banister after one tiresome session.

But Britain is bothered by a rising impatience at the cost of maintaining the Commonwealth and, more important, at what the Daily Sketch called the "cheek" of members that presume to question Britain's policies. The nation that once ruled over a quarter of the globe is now desperately retrenching, and a great many Britons might agree with the Spectator: "What we must do is to act on the very threat that many of our partners have used against us too successfully in the past. We should withdraw our membership."

Sensing this attitude, many delegates expressed concern. "Britain feels that the task of leadership is onerous," said Malaysia's Tunku Abdul Rahman. "It has lost the power and the will to use it." After "centuries of responsibility," agreed Singapore's Lee Kuan Yew, "a mood of disenchantment and withdrawal is all pervasive. Britain has decided to put British interests first." To an extent, that is true. Britain simply has had it as the Commonwealth doormat, and the other members are beginning to acknowledge this change of mood and to handle the crotchety old schoolmaster with uncharacteristic care.

Wilson, for example, was subjected to none of the outraged harangues of the 1966 session, during which Zambia's Simon Kapwepwe labeled him a "racialist." The principal speaker on Rhodesia was Tanzania's Julius Nyerere, who complained acidly, to be sure, about Wilson's proposed settlement with Salisbury. But Nyerere went on to declare, to the general amazement of his listeners: "We all love Britain."

Tragic Conflict. Britain's policies were another matter, however. On Rhodesia, Wilson stuck by his proposal that a referendum be held on independence, despite the obvious difficulties in arranging safeguards to protect black voters. A majority of the delegates voted instead for the proposal embodied in the awkward acronym NIBMAR (No Independence Before Majority African Rule). Home Secretary James Callaghan angered nonwhite Commonwealth members by refusing to guarantee a welcome for any and all British passport holders of Asian descent. His refusal was particularly galling to East African nations, which have renewed a harsh campaign against thousands of Asian merchants in their midst. Since the majority hold British rather than local passports, black leaders in East Africa adamantly insist that the British should accept them. Britain has reacted against immigration--and its attendant demands on social services--with a new quota system, and Callaghan was hardly anxious to provoke another storm of Powellite racial tension by promising to stretch quotas.

The Commonwealth's most tragic conflict--the Nigerian civil war--did not even get on the agenda, thanks to the contention of the federal government in Lagos that the 18-month-old conflict is an internal matter. As one of Nigeria's principal arms suppliers, Britain was not inclined to object.

Though there was some truth in the complaint by the Times of London that the conference had "discussed almost everything, but had settled almost nothing," the meeting nonetheless had its value. Differences were aired in open, reasonable discussion, and that, as Wilson said, "is what the Commonwealth is all about." Added the Prime Minister: "I don't know anywhere else where 24 heads of government and four deputies could talk to each other for ten days and then make plans to meet the following year again."

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