Paulo Fernando de BarrosDe Gaulle’s Defiant Stand: “No Europe” by 1970
De Gaulle’s 1963 Warning: Power Till 1970 Means No Europe | Sovereignty vs. Supranationalism
Charles de Gaulle, the towering figure of postwar France, was never one to mince words or compromise on national pride. On November 14, 1963, in the pages of L’Express, journalist Jean-Jacques Servan-Schreiber captured a moment of raw prescience from the General. Under the bold headline “FRANCE-ALLEMAGNE,” de Gaulle laid bare his skepticism toward the nascent European Economic Community (EEC), the precursor to the modern European Union. “If de Gaulle stays in power till 1970… there will be no Europe,” the article implied through its probing dialogue, echoing the French leader’s unyielding stance. This wasn’t mere bluster; it was a calculated rebuke of a vision for Europe that, in his eyes, risked becoming a vassal state under American hegemony, stripped of true sovereignty.
To understand de Gaulle’s position, one must step back into the turbulent aftermath of World War II. France, humiliated by occupation and collaboration, emerged scarred but resilient. De Gaulle, who had led the Free French Forces from exile in London, returned as a symbol of defiance. By 1958, amid the Algerian crisis and the collapse of the Fourth Republic, he orchestrated the Fifth Republic’s birth, consolidating power through a new constitution that emphasized executive strength. His foreign policy was an extension of this domestic overhaul: grandeur—France’s rightful place as a global power, independent and unbowed.
The EEC, signed into the Treaty of Rome in 1957, represented a different path. Championed by figures like Jean Monnet and Robert Schuman, it aimed for economic integration as a bulwark against future wars, gradually evolving into political union. But de Gaulle saw shadows in this light. The Community’s supranational institutions—the High Authority (later the European Commission), the Assembly (precursor to Parliament), and qualified majority voting—threatened to erode national vetoes. Worse, in de Gaulle’s view, was the invisible hand of the United States. Postwar Europe was rebuilt on the Marshall Plan’s dollars, and NATO bound the continent militarily to Washington. The EEC, he feared, would extend this dependency economically, turning Europe into an Atlantic appendage rather than an autonomous force.
Servan-Schreiber’s interview, as excerpted in the faded newsprint of that 1963 issue, delved into this tension. De Gaulle dismissed the “hypothesis of a catastrophic American isolationism” as unlikely, arguing instead that U.S. influence would persist through subtler means. He critiqued the “naive” faith in integration as a panacea, warning that without France’s firm hand, the project would devolve into Anglo-Saxon dominance. “The France we need,” he told the journalist, “is not one that pretends to dominate but one that leads by example.” The article highlighted his veto of Britain’s EEC entry in January 1963—the infamous “empty chair” crisis that followed—not as petty nationalism, but as a safeguard against diluting the Six (France, West Germany, Italy, Belgium, Netherlands, Luxembourg) with a Trojan horse for American interests.
De Gaulle’s lucidity shone in his grasp of power dynamics. He envisioned “Europe of the Fatherlands,” a confederation of sovereign states cooperating on equals’ terms, not a federal superstate. This clashed with Monnet’s “United States of Europe,” which prioritized technocratic efficiency over democratic accountability. In a 1963 press conference, de Gaulle elaborated: “Europe must be built from the Atlantic to the Urals, but independent of the superpowers.” His opposition to the Fouchet Plan—a 1961 proposal for political cooperation that he championed but which faltered—underscored this. The plan sought intergovernmental defense and foreign policy coordination, free from supranational oversight. Its rejection by the smaller members, wary of Franco-German dominance, only hardened his resolve.
Yet, de Gaulle was no isolationist. His 1963 reconciliation with West Germany, sealed by the Élysée Treaty with Chancellor Konrad Adenauer, was a cornerstone of his European strategy. The treaty fostered military, youth, and cultural exchanges, aiming to bind the two wartime foes in mutual respect. Servan-Schreiber noted in L’Express how this alliance countered American meddling: “De Gaulle’s France stands as the rampart against the hypothesis of an Americanized Europe.” Adenauer, a devout Catholic and federalist at heart, shared de Gaulle’s anti-communist zeal but diverged on integration’s depth. Their partnership, fragile as it was, delayed the supranational drift until Adenauer’s 1966 retirement.
By mid-decade, cracks widened. De Gaulle’s 1966 withdrawal from NATO’s integrated military command—France barred Allied troops from its soil—was a thunderclap. He decried the alliance as “a trap” subordinating Europe to U.S. nuclear strategy. This move, coupled with his veto of a second British application in 1967, isolated France diplomatically. Critics, including Servan-Schreiber (who later founded his own pro-Atlanticist movement), accused him of torpedoing Europe’s future. But de Gaulle saw it as salvation: a Europe without sovereignty was no Europe at all.
Enter 1968, the year that shattered the General’s edifice. What began as student protests in Nanterre over university overcrowding and Vietnam War opposition snowballed into a nationwide revolt. By May, Paris streets teemed with barricades, workers struck in solidarity, and the slogan “Ten years is enough” targeted de Gaulle’s decade in power. The riots, fueled by generational disillusionment and Marxist agitators, exposed the regime’s rigidity. De Gaulle, vacationing in Romania, returned to a capital on the brink. His May 30 broadcast rallied Gaullists and conservatives, but the damage was irreparable. Behind the scenes, whispers of elite discontent—fueled by economic stagnation and his aloof style—grew louder.
Historians debate whether 1968 was a genuine revolution or a manufactured pretext. De Gaulle’s inner circle, including Prime Minister Georges Pompidou, maneuvered subtly. Pompidou, eyeing the presidency, tolerated the unrest as a means to force de Gaulle’s hand. On May 29, the General reportedly confided to associates his intent to resign if a referendum faltered. The riots provided the excuse: a referendum on administrative decentralization in 1969, ostensibly to renew his mandate, became a referendum on him. When it failed—52% against—de Gaulle resigned on April 28, 1969, retreating to Colombey-les-Deux-Églises, where he died the next year.
Was 1968 orchestrated? Evidence suggests opportunism more than conspiracy. The protests were organic, amplified by media and unions, but de Gaulle’s inflexibility—refusing dialogue, branding protesters “anarchists”—accelerated his fall. Pompidou’s election victory vindicated the establishment’s pivot toward modernization and Atlantic reconciliation. Britain joined the EEC in 1973 under Edward Heath, and the supranational model de Gaulle abhorred gained traction. The 1969 Hague Summit revived monetary union, and the 1970 Werner Report outlined economic and monetary union—milestones toward the euro and Maastricht Treaty.
De Gaulle’s prophecy, uttered via Servan-Schreiber’s pen, proved eerily accurate in reverse. Had he lingered until 1970, his vetoes might have stalled integration indefinitely, birthing a looser confederation. Instead, his ouster cleared the path for the Europe we know: interdependent, bureaucratic, and—post-Cold War—evermore federalist. Yet his shadow endures. In Brexit’s clamor, Hungary’s Orbán, or France’s own Frexit murmurs, echoes of Gaullist sovereignty resound. The General warned of a Europe “mangled by the superpowers”; today, amid U.S.-China rivalry, his call for strategic autonomy feels prophetic.
Reflecting on de Gaulle’s era reveals a leader of unflinching clarity amid ambiguity. He navigated decolonization’s thorns—granting Algeria independence in 1962 after a brutal war—while rebuilding France’s nuclear force de frappe. Economically, the Trente Glorieuses boomed under dirigisme, with GDP growth averaging 5% annually. Politically, he tamed the communists and restored stability. His flaws—authoritarian tendencies, disdain for parliament—pale against his virtues: a bulwark against extremism, a visionary for multipolarity.
In L’Express, Servan-Schreiber captured not just a interview but a manifesto. De Gaulle’s words on Germany, integration, and power’s transience resonate: “The hypothesis of the worst is always possible, but one must act on the probable.” He acted, vetoing, allying, withdrawing. His 1970 deadline passed without him, and Europe, as he feared, took a supranational turn. But in lucid moments, one wonders: Would a Gaullist Europe, sovereign and grand, have fared better against globalization’s gales?
The 1968 riots, for all their chaos, weren’t mere accident. They crystallized the generational rift: youth craving liberation versus the General’s paternalism. Simone de Beauvoir chronicled the fervor in Old Age, lamenting de Gaulle’s era as ossified. Yet, without that upheaval, his grip might have endured, reshaping the EEC into something unrecognizable—perhaps a Franco-German axis dominating from the Rhine to the Mediterranean.
De Gaulle’s anti-Americanism, often caricatured, stemmed from realism. The U.S., he argued, viewed Europe as a junior partner, its nuclear umbrella a leash. His 1967 tour of Canada, proclaiming “Vive le Québec libre,” irked Washington, underscoring his globalist bent. Domestically, policies like wage hikes and family allowances built social cohesion, but ignored cultural shifts brewing in the banlieues.
Today, as the EU grapples with migration, energy dependence, and populist backlash, de Gaulle’s critique stings. The Lisbon Treaty of 2009 entrenched supranationalism, yet crises—from Greece’s debt to Ukraine’s war—expose its fragility. Macron invokes grandeur, but without de Gaulle’s steel. The General’s lucid leadership, forged in exile and tempered by defeat, reminds us: True union demands sovereignty, not surrender.
In the end, de Gaulle’s story is France’s: proud, contradictory, enduring. His 1963 words in L’Express weren’t defeatism but defiance—a call to build Europe on nations’ terms, not empires’. If he had held till 1970, perhaps no Europe as we know it. Instead, his early exit birthed one he might decry, but one that, in its flaws, carries his indelible mark.
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