French Morocco: Torch Plus Ten

by CHARLES R. CODMAN

1

Now that Shepheard’s is no more, the Hotel Mamounia at Marrakesh, French Morocco, may well lay claim to being the most colorful European caravansary of the Moslem world. The Mamounia is situated just within the tawny ramparts of the ancient Saharan city from whose name the word Morocco is derived, and its appurtenances and southern exposure attract people from near and surprisingly far. From any one of the myriad private verandas on which in midwinter one may simultaneously enjoy breakfast and a sun bath, the Mamounia guest (about $7 a day) is privileged to gaze upon a Moorish garden of olive, palm, and citrus fruit, the flat rooftops and minarets of the Medina, and beyond, the spectacular backdrop of the Grand Atlas — snowcapped, majestic, breath-takingly beautiful.

Less beautiful, though not without a certain decorativeness, is the crowd which during the season — November through May — packs the place to capacity. It is a heterogeneous crowd. On a random day last winter the comings and goings through the spacious lobby included those of a group of South African textile men and their wives, the U.S. Admiral commanding the Western Mediterranean, the Commandant of one of the new Air Bases, the present owner of the famous Villa Taylor (Roosevelt and Churchill slept here), the Chief of U.S. Engineers, an executive of Atlas Constructors, a former Premier of France, and a high-level investigator from the Department of the Army in Washington. And, oh yes, at a discreet table by the wall, the nephew of the late Marshal Lyautey, having tea with the son of the Pasha of Marrakesh.

While the presence in North Africa of some of these guests may superficially reflect a few of the activities afoot in 1952 Morocco, it does not follow that apéritif hour at the Mamounia is likely to provide lasting solutions to deep-seated problems. In the space of a fortnight the observant tourist may sense the shape and form of many current questions. He may even come up with a ready answer or two — a habit sometimes exasperating to those who have spent the better part of their lives grappling in loco with the hard facts of life. Nowhere, however, is the tourist more welcome, and nowhere that I know of is the beaten track more stimulating.

The boom city of Casablanca, for instance — its skyscrapers, its night spots, its old Medina, its new Medina, its Coca-Cola signs (in English and in Arabic), its teeming three quarters of a million population of Moslems, Jews, and Christians. What is its message? Perhaps merely that times have changed. Fifty years ago Casablanca was a small seaport of some twenty thousand natives and four hundred Europeans. The journey to Rabat, today an hour and a half motor trip, was not lightly undertaken then. Essential requisites were rations, arms and an ability to shoot straight, and, of course, a horse, mule, or camel, since roads were nonexistent, indeed superfluous, for the simple reason that throughout the quarter million square miles of Moroccan plain, mountain, and desert, the principle of the wheel as applied to locomotion was unknown. In 1952 the wheels are really turning. In Casa’s modern streets and boulevards flows a steady stream of Citroëns, Dodges, trucks, and autobuses. Factories hum and warehouses bulge. New suburbs and a new model city for native workers push southward beside the road to Marrakesh; new docks push westward into the Atlantic. By 1954 the city’s population is expected to pass the million mark.

In contrast stands the native city of Fez. Passing through an archway of its great encircling walls, one steps straight back into the Middle Ages. Fez is unique and indescribable—its mosques, its fountains, its restless, stirring population; the sense of adventure in following the turbaned guide through byways tailored a thousand years ago to fit the passing of two beasts of burden and no more. And after a strenuous but gratifying day in the souks dodging olive-laden donkeys and bargaining with picturesque biblical characters for rugs, brasswork, and leather poufs, it is enchanting to relax by the fountain on the tiled terrace of the Jamai Palace, and to listen at dusk to the chant of the muezzins atop the minarets, calling the faithful to prayer.

Moulay Idris and Meknès, and, farther south, Marrakesh, Mogador, Mazagan, Agadir, and many others, are now familiar names to passengers of cruise ships touching at Casablanca, and to those who, via Tangier, motor across the narrow strip of Spanish Zone to visit this fascinating land.

Rabat, the nation’s capital, is not only the seat of government but the country’s nerve center. For some reason, the average tourist, allowing himself but a day or two at the Balima or Tour Hassan, seems content with a brief visit to neighboring Salé, home of the Barbary pirates, a quick look at the Casbah des Oudaias, a curious glimpse past smart black guards in crimson tunics into the Mechouar — the vast inclosure surrounding the Sultan’s palace—and lets it go at that. Rabat, with its fine broad boulevards and CaliforniaMoresque villas, deserves and repays a longer stay, but at the moment let’s pause just long enough to identify the two outstanding figures of the current Moroccan scene.

2

TEN years ago this autumn, in the early hours of Sunday morning, November 8, 1942, the world was electrified by the news of six Allied landings in North Africa — three in Mediterranean Algeria, three in Atlantic Morocco. This joint undertaking, to date the largest overseas operation in the history of mankind, was known by the code name Torch. It was commanded by Lieutenant General Dwight D. Eisenhower. The Moroccan landings, the first amphibious operation of the war to be launched across the Atlantic, were effected by Western Task Force, the all-American component of Torch, Major General George S. Patton, Jr., commanding.

These landings were briefly but fiercely resisted. A few hours after the conclusion of hostilities, General Patton, seated at the head of a table in the salon-fumoir of the Hotel Miramar at the small beach-resort town of Fédala near Casablanca, was faced with a dilemma. In his hand was a sheaf of typescript setting forth the armistice terms, and across the table sat the French delegation on whom they were to be imposed. Said armistice terms, drawn up in Washington, had seemingly been drafted with the strictly civilian setup of Algeria in mind. At any rate, in the course of discussion it became apparent that Washington had inadvertently overlooked the fact that, unlike Algeria, which is a part of France, French Morocco was (and is) a Military Protectorate. It became equally apparent that literal application of the decidedly stiff terms would seriously impair the efficiency of the Protectorate as a going concern. At that time, communications with General Eisenhower’s headquarters at Gibraltar, and with General Clark’s in Algeria, were out. Accordingly, General Patton, playing by ear, made one of his characteristic, lightning decisions. Rising to his feet, he picked up the document which a few moments before had been read to the dejected delegates and tore it into small sirips.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “all of us in this room are soldiers and men of honor. Your given word and mine are quite sufficient. You will do thus and so, we will do this and that. Agreed?”

It was.

“There is, however,” the General continued, “an additional condition upon which I must insist.”

The faces of the French delegation, which had brightened considerably, lengthened.

“It is this,” the General said, signaling an orderly, “that you join me in a glass of champagne”

Now General Patton was not just being a good fellow. In the event of French disaffection, it was his considered opinion that to maintain order in Morocco, a country of some seven million Arabs and Berbers, whose pacification had been completed only eight years before, and, in addition, to secure the Spanish Zone border and protect his own communications, would require five or six American divisions. With barely three divisions at his disposal, it seemed not only reasonable but essential to do everything in his power to ensure continuity of French responsibility and prestige.

Several weeks later General Patton made an inspection trip to a number of the more remote French military posts. Accompanied by members of his staff and a certain French Colonel in charge of native affairs throughout Morocco, he made various stops, which included among others the mountain retreat of a Berber chieftain, the headquarters of a Tabor of Goumiers, and the house of an aged Caid where there happened to be assembled a group of Arab notables.

With each group and in fact each individual, the French Colonel’s apparently quite effortless technique was impressive. He was animated and decisive, and it was evident that his equipment, which included, together with several Arab and Berber dialects, precisely the right balance of friendliness, firmness, patience, brusqueness, and humor, had not been acquired in a day. That he knew exactly what was wanted and what he wanted, and that it got done fast, was as obvious as the universal respect and affection in which he was held. At Rabat, as the Colonel was taking his leave, the General asked how many troops were normally required by the French to hold Morocco. The number was about two divisions less than the American estimate. On the road back to Casablanca, the General was thoughtful.

“Well,” he said, “that man alone is worth a couple of divisions. What’s his name again?”

His name was Colonel Augustin Guillaume. In the early twenties, shortly after graduating from Saint-Cyr, he became one of ihe elite Officiers des Affaires Indigènes au Maroe. During the pacification period he distinguished himself in the grueling Central Atlas campaign and found time not only to write a book about it but to compile the first and only French-Berber dictionary. Following the German occupation of France he became head of the famous D.A.P. — Direction des Affaires Politiques—the Protectorate’s most important single ministry. Under his cloak of office and the noses of the German Armistice Commission, he directed the clandestine organization of the Moroccan Goumiers — a dangerous game — and when in the summer of 1944 de Lattre’s First French Army landed in southern France, Brigadier General Guillaume had the satisfaction of leading his Tabors up the Rhone Valley through the Vosges and into Alsace. Finishing the war as a Corps Commander, he was sent in 1945 to Moscow as Military Attaché. Here he learned two or three additional languages and wrote a book on the Red Army which should be required reading for all Allied military men. On his return from Russia he succeeded General Koenig as Commander in Chief in Germany. After his departure last autumn, General Eisenhower remarked to a visitor at SHAPE, “In the entire French setup there is no better man than Guillaume. I can tell you we shall miss him.”

Here then is the man who at fifty-seven is now Commissaire Général de France au Maroc and in whose person are invested all the considerable powers of the French Republic in Morocco. He has a job on his hands — a big job, to which he brings qualities of character worthy of the best traditions of his former patron and friend, the great Marshal Lyautey, in whose palace, known as the Residence, he and Madame Guillaume now live. The General’s capacity for work is limitless, his hours fantastic, and anyone he asks to accompany him on one of his frequent inspection tours had better be prepared to leave at six in the morning and not get back until midnight.

Only a few hundred yards from the Residence, its gardens, and the handsome administration buildings lining the main boulevard of Rabat are the walls of the Mechouar. Within its confines lies another palace, of severely modern design, the abode of His Majesty Sidi Mohammed ben Youssef, Sultan of Morocco, descendant of the Prophet, and thus a Sherif possessed of the baraka — that untranslatable word evocative of the Grace of God — spiritual and temporal ruler of more than nine million Moslem subjects. The third son of His Majesty Moulay Youssef, who was a loyal friend of France, the present Sultan belongs to the Alaouite Dynasty, which came into power in the latter half of the seventeenth century. Upon ascending the throne in November, 1927—that is, two years after the departure of Marshal Lyautey and during the Residency of Monsieur Steeg — he was eighteen years old. During his reign all parts of the realm have, for the first time in Moroccan history, acknowledged the Sultan’s sovereignty.

At the time of the Torch Operation, the Sultan, a distinguished, rather fragile-looking young man of great dignity and considerable personal charm, was on excellent terms with General Noguès, the then Resident General. Through their mutual coöperation and skillful joint action during the difficult years of 1940-1942 the heavy-handed machinations of the German Armistice Commission in Morocco were rendered relatively ineffective. Now in his early forties, the Sultan appears somewhat more robust than formerly, and his manner, while affable and courteous, shows marked signs of increased self-confidence. In theory, he is an absolute ruler governing by decree through his Vizirs, Pashas, and Caids. Actually, at every level there is French control. His chief of staff is the Grand Vizir, Si El Hadj Mohammed El Mokri, a remarkable and delightful old gentleman who — according to Arab friends — is well over a hundred years of age. The Sultan’s children consist of two sons, Their Imperial Highnesses Moulay Hassan and Moulay Abdallah, and three daughters, Princesses Lalla Aicha, Lalla Malika, and Lalla Nza.

Since the war the Sultan has lent an increasingly sympathetic ear to the young Nationalists, whose ranks were chiefly recruited from the intellectual and middle classes of the larger northern cities. Last year his open espousal of the cause of Istiqlal, the most extreme of the Nationalist parties and whose avowed goal is complete independence, severely strained the relations between the Palace and the Residence, occupied, at the time, by General Juin. It also caused a serious break with the most powerful feudal chieftain of the Atlas, the aged Si El Hadj Thami El Glaoui, Pasha of Marrakesh. Upon remonstrating with the Sultan and being sharply rebuffed, the Glaoui left the Palace vowing never to set foot in it again.

Last autumn, General Juin was succeeded by General Guillaume, who has, of course, known the Sultan for many years. Last winter their personal relationship appeared frank and cordial, but that a certain state of tension existed between the Palace and the Residence was evident.

3

OF the three great French North African areas, in which dwell over twenty million Moslems, Algeria was the first to come under French influence, and one hundred and thirty years of French rule have profoundly transformed this predominantly rural country. Today, divided into three départements, with préfets, députés, and the rest, it is part of France. To the east lies Tunisia, a Protectorate of France since 1881, where the French have recently made important concessions to the Arab point of view. Whether or not a lasting modus vivendi has been achieved remains to be seen. To the west, forming the strategic northwest. corner of the African continent, with an Atlantic littoral of some five hundred miles, stands Morocco.

The French are in Morocco by virtue of the Treaty of Fez of March 30, 1912, negotiated between the French Government and the then Sultan of Morocco with the assent of the thirteen nations — including our own — attending the Algeciras Conference of 1906. Under Article I of its terms, the French Government and the Sultan agree to the institution of a new regime providing for such administrative, judicial, educational, economic, financial, and military reform as the French Government shall deem useful to introduce upon Moroecan territory, it being understood that, the Sultan’s prestige and the free exercise of the Moslem religion will be safeguarded. There is also reference to special arrangements in regard to the International City of Tangier and the Spanish sphere of influence.

Articles II and III concern military and security measures to be taken by the French, and their obligation to protect the Sultan’s person and throne.

Articles IV, V, and VI set forth the broad control powers of the French Government, in particular those of the Resident General, who shall be the sole intermediary between the Sultan and all foreign representatives, it being understood that the Sultan will not conclude any act of an international character without the assent of the French Government.

Articles VII and VIII have to do with loans and financial matters.

The Treaty of Fez was frankly designed to allow the French a free hand in restoring law and order to a territory which throughout the nineteenth and well into the twentieth century presented, at the very threshold of Europe, a spectacle of unbridled violence, depredation, and anarchy. Colonization, pacification, call it what you will, France’s undertaking in Morocco originated as a necessary job of policing. Fortunately for France, and for Morocco, its prime mover happened to be no ordinary policeman but a man of genius. Few, I believe, would deny that Lyautey’s policies were a brilliant synthesis of intelligence, humanity, and a passionate creativeness, and that the chief beneficiaries of his extraordinarygifts were the Moroccans themselves.

The post-war period in Morocco was one of intense activityresulting in the spectacular expansion of capital investment, urbanism, mining, irrigation, and hydroelectrification. To these essentially French activities, of which France is justly proud, there have recently been added some of our own—strategic investments bearing the names of remote hamlets — Sidi Slimane east of Port Lyautey; Nouasseur in the Casablanca area; and in the pre-Saharan plains, stretching expectantly toward the one natural scoop in the foothills of the Atlas, the great. 14,000-foot runway of Ben Guerir. Usually referred to in American newspapers as “our bases in North Africa,”they are, for the record, the Franco-American Bases in French Morocco, operational (as these lines are written) for the largest planes we have in existence, in production, or on the drawing boards — dramatic and vital links in the NATO chain of defense. A glance at the map of North Africa and the Middle East may suggest how delighted our opponents would be to see, and perhaps help to produce, in that sensitive area friction, disorder, and chaos.

Ten years ago this autumn the course of World War II was completely altered by the Allied landings in North Africa. Of these the lodgment in Morocco presented the major difficulties and hazards. In charge there happened to be a man whom history is likely to rate as the most gifted and intuitive field commander of his time. On his own, he made a decision to uphold a re-created partner in a common enterprise. A diplomatic decision outside the province of a field commander? A military decision clearly involving the commander’s responsibility? Possibly both. In any event, General Patton was vindicated not only by his superiors in Algiers and Gibraltar but within a matter of weeks by the joint action of United States, French, and Moroccan troops in Tunisia.

I am not suggesting that today’s Moroccan Question can or should be resolved by military fiat, nor that we should disinterest ourselves in valid aspirations towards self-government. I do submit that in spite of obvious dissimilarities the situation on the tenth anniversary of Torch presents certain parallels worthy of our careful consideration. Now, as then, the French are our partners; they are, for the time being, responsible for law and order in Morocco, a country in which we have jointly made an important strategic investment. Yes, we paid for the Franco-American Bases. According to all reports the cost was high. The cost will be considerably higher should it become necessary to help protect them with American divisions.

In spite of the brilliantly constructive aspects of the past forty years of French control in Morocco — peace and law and order, to name but a few — the impact of Western civilization on a medieval way of life has produced stresses and strains currently exacerbated by the stirrings of Arab Nationalism. The French position has been briefly stated by Monsieur Robert Schuman before the General Assembly of the United Nations.

“The policy of the French Government,” he said, is founded on 1) a mutual agreement freely arrived at between Morocco and France [the Treaty of Fez], and 2) mutual examination of reforms necessary to accelerate the evolution towards that [Moroccan] autonomy which is our mutual objective.”

Independence now and discussion afterwards, say the Nationalists. Reforms, education, and further evidence of a capacity for self-government before liquidation of existing treaty obligations, reply the French. Independence now and discussion afterwards, reiterate the Nationalists. It would thus appear that the basic issue in regard to self-government is not whether but when.

At the present time the cause of Arab Nationalism is seeking to enlist American sympathies. Our tendency to champion the so-called underdog may indicate a generosity of spirit admirable in itself, but impulsive action, no matter how sincere, if based on incomplete or faulty premises, may be in serious opposition to our own enlightened selfinterest. We are engaged with thirteen other nations of the Western world in an unprecedented common enterprise designed to deter aggression and preserve peace. In North Africa, with whose peoples and problems our familiarity is of relatively recent date, one of our principal allies, France, is wrestling with issues highly charged with racial and religious dynamite — issues which will be resolved constructively and equitably only by bringing to them, at the highest responsible levels, a large measure of sagacity, patience, and good will. During the period necessary to achieve just and lasting solutions — and they will take time — we should be very careful indeed to avoid actions and words tending to weaken the hand of a member of our own team or unwittingly to add fuel to a potential bonfire.