It increasingly seems that French statesman Charles de Gaulle was right when he proudly claimed in 1952 that "everyone has been, is, or will be a Gaullist." Certainly, France is experiencing a surge of interest in its former president: The country has just lavishly celebrated the 70th anniversary of de Gaulle's launch of the French Resistance on the BBC airwaves, and the public has been bombarded with conferences, exhibitions, radio and television programs, and publications of all kinds, from hagiographic works to novels (Benoît Duteurtre's Return of the General, in which de Gaulle comes back from the dead to save France once again) to comic-strip adaptations (Jean-Yves Ferri's De Gaulle at the Beach). The third volume of de Gaulle's War Memoirs has even been put on the standard high school curriculum.
But France is not alone in actively kindling admiration for its former president; political leaders around the world have long looked to de Gaulle's stalwart style of statesmanship for inspiration and guidance, and the last few years have seen a flowering of their interest in the old general. His memoirs have been translated into 25 languages, and statues have been erected in his honor in Brazzaville, Bucharest, London, Moscow, Quebec, and Warsaw. Along with Mahatma Gandhi and Che Guevara, de Gaulle is one of the few truly global historical figures from the post-World War II era: His fervent admirers include monarchists and conservatives in Europe, nationalists of various hues in the Arab world (Col. Muammar al-Qaddafi posthumously decorated de Gaulle with the highest medal of the Libyan state), and Marxist revolutionaries (Fidel Castro waxed lyrical about the general in his recent autobiography). The latest recruit to this eclectic band of admirers -- if the memoirs of his former bodyguard are to be believed -- is Osama bin Laden, who is apparently known to quote War Memoirs in conversation.
If the Anglo-Saxon world is somewhat less aware of de Gaulle and the way he earned his renown as a statesman, it perhaps shouldn't come as a surprise: He devoted much of his time challenging what he called "Anglo-Saxon dominance," and he had a famously difficult relationship with U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt, who thought he was delusional and suffered from a Joan of Arc complex. Although the general did have great admirers in the United States, most notably President Richard Nixon, de Gaulle's prideful efforts to make the most of France's peripheral position on the global stage were never much appreciated in the corridors of Washington.
But the vastness of de Gaulle's political achievements in the years between 1940, when he inaugurated the French Resistance to Nazi occupation, to 1969, when he resigned decisively from the presidency, ought to command more than grudging respect: He directed France's struggle against German occupation, saved his country from civil war at least twice, founded the new (and lasting) political regime of France's Fifth Republic, healed a number of age-old French divisions (notably on the issue of religion), and liquidated France's colonial empire in Algeria. When he died in November 1970, the cartoonist of Le Figaro simply drew an image of an enormous, uprooted oak lying on the ground.
Along the way, he fundamentally changed France's mission in world politics: National honor would henceforth lie not in the trappings of status quo great-power status, but in its ability to carve out an autonomous role as an alternative to the Cold War camps. De Gaulle was especially keen to circumscribe Anglo-Saxon hegemony across the globe: He supported the developing world in its aspirations for greater power and self-determination because he wanted France to become the leading intermediary between the developed and the developing worlds. He was not entirely successful in this endeavor -- and it was, in some respects, self-serving rhetoric (de Gaulle's policy toward former French colonies was highly paternalistic) -- but it remains an ideal that inspires French political elites to this day. In his final conversation with one of his most trusted companions, writer André Malraux, de Gaulle likened France to "the little one who does not let himself be bullied by the big guys."
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