The Importance of Being English: Eyeing the Sceptered Isles
Two important new books explore just what it means to be English -- for an individual, for a nation, and for an erstwhile empire.
David Fromkin is Professor of International Relations, History, and Law at Boston University and author, most recently, of Kosovo Crossing: American Ideals Meet Reality on the Balkan Battlefields.
Politically the empire ceased to exist as a cohesive unit. And in a world that aimed at free trade, the tariff barriers that bound the Commonwealth economically threatened to become an anachronism. So whereas in the first half of the twentieth century, Great Britain still played a central role on the world stage as leader of a commonwealth and an empire, in the latter half both had disintegrated and the role had become ceremonial.
EUROPEAN (DIS)UNION
The second of Churchill's concentric circles was to be the community of Europe. It leaped into existence in May 1950, when French Foreign Minister Robert Schuman proposed the creation of the European Coal and Steel Community, a plan conceived of by France's postwar economic comissioner, Jean Monnet, welcomed by German Chancellor Konrad Adenauer, and supported by U.S. Secretary of State Dean Acheson. The plan for combining basic industries was the first step toward merging continental Europe's economies with the aim, among others, of preventing future wars.
Ernest Bevin balked. The Schuman Plan had been sprung on him as a surprise. It looked like a plot, a continental cartel, and aroused all sorts of English prejudices in him. By joining Europe, Britain might have taken the lead, but it chose instead to watch, to wait -- and to obstruct.
The European movement went forward anyway. It thrived. Time and again, Britain had a chance both to join it and to lead. There was a strong economic argument for becoming European. But the British remained reluctant to throw in their lot unreservedly with their neighbors, fearing for their independence and special character. When the United Kingdom finally moved to enter Europe, French President Charles de Gaulle barred the way. In the end, the United Kingdom got in in 1973, but as a dissenter, inclined to oppose moves toward further unification.
For hundreds of years, Britain has opposed the unification of the continent under one dominant power, seeing in it a threat to the vital interests of an island nation. England fought Louis XIV and Napoleon, whose Continental System excluded the British isles from European trade. Young quotes de Gaulle's memoirs on a meeting with Harold Macmillan: "The Common Market is the Continental System all over again," the British prime minister told his old friend, the French president. "Britain cannot accept it," Macmillan told him. "I beg you to give it up."
Young has interviewed extensively and tells a tale of Foreign Office officials and other civil servants as well as prime ministers and cabinet members. He offers a full and complete account, a sad tale of official waffling, missed chances, and human frailties. Faced with one of the greatest questions in their country's history, the few British officials who were wise and brave emerge with all the greater credit.
A QUESTION OF CHARACTER
Reluctant to become European, many in British public life advocated an alternative alliance: the special relationship with the United States. A second argument against joining Europe often voiced was that it might jeopardize that relationship.
But it was not there to jeopardize. Repeatedly, America's leaders made it clear that this option was not available. The most frequently repeated statement of the American position was given by Dean Acheson when addressing a student conference at West Point in 1962: "Great Britain has lost an empire and has not yet found a role. The attempt to play a separate power role, that is, a role apart from Europe, a role based primarily on a 'special relationship' with the United States, a role based on being head of the Commonwealth," is "about played out." The former secretary of state spoke at the time only as a private citizen. Yet his words carried weight, and accurately stated the American view.
The reality of national character is sometimes questioned, yet it is difficult to discount. Its existence, as Hans Morgenthau wrote long ago in Politics Among Nations, is "contested but . . . incontestable." Any discussion of Britain's relationship with the continent of Europe -- the only area in which Acheson allowed the British a role to play -- tends to end in an appreciation of how different Britons are from everybody else.
Ian Buruma considers Britain's relationship with Europe in that cultural context. In Anglomania he explores the notion of what it is to be British according to foreigners. It is a rewarding undertaking; Britain has had, and continues to have, such an odd character in the eyes of others. The non-British are fascinated by British whimsy, baÛed by British humor and eccentricity, and filled with admiration for British good-sportsmanship.
In her centuries as a top player in international politics, Britannia has made her share of enemies. What is striking is how many admirable traits foreigners nonetheless project on the English, and how widespread has been the passion for Englishness. All over the world, among peoples of various nationality, race, language, and religion, there are those who, regarding themselves as exceptional, believe that, deep down, they are English gentlemen.
Buruma recounts that Theodor Herzl, the father of Zionism, in sketching out the utopia he planned to establish, provided that "all boys born in the Jewish state would learn to play cricket." In a similar spirit, Pierre de Coubertin (1863-1937), founder of the modern Olympic games, decided to instill the spirit of fair play in his countrymen by introducing cricket into France.
Related
The devaluation of the pound sterling on November 18, 1967, and the announcement on January 16, 1968, of a firm timetable for Britain's withdrawal east of Suez have been widely lamented as marking the "end of an era." Along with such spectacular domestic reversals as the imposition of charges for medical care and the promise of still heavier taxation, the events of the past several months may at least justify the clichés, so often repeated, that Britain is at a "turning point" or has reached a "crossroads." But does all of this necessarily mean continuing deterioration or indicate that Britain's economic base can no longer support her as a major power? Or can those of us looking on from outside reasonably hope that what Labor Ministers have called the "second Battle of Britain,"1 will result in new patterns of economic expansion?
"In the middle of the twentieth century," declared Richard Cobden, nineteenth-century apostle of free trade, "there will be only two great powers in the world, the United States and Russia, and they will overshadow all the rest." Alexis de Tocqueville had, of course, said much the same thing at much the same time. But the Frenchman's prophecy, it must be remembered, came a generation after his own country's decisive defeat at Waterloo. The Englishman's, though less familiar, is in a sense more remarkable; for it was made in the heyday of Britain's preëminence in world affairs.
Amid conservative hopes for a settlement and liberal fears of a sell-out, Harold Wilson arrived dramatically at Gibraltar at midnight on October 8, 1968, prepared to meet Ian Smith aboard HMS Fearless to discuss the three- year-old Rhodesian crisis. Thus one more move was made in the contest that has been stalemated ever since it began on November 11, 1965, when the white minority government in Rhodesia made a unilateral declaration of the territory's independence (UDI). Despite the hopes and fears surrounding the Wilson-Smith meeting, the Fearless talks left the situation virtually unchanged. What turned out to be more significant than the talks themselves were the national and international pressures which lay behind the decision of the two sides to meet.
