Traffic Jam

Traffic was thick on Paris' imposing Champs Elysees. A sleek Cadillac bearing U.S. Secretary of State Dean Acheson swung around the Rond-Point, headed for the French Foreign Ministry on the Quai d'Orsay. Round the other side, headed in the opposite direction, sped a Citroen bearing French Foreign Minister Robert Schuman. The Frenchman's chauffeur slammed on his brakes as another Citroen, with Belgium's Paul-Henri Spaak inside, cut across his bow. A stately Rolls-Royce carrying Britain's Ernest Bevin slid in behind Schuman's car. Stalled motorists along the avenue furiously honked their horns. For a breathless moment it looked to fascinated Paris pedestrians as if the four diplomatic cars would become the center of a hopeless traffic jam. But unruffled cops blew their shrill whistles, waved their white batons and the traffic flowed again, as if by magic.

The Foreign Ministers of the U.S., Britain and France last week met in Paris to try to untangle a political and economic traffic jam that was seriously impeding the progress of Western policies in Europe, and there were no traffic cops to help.

Needed: Definition. At the core of the European jam was Germany. The Western powers had never really agreed among themselves on a policy toward the new West German Republic. Within the loose framework of the occupation statute (TIME, April 18), they floundered between a policy that would build up West Germany as soon as possible (which by & large is the U.S. aim); and a suspicious policy of keeping West Germany's sovereignty and industrial potential in stringent check (which is the French aim). Western policy needed new, sharp definition, particularly since the Red puppet state in East Germany was relentlessly wooing Germans in the name of national unity. It was Ernie Bevin who had finally insisted that the ministers get together and do something; he was particularly concerned over continued dismantling of German industry, on which the French have insisted all along.

The U.S. agreed that dismantling ought to stop. The French disagreed, although they were being more openminded about the subject than they had been. If the Germans would honestly abide by security controls, the French were willing to let them have an annual steel production of 11,500,000 tons. It was not clear, however, just what the French meant by "security."

Coca-Colonized? As the Foreign Ministers continued their talks in the Parrot Room of the French Foreign Ministry, Schuman grew increasingly nervous. With a foreign policy debate scheduled in the French Assembly next week which could easily topple France's shaky cabinet, he kept Premier Bidault constantly informed of the trend of talk at the Quai d'Orsay, and once Acheson and Bevin had to wait while Schuman rushed off to brief an emergency cabinet session. The Reds promptly set up a howl that Schuman was selling France down the Rhine. The Communist L'Humanite gibed: "Serons! nous cocacolonises? [Will we be Coca-Colonized?]."

At the end of the strenuous two-day meeting (the second day's session lasted 15 hours), the Foreign Ministers issued a 350-word communique which said nothing. It announced that the Foreign Ministers were aware of "the heavy responsibility placed upon them," implied that they wished to deal with Germany with "both firmness and humanity." The ministers "considered it appropriate" to encourage "the progressive integration of the German people into the European community." But the communique did not even mention dismantling. The Foreign Ministers merely said they had given the Western high commissioners in Germany "certain instructions." It was not stated what the instructions were; this week, the high commissioners would start negotiations at Bonn, in which the Germans would probably be offered a reduction in dismantling and wider sovereignty, in exchange for some "security guarantees."

After the Paris conference, Acheson flew to Frankfurt, later went on to Bonn, where he was welcomed by waving handkerchiefs and flags. "Very elegant," said one German as he watched the impeccable Dean emerge from his train. "Just like Anthony Eden."

The Dollar-Man. Acheson visited West Germany's President Theodor Heuss, gazed down from his residence on the lovely Rhine Valley ("Very romantic," the Secretary was heard to murmur). He lunched with Chancellor Konrad Adenauer, conferred in a smoke-filled room with Socialist Opposition Leader Kurt Schumacher (who was accusing Adenauer of preparing to make too many concessions to the French). Next day, Acheson flew to Berlin, which has been badly neglected by the U.S. since the great victory over the Russian blockade last spring. Acheson spoke vague but reassuring words. "No one has spoken like that about a German government in a long time," said one grateful German newsman.

At a Berlin street corner, two moppets waited to get a glimpse of the American visitor. Said one: "I want to see the dollar-man." Asked the other: "What do you mean, dollar-man?" Said the first: "My daddy says that if he brings a sack of dollars along, Berlin might get out of its mess."

Acheson did not bring a sack of dollars; he did give Germans some hope, and at least the implicit promise of a more coherent, constructive Western policy toward their young republic. But in the negotiations which start this week, there would be a lot more rough going between the West and Germany--and among the Western high commissioners themselves--before the European traffic jam began to be resolved.

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