Toward a Farewell to Arms

A growing mood of antimilitarism--and a cult of detente

British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain emerged from the 1938 Munich Conference, having ceded a slice of Czechoslovakia to Hitler, and made his slogan "peace in our time" synonymous with disastrous appeasement. Chamberlain's policy was largely a reflection of the popular pacifist sentiment in prewar Britain. Only a hopeless alarmist would suggest that such calamitous history might be repeating itself today. But Western military experts and policymakers are undeniably concerned by an increasing reluctance by Europe's man-in-the-street to accept the necessity of self-defense.

Call it pacifism, call it incipient neutralism, call it complacency born of three decades of peace and prosperity, but across Europe today an antimilitaristic mood is spreading through the body of public opinion, this time under the shadow of a growing Soviet arsenal. From Amsterdam to Bonn to London to Rome, marchers with BAN THE BOMB banners and antinuclear badges are loudly protesting attempts to reinforce Europe's nuclear deterrent forces. What is perhaps most remarkable about the phenomenon is that it is no longer seen only in traditional radical and leftist circles. TIME Senior Correspondent William Rademaekers reports that it is creeping into the ranks of major political parties, youth organizations, church groups, ecology movements, even into Chambers of Commerce.

In this popular consciousness, detente between the superpowers is often considered to be the prime value, and many Europeans have come to take it for granted as a permanent condition. Complains NATO Secretary-General Joseph Luns: "There is the impression among the Western European public that detente is an irreversible process. This attitude is undermining the Western Alliance."

Inevitably, that detente-at-any-price attitude is making itself felt on European governments. In a butter-over-guns decision two weeks ago, West Germany announced it would delay a number of planned defense development projects. In Britain, the opposition Labor Party has officially endorsed a policy of unilateral nuclear disarmament. The Dutch Labor Party has voted to reduce sharply Holland's nuclear role in NATO. So far, European leaders have managed to hold the line against this current and maintain a pro-Alliance course. But if the antimilitaristic mood continues to grow, it will hamper the ability of NATO governments to carry out their December 1979 pledge to deploy 572 U.S.-built cruise and Pershing II missiles on their soil.

In the Benelux countries and in much of NATO's northern tier, student activists are encouraging "citizen initiatives" and petitions in areas designated for the deployment of U.S. missiles. Explains one student leader: "There is a moral right that supersedes the rights of the state."

A comparable campaign is taking place in Newbury, 53 miles west of London, where 96 U.S. cruise missiles are to be based in 1983. Labor Left-Winger Joan Ruddock has organized an antimissile drive--complete with lapel buttons, canvassing and a rock concert. Such efforts are hardly marginal: a recent poll showed that 56% of Britain's population opposes the deployment of the U.S. missiles. Says Ruddock: "The whole idea of theater nuclear weapons means that we will be annihilated to save the United States and the eastern part of the U.S.S.R."

In West Germany, perhaps more than anywhere else, a veritable cult of detente has led at times to an almost obsequious public attitude toward Moscow. "Many people in this country do not want to upset the Russians. There is definitely a pacifist mood," says Christian Democrat Deputy Manfred Worner. Admits a West German manufacturer in Munich: "If it were a choice between giving the Russians more influence here and even a limited war, we would opt for the Russians." A youth group affiliated with the Free Democratic Party last week opposed the deployment of U.S. cruise missiles, claiming that such a use of this weapon "represents only the interests of the U.S."

Throughout the NATO countries there is a widespread conviction that if the U.S. would just resume arms-control talks with the Soviets, Europe could get on with peace and prosperity again. The European press was quick to applaud Leonid Brezhnev's surprise call for a U.S.-Soviet summit at the recent Soviet Party Congress and his subsequent letters to Western political leaders expressing his interest in arms limitation. In stark contrast, President Reagan is often portrayed as a reckless warmonger intent on bombing the Soviets "back to the Stone Age," as the West German weekly Stern recently put it.

Only in France has the current seemed to run the other way. President Valery Giscard d'Estaing, after years of bending over backward to avoid offending the Soviets, has belatedly realized that his foreign policy was out of tune with public opinion. The French voter has become increasingly wary of Moscow's motives in the wake of Afghanistan and the outbreak of unrest in Poland. Consequently, the election-minded President has executed a swift about-face. Since France is not a member of NATO's military command, it has no direct role in the U.S. missile-deployment plans. Yet Frenchmen have been virtually unanimous in embracing a need for vigorous self-defense ever since Charles de Gaulle established the independent French nuclear deterrent in the early 1960s.

The French are becoming increasingly critical of the present European mood. French Pundit Raymond Aron, for example, accuses the Western allies of suffering from varying degrees of "self-Finlandization." Warns Aron: "What we are seeing today in Europe is what has happened so often before in the past. The great army arrives at the border with trumpets blaring and flags flying. The people take note of its strength, the sacrifice required to repel the army, then accommodate themselves to the new reality."

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.