World: FRANCE ENRAGEE: The Spreading Revolt

THE spirit of revolution, whose modern roots were struck in France nearly two centuries ago, reappeared with a vengeance again last week and shook the Fifth Republic of Charles de Gaulle. It began with rebellious students, but it spread with ominous speed through the ranks of France's workers, creating a tempestuous alliance that often before has had explosive consequences. The situation was serious enough to cause the Premier of France, Georges Pompidou, to declare on nationwide television that the rebels were bent on "destroying the nation and the very foundations of our free society." It became grave enough so that Charles de Gaulle, in what must have been one of the most humiliating moments of his career, cut short a visit to Rumania and returned home to face the greatest challenge of his ten years in power.

The turmoil had all the more impact because the French under De Gaulle have seemed to be inoculated against the passions of public misbehavior—and, some contend, even against the natural volatility that has marked their past. In the Third or Fourth Republic, last week's troubles would not have seemed too abnormal. But under De Gaulle, it appeared as if France had come to regard disciplined stability as its new norm; never before had the Gaullist government proved ineffectual at suppressing defiance. "I respect only those who resist me," De Gaulle once said, "but I cannot tolerate them." This time, the pent-up suppressions and frustrations created by ten years of orderly Gaullism not only erupted in force but swiftly widened into large-scale social revolt. The blow was doubly painful; the events irrevocably tarnished De Gaulle's authority when he was already at an age (77) that would scarcely allow his reign to stretch for many more years.

The convulsion was part carnival, part anarchist spree, increasingly spurred on by Communists—but, more than anything, it was a spontaneous spark of national temper. Rebellious students, struggling only two weeks ago to prepare for the exams that would determine their place in French society, bent their energies to completely paralyzing France's universities and tying up many lower schools as well. Inspired by the students' example and glad of the chance to vent their own grievances, striking workers seized scores of factories in the worst epidemic of wildcat work stoppages since the days of Leon Blum's weak Popular Front government in 1936. By the weekend, the fast-spreading wave of strikes had squeezed transportation to a crawl, crippled mail service and both Paris airports, and spread into dozens of manufacturing industries. Barring the remote possibility that the government could find a way to reverse the trend immediately, France faced this week the grim prospect of an unofficial general strike.