Napoleon got smacked around by the fierce Russian winter, and the Germans had their way with the French army in three wars over seven decades, necessitating American interventions in the last two of those conflicts. Then French incompetence (or impotence?) drew us into the Vietnam War. It’s no wonder French military power hasn’t much impressed Americans since the Marquis de Lafayette lent us a hand in gaining our independence.
But it’s time for Americans to reconsider our attitudes toward the French as a military power and ally, and acknowledge their significant contributions to global peace and security.
There are plenty of political and cultural reasons why this rethinking doesn’t come easily. Beyond the caricature we carry in our heads of the French being “soft” (even compared to other Europeans), the lack of respect is often fueled by a sense of aggrieved annoyance that after all that, the French have proudly insisted on carrying on independently of their Western allies. This annoyance undermining the transatlantic relationship began with Charles de Gaulle, whom Franklin Roosevelt and Winston Churchill found so insufferable and difficult to work with (even as they were saving his country) they considered removing him as the head of the French resistance and de facto French leader in exile during World War II. In the end, Britain and the United States were stuck with De Gaulle not only for the duration of that conflict, but for a formative period of the Cold War’s transatlantic alliance.
As President of the Fifth Republic, De Gaulle, known for his attachment to the so-called “politics of grandeur,” pulled France from NATO’s integrated command structure in order to “regain the full exercise of her sovereignty.” France eventually returned to the NATO fold in 2009, but continues to insist on full discretion over whether to contribute to NATO operations and the independence of its nuclear force (its arsenal remains the world’s third-largest).
France will never be confused with Britain (or even Denmark) as an unconditional U.S. ally: Paris famously took a pass on the Iraq war and was early in exiting from Afghanistan. But it’s unfair to the French—and unwise to our own strategic interests—to cling to outdated caricatures. France is no longer the prickly “friend” of De Gaulle’s days or a military pushover allergic to playing a constructive role on the global stage.
Unlike many of our European allies, France comes close to meeting the NATO target for defense spending of 2 percent of GDP, and that investment translates into a continued capacity to project force well beyond its borders, particularly in African conflicts that desperately need international attention but that the United States wants no part of. Rather than more playful ribbing, we probably owe the French a little appreciation.
While NATO’s humanitarian intervention in the Libyan conflict in 2011 has been widely celebrated as a model for future humanitarian missions, much less attention has been paid to its unintended consequences, especially for Libya’s neighbors. Muammar Qaddafi’s downfall unleashed waves of instability in Libya that soon spread outward. Malian ethnic Tuareg fighters—once part of Qaddafi’s security forces—scampered off with truckloads of the former dictator’s weapons. And not just small-scale stuff either, but heavy machine guns, mortars, and antitank weapons. Even worse, in a building once occupied by the Al-Qaida in the Islamic Maghreb (AQIM), a North Africa terrorism affiliate, the Associated Press discovered copies of a training manual suggesting that Al-Qaida may have secured some of Qaddafi’s man-portable air-defense systems. Known as MANPADs, these devastating anti-aircraft weapons are capable of taking down a commercial airliner. Yikes.
The Tuareg rebels teamed up with AQIM and launched a rebellion in Northern Mali, capturing several key northern towns in March 2012. Stung by the string of defeats, renegade soldiers in the Malian army staged a coup, and President Amadou Toure resigned in early April. With the government in disarray, the rebels then captured the historic city of Timbuktu. At that point, the Tuaregs seemed content to simply declare Northern Mali an independent state, but Al-Qaida then turned on its Tuareg allies—it turns out Islamic extremists make for fickle friends—and launched a push deeper into Southern Mali.
Into that mess stepped France. Fearing a deepening civil war, more civilian killings, and the spread of Islamic terrorism in North Africa, France intervened on January 11, 2013 and has been the primary international stabilizing force in Mali since. Even more stunning, French troops entered Mali at the request of the Malian government (that should give us Americans something to chew on). President François Hollande claimed victory over the terrorists in September of last year, though he quickly added—perhaps recalling President Bush’s infamous “Mission Accomplished” speech on Iraq—that French troops would continue to aid Mali as long as the threat of terrorism persisted. Although there are signs that Islamist extremists have regained footholds in some Northern areas, Mali has been moving in the right direction. Sixty percent of Malian adults now believe the country is safe from armed conflict, up from 17 percent in 2012.
And the French have stepped up to the plate in other countries besides Mali. France has also deployed troops to the Central African Republic (CAR) to stem the torrent of sectarian violence that has swept over its former colony. In March of last year, Michel Djotodia led the Séléka, an undisciplined coalition made up largely of CAR’s marginalized Muslim minorities, in a rebellion that toppled President François Bozizé’s administration in Bangui. Once empowered, Séléka militias unleashed waves of violence against Christian communities who quickly formed defense groups (called anti-Balaka) in response.
Now the tables have turned. Djotodia resigned as president in January 2014 and Séléka troops have been on the run. In their absence, the anti-Balaka groups have begun to take vengeance on the now unprotected Muslim communities. Machete-wielding vigilantes are terrorizing Muslims, who are fleeing in droves to escape the violence. France deployed a total of 2,000 troops to its former colony in support of 6,000 African Union peacekeepers, but the bloodshed has continued and whole Muslim communities are disappearing. Another 1,000 promised by the European Union in January—at France’s urging—are finally arriving, and the UN Security Council just authorized a peacekeeping mission of about 10,000 troops and 2,000 police to replace the African-led mission. If all goes well—hardly a guarantee—the killing might come to an end and the over 950,000 people that have fled the conflict might soon return home.
Now, France’s interventions have been admittedly small scale, peaking at around 4,500 ground troops in Mali and only 2,000 in CAR—nothing on the scale of America’s forces in Afghanistan or Iraq. And the French are not alone, either, intervening with significant help from regional and international organizations. But those are probably good things. Multilateralism in CAR gives the French intervention added legitimacy, and the limited nature of its involvements will help control the economic and political costs of military engagement.
The United States has not been totally MIA in these conflicts, either. It has pledged almost $67 million in humanitarian assistance to CAR and another $101 million to equip and support the French and African troops on the ground. It has also dispatched military aircraft and around 300 Special Operations forces to support the African Union regional task force in its hunt for Joseph Kony, leader of the Lord’s Resistance Army (a violent, armed group formed in the 80s to fight against the Ugandan government), in the jungles of Central Africa.
Admittedly, the U.S. doesn’t have a lot at stake in Mali or the Central African Republic—poor, landlocked, and without the oil reserves that grant some of their neighbors more attention. War-weary Americans aren’t anxious to intervene in seemingly low-stakes, but complex and messy civil wars in Africa. Nation-building—we’ve learned—is really, really hard. But although these countries seem strategically unimportant today, that will change if Mali becomes a safe haven for terrorism or CAR’s civil war starts spilling over more than just hundreds of thousands of refugees into an already fraught region.
Cynics will doubt France’s goodwill, seeing shadows of neo-imperialism in the interventions into its former African colonies. Skeptics will question whether France will stick it out. Certainly, a sudden spike in casualties might provoke a domestic backlash, forcing President Hollande to pull back. Even if things go relatively well, it’s entirely possible that France’s military operations, which really are quite limited, fail to turn the tide of civil war and foster stability in these war-torn regions.
But we should resist the urge to scoff or tease. Instead, we ought to lend the French our full-throated support, and hope they don’t soon become war-weary, too. For all the grief we give them, the French are out there on the front lines in places where a small amount of well-applied force might make a big difference. And it’s about time we recognized that.
Jacob Glenn is a Research Intern for the New America Foundation’s Fellows Program. He is also a Thomas R. Pickering Fellow with the U.S. Department of State and is studying Security and Conflict Management at Georgetown MSFS. This article was originally published in The Weekly Wonk, New America’s digital magazine.
