Some other Hitler mock-ups:
I can't believe Hitler changed his identity to Jeffrey Tamor
"Our Struggle": What If Hitler Had Been a Communist?
- Thread starter The Red
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I can't believe Hitler changed his identity to Jeffrey Tamor
Redshank Galloglass
Banned
I think his bald picture could pass for a slightly better looking Bela Lugosi in Dracula.
""I Want Your Blood and Soil": What If Bela Lugosi Had Been a Fascist?"
Someone please make a scenario with this basis. I never knew I wanted this in my life at some point.
Ahhhh Mr. Churchill, I wasn't quite expecting youSome other Hitler mock-ups:
Chapter XXXVI
"There's a room where the light won't find you,
Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down,"
~ Tears for Fears
Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down,"
~ Tears for Fears
The passing of the Enabling Act on the 26th of September was essentially a recognition that, though Stresemann had only been Chancellor for a month, he had little confidence in Germany's young institutions to solve the crisis facing Germany. The act gave him wide-ranging powers over German society, with only minor exclusions over workers rights as a nod to the Social Democrats who tenuously supported his centre-right government.
As the autumn of 1923 wore on, the violence in Wetter had spread out across the French and Belgian occupation. Increasingly, Hitler was setting the Ruhr aflame.
~ Piloting the Sinking Ship: Stresemann and His Times, Karen Anderson
---
He had been told that Postdamer Platz was the single busiest area in Europe and amongst flurry of people he now found himself in, Robert found it hard to disagree.
Life in a large city was not too out of the ordinary for Robert, though the sights that could be seen in Berlin were rather alien to his experiences in Paris or Washington. The crush of people trying to get onto already packed streetcars amidst the industrial smog weren't all that unfamiliar, but the fashion for political radicalism, and the numerous viewpoints being put across, made him fear that German society might be as hopelessly divided as some in the embassy seemed to believe. From far-left to far-right, Robert could count at least twelve different parties preaching or recruiting, proclaiming their own solutions to the present crises and, more importantly, why they were better than all the other options on offer and how their opponents were ultimately in the pocket of some enemy or other; the French, the Jews, the Junkers, the Catholics, the international Bourgeoisie, the out of control unions, the Bolsheviks...it seemed that every party represented some sort of private interest that they hadn't declared. There was a overbearing sense of betrayal and desperation all around, and its source was evident.
Poverty was even more preponderant in Berlin than political fervour.
Hyperinflation had devastated the German economy, the French occupation had only exacerbated things. Many of the colourful shops across the city had begun accepting barter as payment, others lay abandoned despite their prime location in the city. Berlin had been defined by its cafe culture in recent years, and patrons still remained, nursing a single cup of coffee for hours and that they had paid for in advance. The price was liable to change in the time it took to drink it. The street stalls full of hot food and cakes had wonderful aromas, but though the city was hungry few were queuing up. The crises he had been sent to get a better understanding of continued to take their toll, and lines for people requiring charity were far longer than any others. As Robert walked by one such miserable gathering, he couldn't help but recognise that the smells from the soup kitchens were not nearly as good. A one-legged vagrant sipped his soup in silence as Robert walked past, next to him a sign had been positioned that stated
"I fought for Germany for three years. Help the GERMAN homeless!"
The sight made Robert shudder, were there was hunger there was resentment, and it seemed to be blaming everything, even the most humble act of charity. He felt as if he was living in a powder keg, ready to go off at any moment and burning everything with it.
He supposed that this feeling helped him in his role as special advisor on Franco-German relations. Robert went into work everyday trying to construct new analysis out of a relationship that didn't seem to exist. It was mundane, tiring work, a job that he felt necessary despite the encouragement of his boss. Mr Houghton seemed to be an idealist, though Robert felt that even he grown weary of the violence that seemed to permeate between the French and the Germans. As much as he desired a good night's sleep, Robert felt as if he needed to get out. The American embassy was not as bitter as the world outside, but it was claustrophobic all the same.
By the evening, he was resolved to venture out. although he feared that the queues of hungry people would be replaced by those desperate enough to commit acts of violence. The claims of a spike in violent crime recently had been dismissed officially but as a foreigner he was wary of hanging around on the streets for too long in the hope that the old stereotypes of well-ordered Germans were no longer true.
Robert didn't hate the city. As much as the assignment was grating he had felt compelled to go, he liked to think that his sense of national duty was stronger than his distaste for the Republican in the White House,
The cabaret remained as popular as ever, those who were hungry required escapism even more than usual. Of course there were those who simply didn't have the money anymore, for them were other means. It seemed as if Germany's Communist party was climbing above all others alternatives to the current order.
To spend all day working for increasingly meaningless wages often created a attitude of helplessness. Robert wasn't a Marxist but he knew that much. Their posters were everywhere to remind him regardless. It seemed that whoever did their posters had taken a rather savage delight amidst the crisis unfolding in the Ruhr. It seemed that international solidarity had taken a backseat to bragging about the death of the French.
A demonic figure with a tricoloured top-hat was grasping for the Ruhr, only to howl in pain as his claws got pierced on the dozens of red bayonets emerging from the soil. Another showed a black French solider burning a copy of the treaty of Versailles, upon closer inspection the fire was an entire German village aflame.
It wasn't a comforting sight to see these types of posters. as Robert walked down Friedrechstrasse there seemed to be violent imagery all around him. It was a relief to walk into the dimly lit rooms of The Black Cat. Here, at least, laughter reigned, although the stress of the outside world continued to reflect on Robert's escapism. He noticed on his way in that a freshly painted sign welcomed him to Schwarzer Kater rather than Chat Noir, too many German citizens had died at French hands in the recent months for the French language to continue be vogue.
As Robert sat down he wondered if the Cabaret would mention the recent troubles, it seemed that the communists bragging about their deeds had taken on a certain popular resonance.
On the stage was a bed, and one by one a number of caricatures of Weimar politicians began to stumble into a queue, cooing amongst themselves and jumping at their own shadows. La Marseillaise began to play.
Robert had just ordered a beer when he recognised that the act wasn't going to take his mind off things.
Marianne, a pretty girl rendered clownish by an absurd amount of make-up, swaggered seductively onto the stage, as she read a large, mocked-up, travel guide called "Things to Shaft in the Ruhr". After she had sat down on the bed several gratituitous acts were played out by the declining line of politicians, as an increasingly frustrated Marianne began to bash the heads of the gibbering men, all the time chastising them for "Not satisfying her needs"
After the weak politicians all lay dazed in a pile, Marianne lamented that for all the Germans tried to please her, they couldn't give her what she desired. and as the band stopped playing she declared her desire for "A Little Death All of My Own"
At that moment a man in a Bolshevik cap with a hankerchief over his face popped out from under the bed. The crowd burst into further laughter as the sinister looking figure crept behind the clueless Marianne before throwing a comically large bomb at her. With a pop and a whoosh of smoke the stage was quiet for a moment, before the dazed French woman appeared with her Phrygian cap having been blown off along with some other articles of clothing.
"We laugh at this farce whilst allowing it to consume us." Upon hearing the heaivly accented English Robert turned away from the spectacle to see a grim faced man standing behind him, he was younger than Robert, but the stress on his face had aged him. Robert had seen that look on many German faces recently.
"I'm sorry sir, but do I know you?", Robert was confused as Ernst finally smiled and shook his hand, sitting down at the table without being prompted.
"You don't I'm afraid, my name is Ernst Mehr, and I think that we should have a chat."
"If this is about a diplomatic issue, I would prefer if you made an appointment Mr Mehr."
"Please, it's Ernst, and I thought that this might be the best place for some diplomacy." As he motioned to the stage, Robert sighed as a semi-naked Marianne chased the Bolshevik round and round the bed. "What do you thnk of that little performance?"
Robert shrugged, "Trying times are easier to get through when humour can be found in them."
"And you find the death of French soldiers humourous?"
Robert scowled, "No more than the killing of German civilians."
Ernst looked around him and whispered, "I thought you were supposed to be the American Francophile."
"I'm supposed to be what my country asks of me, wouldn't you agree?"
Ernst laughed.
"It's rather hard to be 'German' diplomatically these days, but it's more important than ever. I might be a Marxist, but I have no interest in what Lenin and Trotsky are offering. If their German sycophants get their hands on a bit of power they'll turn on every left-wing ally they have, bourgeois or otherwise. We need to show that reform can work, that the republic can work. And for that, we're going to need dollars."
Robert now recognised the man, he was some sort of deputy for the SPD, it appeared that he had presumed that everyone would know who he was.
"I'm not sure that the ambassador sees much difference between one Marxist party or another."
"RIght now, all we want is calm, most of the party agree, things have gotten out of hand and a return to stability is currently more important than anything else, that's why we're in coalition with Stresemann in the first place! We need to stop this country from falling into madness before we can do anything of real worth!"
"I appreciate putting country first Mr Mehr. I really do..." I wouldn't be here otherwise, Robert thought to himself, "...but it wasn't too long ago that we were enemies. We all want a democratic and stable Germany but the only way to ensure that stability is for it ensure it pay its fair share for the war debt. If we make it seem to the French that we're letting your nation off the hook, I fear it will only make them more erratic."
Ernst threw up his hands in despair as he stood up, "It's no matter, really, I'm sorry I disturbed you, I just thought you might like to know. You've already had to send armies over once to sort out Europe's mess, is it not easier to solve things now than wait until you have to come over again?"
Robert shook Ernst's offered hand and smiled, "I'm sure it won't come to that."
Ernst couldn't help but laugh once more.
"You Americans really are an optimistic bunch, aren't you?"
---
The painting is Metropolis by Otto Dix
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Obergruppenführer Smith
Banned
Gustav Stresemann..... Ermächtigungsgesetz.....
This world is a dystonia.
This world is a dystonia.
It's important to note that Stresemann introduced an Enabling Act IOTL, which some historians have criticised for being too heavy-handed, but here attitudes are hardening to a far greater extent and the Ruhr occupation is turning into a guerilla conflict. He'll probably be criticised less harshly ITTL.
I think maybe The Red has a nanny spell checker like mine that jumps in and changes words you wrote the way you wanted to helpfully into something else. You should see what the checker does to alien words in the Orville thread! But it messes with perfectly good English words too, putting in another one that is quite different. Queue is a weird and rare word in most contexts, cue is common. Guess which one wins
There, that posted before I was finished typing.
I was going to type---
Technology is always so helpful isn't it!
There, that posted before I was finished typing.
I was going to type---
Technology is always so helpful isn't it!
Ironic, given that queueing is one of England's most cherished national pastimes.
I like the outsider perspective provided by Robert. Can't wait to see where he turns up next.
It is rather handy to have that outsider perspective, it resolves a lot of the issues of exposition without having to have a bunch of "As you know, Hans" conversations. The character does have a role to play however, and in his next few appearances I'd like to illustrate that he is actually there to help solve problems as well as observe them.
So do I. I have learned so much being on this site it isn't even funny.
Me too! I think that one of the best things about this site is that, whilst you get to explore what might have happened, you also get to understand what couldn't have happened. It's for this reason that I get a bit annoyed when people go "Plausibility isn't important, it's meant to be AH!"
Anyways, I've been a bit guilty on this score myself, so I'm currently in the process of writing a history of the KPD between 1920-1923 to fill in for the time-skip.