Why is it that in Russia in 1917 the bourgeois-democratic February Revolution was directly linked with the proletarian socialist October Revolution, while in France the bourgeois revolution was not directly linked with a socialist revolution and the Paris Commune of 1871 ended in failure? Why is it, on the other hand, that the nomadic system of Mongolia and Central Asia has been directly linked with socialism? Why is it that the Chinese revolution can avoid a capitalist future and be directly linked with socialism without taking the old historical road of the Western countries, without passing through a period of bourgeois dictatorship? The sole reason is the concrete conditions of the time. When certain necessary conditions are present, certain contradictions arise in the process of development of things and, moreover, the opposites contained in them are interdependent and become transformed into one another; otherwise none of this would be possible.
Such is the problem of identity. What then is struggle? And what is the relation between identity and struggle?
~ Mao Zedong,
On Contradiction
Ludwigsplatz, Saarbrücken; February 1934
Ludwigsplatz was named after the protestant church which sat in the centre of its square, the two having been built alongside each other.
Both the square and the Ludwigskirche had been built to glorify God but also to accommodate the growing evangelical lutheran congregation of Saarbrücken back in the eighteenth century, they also sat as a piece of art over the great changes which had taken place around them. From the French revolution to the demise of the Holy Roman Empire, from the Napoleonic Wars to the revolutions of 1848, to the wars of German unification to the war to end all wars, and the German revolution it had started. A revolution which remained unfinished.
Today the church bells rang out above the growling of tank engines which crossed the city’s many bridges to the cheers of its residents. Alongside them were the troops of the People’s Guard and there to greet them were the workers of the city, flying both the republican tricolour and flags which were entirely red. There was joy that resonated throughout the city with an evangelical vigour.
Partly it was a sense of relief, partly jubilation at the righting of wrongs imposed over a decade ago. Peter Klompf tried to remain reserved amongst them. He was here in his official role as a functionary of the National Reconstruction Council and also in his less-official role as part of the team responsible for armoured warfare development within the People’s Guard. He was here to see how the new German tanks performed in their first assignment, and more broadly how the industry of the region could assist in their progress. Nonetheless he was immersed in the joy of the people around him and it was hard not to get swept up in it all. It was a good day to be German.
This was a situation playing out throughout the Rhineland, the area bordering France and Germany which had been forcefully demilitarised since the war, but Peter believed it would be felt most poignantly here. The people celebrating around him had been removed from Germany altogether. Like the German revolution, the Saarland had also been left in an unresolved state since the war. Like the demilitarisation of the Rhineland this had been dictated by the Treaty of Versailles which had left the coal-rich industrial area under the control of the League of Nations to be exploited as reparations by the French.
Since then the League of Nations had governed the territory whilst the French loomed over it, extracting much of the wealth of the coal rich industrial region to the resentment of the locals. Their voice in these matters had been limited to a toothless regional council, which in every election saw large majorities for the parties favouring a return to Germany only for these requests to be ignored. This state of affairs had been endured by the local populace for 14 years and per the stipulation of the Treaty of Versailles it had been supposed to last another year where the future of the basin would then be decided by a referendum.
This was now being cut short.
Events in France over the past week had provoked a German response in the name of maintaining their frontier, including the Saarland. The French military had briefly occupied the area during the civil war only to grudgingly withdraw upon the agreement of the League of Nations sponsored cease-fire. They had claimed their right to renew their occupation ever since and the installation of a military government in Paris who had cast no illusions towards the enmity for Germany made the risk of the region once again being occupied untenable.
The People’s Guard had marched in within days of the events in Paris, despite the League’s protests. The governors of the territory continued to argue about violations of the treaty but the regional council had given their blessing to the occupation and the regional police were now actively assisting their fellow Germans. These men were not necessarily revolutionaries but happy to cause a fuss, they had little sympathy with the League-appointed governors by this point. The civilian response had been one of celebration and relief as news across the border continued to worsen.
An outbreak of rioting in Paris had been merely the first step in a right-wing takeover of France led by Maréchal Philippe Pétain. First the French military and their newfound allies in the fascist leagues had taken control of the capital, then mobilised to do the same throughout the country. Without a decade of military restrictions they had accomplished this task far more handily than the Reichswehr had attempted and in Pétain they had a leader who was able to quell many suspicions of otherwise democratically minded Frenchmen. He had justified his takeover of the country by condemning the supposed corruption and incompetence of the republic and had included in this a tirade about their inability to quell a resurgent Germany.
News of a general strike and widespread factory occupations had followed but it appeared the French working class had been caught out disunited and disorganised. There were reports of riots throughout the country but no coordinated armed uprising so far. It seemed that France was doomed to fall to fascism, leaving Germany encircled.
Within hours of Pétain’s speech in Paris, the People’s Guard had mobilised. In the months Peter had spent back and forth between Germany and the Soviet Union he had overheard talk of plans to rapidly reoccupy the Rhineland had a French invasion appeared imminent. The People’s Guard remained a poor match for the French but Germany was not as helpless as it had been in 1923 when the French had been able to occupy the Ruhr without fear of military resistance. Peter hadn’t been privy to the details of such plans but it appeared the new armoured force he was helping to organise and produce had been included in them for now here he was, along for the ride.
Peter liked to think the armour had made an impression of its own, enough for the outside world to know that Germany meant business and for the French to realise that any moves on their own part might be mistaken. They were Soviet models produced under licence in German factories but that was only a stepping stone. If more time could be bought then a new generation of German tanks could truly threaten the old enemy rather than just frighten them.
That was as patriotic a stance he could have made and Peter couldn’t help but feel how his mother and father would be reacting to these events. They wouldn’t know his role in them of course, if they had he wasn’t doing his job properly, but perhaps they would consider that the cause their son had embraced had done some good for Germany.
Peter’s thoughts of family drifted away from him as he spotted a recognisable face in the crowd. Someone was happy to see him here after all.
From the opposite side of the square stood Klaus, Peter’s friend since their first stint in Russia. In a way it was Klaus he had to thank for leading him away from the Reichswehr and towards this brighter path, even if Klaus himself had embraced it with a greater deal of enthusiasm. He was wearing a new People’s Guard uniform but still looked immaculate in it, disappearing in and out of sight. It became clear Klaus was motioning for Peter to come with him and Peter hesitantly went along. The League of Nations had eyes here after all.
Klaus led him down a number of streets and Peter followed, wary of not being seen in connection with his friend but now also wary of losing him altogether in the celebrating crowds. Eventually, he saw Klaus enter a small cafe from the side entrance. Peter paused before it and lit a cigarette, contemplating the exterior of the place.
It had clearly seen better days and the posters outside the window decried the global depression they claimed that Germany had recovered from whilst the Saarland remained detached and poverty stricken. At least today it was doing a good trade with people keen to celebrate having filled it like most other bars and cafes within the city. To get in through the front Peter would have had to squeeze past revellers eating cake in the doorway but he surmised that wasn’t why Klaus had opted for the different door. He stubbed out his cigarette on the pavement slabs and went in by the same route.
Finding himself in the kitchen, Peter was pointed to a small office that, after making his way through the clatter of the busy shift, might usually have belonged to the owner or manager. They had apparently made themselves scarce in favour of the People’s Guard officer who was now sitting behind the desk impatiently before lightening up at the sight of Peter.
“I thought you might have lost me!” Klaus exclaimed, the two friends embraced.
“You’re a colourful dog in that uniform, it would have been hard to avoid seeing you.”
“Well, there are going to be a good many more People’s Guard officers around these parts from now on. You could still be one of them, if you wanted.”
Peter waved his hand dismissively whilst they sat down, but not before Klaus closed the door to keep the kitchen noise out.
“My role in the revolution is in reconstruction, even if that has left me well acquainted with my old profession, Captain.”
“It’s Major now, actually,” Klaus replied proudly, pointing to the orange bars on the side of his sleeve. There was a small orange star above them. Peter still wasn’t fully fluent in the new iconography the People’s Guard were in the process of adopting, but he congratulated his friend all the same.
“Well then, Major, I’m happy where I am although I do feel like I could get exposed here regardless of how cloak and dagger we’re being.”
“My dear Klompf, in the past week we have revealed to the world that we are rearming, all the whilst remilitarising the Rhineland and retaking the Saar basin, tearing up the treaty of Locarno in the process. There are alarm bells ringing around the globe and we’ll be lucky not to be thrown out of the League of Nations and have the Social Democratic cowards at our throats. And, through all of this, your primary concern is keeping the collusion between the People’s Guard and the National Reconstruction Council quiet?!”
“I can’t do anything about those other matters,” Peter shrugged, “but keeping that liaison quiet is my responsibility.”
Klaus had seemed exasperated when asking the question but he was calm now.
“Good.”
He looked to the dulled clatter from the kitchen before moving in conspiratorially.
“This establishment is run by good comrades but what I was looking to speak to you about isn’t for their ears.”
Peter leaned back in his chair, it felt uncomfortable all of a sudden. Klaus beckoned him to come close to him again.
“We’ve been good at being furtive for some time, you and I. We risked a lot to hold our reading group at Kama but we did it anyway because it was the right thing to do. And when the time came, it might have saved our lives.”
“It got us through the civil war,” Peter admitted, “but my family…” He thought back to Munich, to the Bavarian independence referendum.
“You’re not the only one who’s had to make such a sacrifice,” Klaus stated hesitantly, “in fact I’d go as far as to say that every true revolutionary has found themselves losing people thanks to ideological convictions.”
“Or their own lives,” Peter added half-jokingly.
“But we’re alive, and your performance has been exemplary in your role. You’re composed, professional and dedicated to our cause. And that’s why I’ve been asked to involve you in more work.”
“Party work? You do realise I’m not actually a member of the KPD.” Peter was flattered by Klaus’ praise for his professionalism but it was that ethos which had kept him from actually joining any political party, regardless of his sympathies. This didn’t seem to phase Klaus however.
“I’m talking about the Red Front.”
The Red Front. It was an organisation Peter had become aware of by reading Hitler’s book together with Klaus and the other members of their reading circle. Those who had fought the French when Germany didn’t have any tanks, and had been the basis for the army that now did.
“Surely that’s before our time?”
“There are those who are still fond of that spirit within the party, they were interested in me and now they’re interested in you too.”
Peter smirked at that.
“I’m not sure beige suits me.”
“I’m not talking about bashing heads and selling newspapers!” Klaus scoffed, his exasperated tone seemed real this time.
“I’m talking about a specialist organisation of professional men and women dedicated to advancing the revolution to its final conclusion, and the elimination of any traitors and wreckers we find along the way. First in Germany and then across Europe.”
Peter wasn’t used to this sort of passion from Klaus but the way he had spat out the word ‘traitor’ reminded him of the way the charge had been levied at both of them in the forests outside Lehrte.
“And who are the traitors in all of this? Zeigner?”
“Comrade Zeigner’s role in the revolution is important but there are others in his party I am referring to. I wasn’t joking about the cowards in the Social Democrats, those who are wedded to the years of toadying to capitalists and foreign powers; they could be dangerous now we’re casting those concerns aside to complete the work of Liebknect and Luxemburg.”
“I thought Hitler and Zeigner wanted you all to be one big happy family.”
“Some of us do.” Klaus paused before suddenly correcting himself. “I do, I mean. Some of us feel we’d be betraying our principles but they can be argued down. Some in the SPD also believe it would be a betrayal of their principles, however their principles consist of serving capitalism as a bourgeois liberal party for the rest of their days. We don’t want to argue with them, we’d want them gone for good.”
“Even if some can be brought round?”
“That could come later.” Klaus mumbled before his smile returned. “But what about you my dear Klompf? Shall we work on the revolution together once more?”
Peter could only shake his head, looking back to the closed door.
“Well if that can come later, let me come to you when I’m ready. Until then,” Peter rose from his seat.
“I’m staying above ground.”
Klaus looked disheartened but he didn’t lose his composure this time.
“It was worth a try my friend, whenever you’re ready please do get in touch. Until then, I hope we won’t fall out over all this?”
Peter shook his head once more but he couldn’t find it in him to smile.
“The thought never crossed my mind.”
Peter left the cafe to return to the celebrations outside, he had a job to do after all.
Amongst the crowds, the revolution felt much more alive than it had inside the manager’s office.
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The painting is
Forging the Scythes by Wojciech Fangor