"Our Struggle": What If Hitler Had Been a Communist?

[The Red]

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.




---



The painting is Forging the Scythes by Wojciech Fangor

 

[The Red]

Europe now lives at such a mad, reckless pace that she has shaken off all guidance and all reason, and she is running headlong into the abyss; we would do well to avoid it with all possible speed. Yet it is very true that we need a model, and that we want blueprints and examples. For many among us the European model is the most inspiring. We have therefore seen in the preceding pages to what mortifying set-backs such an imitation has led us. European achievements, European techniques and the European style ought no longer to tempt us and to throw us off our balance. When I search for Man in the technique and the style of Europe, I see only a succession of negations of man, and an avalanche of murders.


~ Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth

​

Place du Combat, Paris; March 1934





The Spring had come late upon the city but now across the parks of the French capital the flowers were in bloom. It had been a gruelling Lent but now the Easter holiday was almost upon Paris and for the first time in a generation it was a celebration which had the wholehearted backing of the French state.


This was not only to emphasise the recent revocation of the republican laws separating church and state within French society but also an attempt to bring the French people together after the ugliness which the formation of the state had entailed. It was a time to come together under the Marechal and celebrate the glory of God as one nation, back on the righteous path at last.


If the new censures on the press and radio hadn’t ensured this message was projected loud enough the city was being branded enthusiastically with painted slogans of the Action Francaise and Cross of Fire amongst numerous other factions. Each was eager to prove their loyalty but also to put their own stamp on the regime still being crafted, tricolours could still be seen on the streets of Paris but they were now matched in number by several different monarchist and party flags. These competing enthusiasms for different images of France had not boiled into hostility so far between these disparate groups however, Pétain’s leadership had seemed to ensure that via daily radio broadcasts from his new governmental residence within the Palace of Versailles.

The public reaction to these pronouncements had been a mix of enthusiasm and resignation. Many people had been genuinely swept up in the calls to save France from internal and external enemies whilst others had seen ways to move ahead in life through support of the new regime, or simply to settle old scores. Others couldn’t get the images of bloodied, starving students and trade unionists being dragged through the streets from the last occupations towards an uncertain fate.

From the new governmental ministries, the less glamorous means of implementing a new regime were also under way in their own locations. In the unremarkable structures of the Place du Combat this took the form of the new General Commissariat for Foreign Elements, tasked with rooting out aliens undermining the state in the aftermath of the Stavisky affair and the Communist subversion being spread from Berlin and Moscow. Until recently this had been the headquarters of the French Communist Party, and those now contemplating their fate within its walls were left to wonder how many of the former occupants had escaped to either of those countries, amongst the countless other thoughts which wandered in and out of their heads. Amongst those awaiting an answer to these questions was former Sergent-Major Hachim Gueye of the Colonial Corps.

Hachim scowled, trying to take his mind off the pressing boredom. It was hard to focus on the clock in the crowded hall but he was fairly sure it wasn’t actually moving. He was certain some people had left the waiting area in the meantime but it was also definitely busier than when he had first arrived. The increasing number of people had only made the crowd more diverse. He was not alone as a Senegalese but there were also Arabs, Algerians, Morroccans, Malagasy, Guyanans and Laotians, Germans and Jews. He realised he would likely lose count if he tried to keep track of everyone but he doubted that even this new authority was really managing to do that. They were here because they were the other and thanks to that status their fate was now ambiguous.

It was a scandalous state of affairs but no-one was here to complain and even with the wait there had been little audible grumbling. These were people who wanted to prove why they deserved to be part of the new France after all, or at least to retain part of their previous dignity. When Hachim had received his own letter alerting him to report for the examination of his case it had been a struggle not to burn the piece of paper there and then but he had built a life in France and had earned the right to do so. He was resolved to make the new regime see that whether they liked it or not. And so he waited.

Many others had simply left. During or immediately after the coup it had seemed a civil war like the type which had torn through Germany four years earlier might erupt, people dreaded the violence on the streets whereas others dreaded the new regime even more. A week of sporadic electricity and no trains left a sense of things falling apart. The stories of rioters in the other banlieues being gunned down left an impression every time a crackle could be heard in the distance, or merely a car backfiring.

Hachim had long been acquainted with such sounds and struggled to sympathise with anyone flinching at the sound of faraway gunfire. He had once been similarly scared but charging into the face of German machine guns had left him numb to such sensations, even whilst some of his comrades were left with mental wounds far more severe than anything they had incurred physically. He and his fellow tirailleurs had been told they were descendants of martial races, built for combat, but they had bled and suffered just as much as anyone else in the war. That had been the result of the promises of adventure, opportunity and citizenship which had inspired him to leave the backbreaking drudgery of farm work in his homeland for the metropole.

After two years of hell the war had finally ended but that hadn’t cut short his military service, the devastated French countryside being replaced for the occupied German Rhineland. It was an environment untouched by the last four years of bloodshed even if the Germans had seemed hellbent on tearing themselves apart. Hachim had not had the same thirst for revenge against the Germans as the Frenchmen he had fought alongside but they were the enemy and now a conquered nation under occupation, if they wanted to kill each other he didn’t mind all that much and neither did his superiors seem to.

His fluency in French allowed him to develop a handle of German and he was able to glean insights as to the political chaos of the land they were occupying, which only seemed to complicate the situation further. Whilst French troops had fought and died in a new fight against communism in Russia, German communists were allowed to shelter from the German authorities under French protection.

By the time that decision had quite literally blown up in the face of his superiors Hachim had finally been discharged but without the promised citizenship. He had opted to remain in the metropole anyway, to return to Senegal would be to acknowledge a return to subservience. The promise of work in Paris had given him a life of sorts in the long hours of unsteady jobs that so many of the city’s residents had grown accustomed to. It remained a magical place all the same; Paris was a world of its own, one where drudgery did not exist. It was one he had fought for and one he intended to remain a part of.

Eventually Hachim’s name was called and he was escorted to an office where a young man asked him to sit. After confirming his name and previous rank the official parroted an explanation of the reasons for the new regime and why their sworn duty to the future of France involved looking into him. This hadn’t been the first time Hachim had ever been brought in to explain his residency to officials but it was the first time he had been explicitly told that people like him were no longer welcome. Where his record of military service had usually been enough to embarrass anyone too interested in his right to remain within France it was now his time in the Rhineland that was of interest.

Being stared down by someone in their twenties in a suit too big for them and asked as to whether he had had any communist contact whilst in Germany had made him want to laugh. Hachim had wanted to spit in the youngster’s face, to ask him if he had served in the war or if he had even been alive at the time of Verdun. But he wished to remain and as such deferentially denied anything which could be deemed disloyal. He tried to reassure the official that he wished only to serve the Empire he belonged to as loyally as he had in the past.

It was, seemingly, enough to win him a reprieve.

Hachim was finally told he could go home but might be called upon again in the future. He had missed a day of work in waiting to be told his fate remained in the balance. Then again, he thought, that would have been the case either way.

The people of France awaited the results of the constitutional convention regardless of their background but Hachim knew the players involved and to expect the worst. Today he had gained a taste of the new official attitude, people like him were inferior, fit only to be subjects, second class citizens in their own native lands rather than tolerated in the metropole.


But he existed there all the same and he would continue to.


It was the best victory he could score against them at this moment in time.



---


The painting is Comedian's Handbill by Paul Klee

 

[The Red]

It cannot be expected that workers who are under the influence of those Social Democratic the ideology of class collaboration with the bourgeoisie, which has been instilled in them for decades, will break with this ideology of their own accord, by the action of objective causes alone. No. It is our business, the business of Communists, to help them free themselves from the hold of reformist ideology.


~ Georgi Dimitrov, Unity of the Working Class against Fascism

Rosa Luxemburg Platz, Berlin; April 1934






The ministerial car drove through Berlin’s streets faster than was really necessary, it was the way Chancellor Hitler preferred to travel now that he had grown accustomed to the ministerial car.


Willi Munzenberg, Minister for Economic Affairs and the car’s other passenger, would have rather continued to use public transport when moving to and fro between the Reichstag and Communist Party headquarters but he understood why two senior cabinet members might not be able to take a tram in the same way one might.


Today he was glad for the car however, the Chancellor’s current remarks weren’t fit for public consumption. Or his own for that matter.

“Reformists! Cowards! Pacifists! Idiots! We should have shot those bastards when we had the chance, now they will sacrifice the country for their arrogance. We find ourselves trapped in a coalition of treachery!”

Each curse the Chancellor made towards the United Front cabinet technically beholden to him was laced with more venom than the last. Hitler looked out into the streets of Berlin passing by the window, trying to maintain a sense of calm in the glowing sunlight of a dying, arduous day, until he started punching the door frame to the visual despair of the driver.

Munzenberg would have agreed that the cabinet meeting hadn’t gone particularly well, albeit not to that extent.

The events in France over the preceding months had provoked a war scare amongst many Germans. The response of the People’s Guard in the Rhineland and Saar Basin had been partially motivated by this and had largely been welcomed by the German people, but it hadn’t put minds at ease. Germany was now surrounded by overtly hostile powers and it seemed they might be conspiring to attack at any moment. The People’s Guard took this threat as seriously as the public and had issued a report regarding it to the cabinet. This had been the purpose of the day’s meeting, to consider a report which had made for grim reading.

The findings of the report stated that in spite of the progress made since the civil war, there was little chance of Germany withstanding a full blown French invasion. Even with the remilitarisation of the Rhineland and the occupation of the Saar Basin there was little chance of being able to hold off any large-scale offensive for long enough to offset the French advantages in airpower, armour and artillery. Although it was estimated German industry could allow the People’s Guard to match France in the long-term there was no chance of doing so immediately in such a scenario. If Italy and Poland were to attack alongside France it was estimated Germany would be overrun in a matter of weeks.

With the aim of resolving these issues the report had recommended the increased development of the current German-Soviet military cooperation up to and including a formal military alliance between the two countries. Alongside this it had called for remilitarisation to become a major focus of state economic planning in the future to bridge the gap between the People’s Guard and the reactionary powers surrounding it as quickly as possible. These were recommendations that the Chancellor approved of but his cabinet had been divided.

Alongside agreeing to the principle of one unified workers party, Hitler had sworn to President Zeigner that his cabinet would be representative of the equality between Communists and Social Democrats that made up the United Front, as it had been with Paul Levi. Although the proposals for a merger of the two parties continued to face difficulties in coming to fruition, Hitler had managed to organise a cabinet which would allow the two parties to govern as one without causing the leadership of the Social Democrats to bolt. The approaches the two parties made regarding the issues continued to diverge however and whilst the report had been alarming to them all, the recommendations had not gone down well with the Social Democratic members, or indeed some of the Communists who felt their leader had overstepped the mark in his endorsement.

Whilst the cabinet agreed on the principle of increased defence spending in certain areas and for greater cooperation with the Soviet Union, the idea of an alliance with Stalin was too much for some, as was prioritising the military in state planning. Furthermore, the way in which the People’s Guard was attempting to set economic and foreign policy drew comparisons to the way the Reichswehr had operated prior to the civil war. The entire meeting had devolved into a farce over the line between party and state and the interference of each. The question of how to get appropriate measures through the Reichstag hadn’t even been brought up when the cabinet itself was in revolt over them.

In regrouping to Karl Liebknecht Haus, Munzenberg could understand Hitler’s rage but that didn’t make him any more willing to be a party to it.

“They are miserable worms! But they will be made to suffer. They will answer to the German worker!” Rather than subject the doorframe to more punishment Hitler suddenly brought his hand to his mouth, suddenly deep in calculation.

“How many party members do we currently have?” He barked at Munzenberg, as if he were still party treasurer. Luckily he remained a man with a keen eye for numbers.

“It’s steady at over a million people if we include all composite organisations under the party.”

“And what truly is our level of interference in the state?”

“It’s more than the Social Democrats would like, if they knew the extent truly they likely would have made more of an issue of it than they have so far. It’s mostly passive however and those more active in actually building cells within said organisations are the sorts who are most hostile to the current German Workers Party proposals.”

“Forget that!” Hitler snapped.

“Well,” Munzenberg sighed, “the party wouldn’t be in a position to take power rather than merely exercise it if that is your meaning. And any hint of such to Zeigner may well ruin our relationship with one of the few SPD leaders we can actually count on.”

“Yes, Zeigner is a true comrade.” Hitler relented. His tone calmer than it was before but no less direct as he looked Munzenberg in the eyes.

“But how do we detach him from the traitors?”

“Knowing what we do about the President. I don’t think he would go in for any sort of attempt to separate him from his party, he is genuinely keen on us all being one big happy family remember. If we’re to deal with the Cabinet then it must not be unilateral.”

“But what if it were public?”

“I fear hashing out Cabinet differences in a public forum would only be of advantage to our enemies in the Reichstag. It could be enough to give Noske’s gang the ammunition they need to try and get rid of us.”

“But if the public were to know the details of the report and that there were some in the cabinet who resisted acting on it…”

Hitler was smiling now but Munzenberg could only shake his head.

“People are alarmed as things stand, the panic that would cause-”

“And the anger it would cause,” Hitler interrupted, “directed towards our enemies in the cabinet...”

“People won’t be able to see who's in the right and who’s in the wrong if they’re losing their heads!” Munzenberg exclaimed. “The way we are spending would make Keynes weep and the extent of remortgaging we have had to undertake is a financiers dream. If this were to get out there could be mass hysteria and then everything we have built could go up in flames. Hell, if I were the French that’s when I’d invade!”

Munzenberg hadn’t been able to control his outburst but now he expected another in response.


Hitler merely continued to smile however.



“Comrade Munzenberg, you seem to be forgetting. For we Communists chaos can be a gift. As long as it is given its proper regard.”






---



The painting is The Wanderer by George Grosz

 

[The Red]

In the U.S.S.R., violence and deception are official, and humanity is in daily life. In the democracies, on the other hand, the principles are humane, but deception and violence are found in practice. Beyond that, propaganda has a field day.

~ Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Humanism and Terror

​

Potsdamer Platz, Berlin; May Day 1934






There were moments in life that Rosa believed she could somehow take photographs with her mind’s eye. She was barely a teenager and the world was coming together around her. Throughout all the fear, something seemed to be happening. The mass of cheering Berliners, workers, like herself, was a warm memory. Yet it was also her present and a journey for the country.



There was a time when May Day was not officially celebrated by the German Republic, indeed attempts by the workers of Berlin to celebrate their own holiday had been viciously beaten down by police and military figures who saw chaos and revolution behind every celebration that emanated from the downtrodden masses.


The revolution of 1918-19 had gravitated the German polity towards its people for the first time and the further reckoning in 1930 had left them with the machinery of state in their hands. That didn’t mean they no longer had to fight to keep a hold of it. Indeed the threats from the outside world were what made sure there was a military element to this May Day. Where the unions marched with their own banners proudly proclaiming their fight for a better life over the years, the members who had served in the People’s Guard were also listed amongst the martyrs who had earlier fallen at the hands of the agents of capital.

The People’s Guard themselves marched in force, parading an organisation drilled into them in the name of intimidation of the enemies of the republic and of the revolution. Marching down Ebertstraße they goose stepped to the beat of the revolutionary songs they had adopted during the civil war, a ghostly reminder of the Reichswehr they had vanquished and absorbed.

They were followed by the armour that had allowed them to secure the French border so quickly whereas up in the sky, the new fighters of the Luftstreitkrafte performed aerobatics over the city. It was a visual crescendo that assaulted the senses to the extent the crowds could be whipped into a frenzy, perhaps that was the intent. Rosa could feel a vivid picture being painted, more than something that could manifest itself as a picture.

The mass panic which had followed the leaking of People’s Guard documents stating the country was helpless if it came to invasion had threatened to bring the nation to a standstill, a moment was needed to revive spirits and the coming of May Day had been opportune. Since 1931 it had been a day in which to celebrate the successes of the ongoing revolution but now revolutionary defence was the agenda. The new world lay ahead but below lay a dark chasm of which there might be no escape.

It was perhaps for this reason the military element of all of this was so crucial, for it gave people a sense of renewed strength as well as an urging to support the measures the leaked report had outlined as necessary, the ones which Comrade Hitler now also urged. Rosa felt her mother’s hands on her shoulders amidst the ceremony and how she squeezed them as the detachment of the People’s Marine marched by. She hadn’t gone into much detail about what she had seen in Hamburg during the civil war, other than that she had witnessed the destruction the Reichsmarine wrought upon the city and anyone who said differently was a liar. Dieter had confirmed that they had been together during the battle, just as the three of them stood together now.

There were of course a large number of silent Germans on this day who scorned the celebrations and could not wait until the beginning of next year, when the United Front would have to hold new elections and the future course of Germany would be up for examination. The new socialist democracy would be judged once again by the old liberal means that had barely facilitated it in 1931. Other, more reactionary, elements awaited salvation from Rome or perhaps now even Paris. Others even less attached to reality perhaps dreamed of taking matters into their own hands.

In a way the more martial elements of the festivities today were a warning for them as well as the potential aggressors which surrounded Germany. Rosa felt a particular wave of pride as the women’s auxiliary units goose stepped by. All who were responsible for upholding the revolution were honoured today and those active within it had their pride of place. She did not always agree with her mother, a street fighter who had become boxed in around the functionality of government, but there was no-one she looked up to more. Rosa only hoped she would soon be able to play her own role, perhaps something more dynamic than land administration.

The formal parade wasn’t over when her mother suggested that they decamp for the Tiergarten where a platform had been assembled for the speeches of the day, most notably those from the Chancellor and the President. Rosa felt a certain amount of esteem in the knowledge that the Chancellor had been a personal colleague of her mother’s, although she could remember a time when her mother seemed to despise being near the man. Dieter would still find ways to mention his own support for Thalmann whenever the former Communist leader would remark on German affairs from his Moscow residence, it seemed like he did it merely to tease her.

The three of them walked hand in hand to the park to get a spot near the podium before too much of a crowd gathered. There were already speeches under way but the audience was thin so they stopped for an ice cream beforehand. The vendor seemed keen for the area to get busier and that the French exile on the stage would shut up so the more famous faces could draw him in more business. It seemed rather shallow given how forlorn the man onstage seemed whilst he told those listening that there would be no May Day celebrations allowed in France this year when before there had been parades in every city. He concluded by asking people to help in any way they could the new French exile organisations being organised in Baden. He concluded with his hopes that one day soon workers in Berlin and Paris would be able to celebrate May Day together again once more without fear of fascist oppression. That had gotten him a cheer and when he gave way to his better known Russian replacement, Nikolai Bukharin, Comrade Doriot was thanked for his earnest assessment of the situation.

Bukharin needed little introduction, the most well known advocate of the United Front from within the Soviet Union was regarded as a friend of the German people even by those on the left who were otherwise wary of Bolshevism.There were far more people around them now and Rosa looked back briefly to see the park was now filling with spectators to see the famous Russian revolutionary. The ice cream vendor would likely be happier now although Rosa still felt annoyed at the man’s attitude. It hadn’t been that long since Berlin’s parks had been filled with people whose bones were as bare as the winter trees, bartering over horse flesh. Now the greenery had returned and airplanes did aerobatics in the blue sky. Some of the people in the crowd would have endured the misery of Berlin under the Third Reich’s brief reign, although it was perhaps different to recognise happy people when previously there had been only cold and starving faces. This progress hadn’t been built on selfishness.

Bukharin had put himself at risk of public denunciations and worse for taking the stance he had on the United Front in 1930 and there had been speculation that in the aftermath of the civil war he might move to Germany, either of his own volition or due to being exiled like Trotsky. He merely remained a frequent visitor however and whilst Trotsky was now a prisoner of Pétain, Bukharin’s defence of Germany had seemed to get more of a hearing in the Soviet Union now that the two countries were cooperating more than ever before. He seemed to allude to this in his speech, stating that for every criticism he had of Stalin’s approach there were several points to which he agreed and that every true socialist should feel the same.

Bukharin stated that it was in Germany, as in the Soviet Union, that a common belief in the mutual betterment of all people through the cooperation of all people had been fostered amongst young and old. His praises of the German worker gained him much applause and he clapped with the crowd, before announcing that the man who would now be speaking had been instrumental in ensuring Germany’s current revolutionary direction, a true friend of the Soviet people and indeed the international proletariat.

Adolf Hitler took the stage.

The Chancellor’s speech was more volatile than what had preceded it, even in a day designed for celebration he had nothing but hatred to express for the enemies of the German worker. He praised the progress that had been made over the last three years only to then rage over the coalition arrayed against it. He spoke of the work still to be done and how he had confidence in the means of the German worker to enable the necessary demands of their precarious situation. There was general applause but Rosa noticed her mother more animated than she was before.

Hitler segued into a tribute to his predecessor, Paul Levi, a “heroic Communist and heroic Social Democrat” before elaborating on how they had built an alliance and then a friendship in the name of a united working class, one which had come at the right moment and which was needed now even more. Hitler emphasised that will was needed at this moment in time to facilitate what the German worker already knew to be necessary, as if he were an extension of them. There were some in the crowd who appeared to think that this was the case.

There was an upsurge in the excitement of the spectators, Hitler projected himself as an extension but he also drew them in it seemed, inviting them to become part of a more powerful whole. Hitler spoke of what Levi had said to him before his announcement of their alliance over four years ago.

“We must not allow capital to divide us.”

He repeated that phrase now, slamming his fist on the lectern whilst doing so. To Rosa the emotion of it broke the spell momentarily before she heard her mother chanting behind her.


“WE MUST NOT ALLOW CAPITAL TO DIVIDE US!”


Rosa now shouted it too and for a moment it seemed Hitler was charging them into uttering the slogan like a mantra before the Chancellor turned to greet a figure approaching him.

President Erich Zeigner embraced him for a moment before the two joined hands and lifted them aloft. Two parts of a better whole, one which represented the unity of all working Germans, one which rendered the threats and plots of their enemies worthless by the strength of their union. She felt the scene burn into her memory.


Rosa joined in the cheering before finding herself back in the Berlin of the Blackshirts. There were flashes but not from a camera.



Shots rang out and the two men went down with them.









---



The painting is Metropolis by George Grosz

 

[The Red]

Marx speaks of awareness, not of ideals. It is exactly the blindness of man's conscious thought which prevents him from being aware of his true human needs, and of ideals which are rooted in them. Only if false consciousness is transformed into true consciousness, that is, only if we are aware of reality, rather than distorting it by rationalizations and fictions, can we also become aware of our real and true human needs.


~ Erich Fromm, Marx's Concept of Man

Plötzensee Prison, Berlin; Shortly after




Johann never thought he would return to this place willingly. The time he had spent in the prison had been a moment of torment in his life, held captive alongside so many comrades after the surprise attack on what had then been Bulowplatz at the start of the civil war. He had spent his time there cold and starving, one of thousands held in makeshift squalor to accommodate the sudden inflation in capacity which had come with the mass round-up of Red Front fighters in the city. It had only been a few days but it had been a time spent awaiting death and dwelling on the failure of the cause he had devoted his life to. He had spent the rest of his time throughout the civil war fighting to ensure he would never end up in such a place ever again. In his new Luftstreitkrafte uniform he stood now in opposition to all those fears but he came here for answers all the same.



He was not alone in being confused, or in being frightened. The assassination attempt on the Chancellor and the President had resulted in the pair being rushed to hospital with the entire capital being put on a heightened state of alert by the People’s Guard forces throughout the city. Many areas had been cordoned off to the general public, leading to some ugly scenes between soldiers and workers who had bad memories of the last time a military force had taken over the city.


It was handy for Johann's purposes however, for he was able to use the authority his position gave him to navigate through the city with ease and to find out that a suspect had been apprehended. The alleged shooter was being held at Plötzensee and so he was headed there now to see if his old comrades in the People’s Guard security forces might shed some more light on the situation. Whilst others waited outside St Hedwig for some news of those who had been shot, Johann opted to keep himself busy with the shooter.

The scene around the imposing structure was also crowded though Johann felt it loomed over him most of all, the prison cast an ominous shadow amidst the setting sun. Had the day gone as it was supposed to, he had been planning to meet up with his friend Lars for a drink after the formal celebrations. They had first met when the Social Democratic militia Lars had been a part of had saved him from execution after Johann had been taken from this place. Lars wasn’t here however and Johann made his own way past more junior officers into the prison complex.

When he did finally spot a familiar face it was that of Eric Mielke, a former Red Front comrade who had been luckier in evading capture. He looked at home here all the same, now the shoe was on the other foot.

“Glad you could drop in, Comrade.” Mielke said, regarding Johann’s uniform. He didn’t seem too pleased to see him, as if embarrassed by the memory of his street fighting days.

“Has he been talking?” Johann asked in anguish.

“I doubt that’s a concern for the Luftstreitkrafte, there isn’t much chance of him escaping by glider.”

Mielke’s eyes narrowed but he seemed to relent.

“Still, it would be remiss of me not to do a favour for an old Comrade. I suppose you’ll want to see him.

From the main offices of the complex Mielke began down a long corridor and beckoned for Johann to follow. Their footsteps echoed in the deathly silent rows of cells, as if the inmates were aware of the gravity of the situation in the outside world. Mielke didn’t seem to care either way as he told Johann what he wanted to know.

“Dirlewangler, Oskar. Age: 38. Occupation: Professional vagrant, by all accounts. Convictions for assault, embezzlement, drug dealing, solicitation, theft, and far worse which I won’t go into. He was apprehended drunk whilst brandishing a pistol at onlookers in the Tiergarten shortly after the assassination attempt. We haven’t had the full analysis back as to whether the bullets match but the gun had recently been fired.”

Berlin was second to none in forensic research as any person with a passing interest in crime stories knew but a random drunk making such a move didn’t make any sense.

“Politics?”

“The worst possible; Freikorps in Poland, the Ruhr, Saxony, then the Volkisch Bund, then the Blackshirts. Apparently he had an especially messy civil war but nothing conclusive stuck so he got out in ‘31.”

“That has to be our man, surely? Are we aware of any connections he might have that could be behind this?”

“We aren’t.” Mielke replied scoldingly before continuing.

“The reason I can tell you all this is that he seems unable to do anything without incriminating himself. Since the civil war he has been bouncing around from one drunk tank or prison to the next throughout the country, there have been reports of him causing disturbances at DVFP meetings when the free beer ran out but that’s about it. To be honest I’m surprised he’s managed to avoid being institutionalised so far. The way he was gibbering and grinning when brought in, it’s like he didn’t know what planet he was on.”

The couple paused in front the only cell with two guards posted in front of it, Mielke went to draw the viewing slot before inviting Johann to come and see.

“We brought him down to earth.”

There was a bloodied carcass lying on the floor and Johann wasn’t entirely sure if Dirlewangler was still alive until he heard a rasping hiss coincide with his humped back moving up and down. The walls of the cell were covered in red marks where he’d apparently been slammed into them, several other dark blotches stained the floor around him.

It looked as if Dirlewangler had had a grenade thrown into his cell.

“In fairness he wasn’t much to look at before the lads got a hold of him and he’s much more sober now than he was before.”

A head-like appendage emerged from the body within the cell and looked around itself before turning to the door. Johann caught a glimpse of two swollen eyelids staring back at him and closed the slot.

“So,” he coughed in an effort to compose himself, “he could have been acting alone?”

“I suspect he’ll be more willing to answer questions properly next time we talk to him but it’s possible. At any rate we need to stay vigilant, and if the boss survives…”


Mielke left Johann to draw his own conclusions before a rasping giggle began to emanate from the cell.



Rather than ponder the suspect any further, the two comrades walked back down the corridor.






---


The still is from Fritz Lang's M

 

[The Red]

Marxist ‘theory’ does not strive to achieve objective knowledge of reality out of an independent, theoretical interest. It is driven to acquire this knowledge by the practical necessities of struggle, and can neglect it only by running the heavy risk of failing to achieve its goal, at the price of the defeat and eclipse of the proletarian movement which it represents.

~ Karl Korsch, Why I am a Marxist

​

Karl Liebknecht Haus, Berlin; the early hours of the following morning








The meeting hall within party headquarters had been decked out with celebratory decorations for the May Day festivities but in the small hours of the following day there was no drunken revelry, merely quiet, fraught, contemplation.



Gerda Muller waited for news to come out of St Hedwig hospital alongside the gathered party activists, functionaries, and representatives doing the same. Few had managed to gain access to the hospital although Goebbels, who had been with Hitler at the time, was apparently an exception. She recognised many of the faces amongst her, many of them comrades and friends who had worked together for years towards the same goals. She chose to stand alone all the same and most others did likewise. Those who had formed small groups to quietly confer were the objects of some suspicion but everyone was handling the events differently and they were left to themselves


She had asked Dieter to take Rosa back to their hotel whilst she waited for some news, having traded in a night of celebration with her daughter and partner for doubt and worry. That was how life went sometimes after all. The Communist Party offered greater freedom to the German worker, control over their own lives in a way that would be impossible in the existing state of capitalism but the events often left even the major players within the party helpless to the whims of history. They in this hall were an audience regarding their own fates, their vaunted self-actualisation making them little more than spectators.

The hall was full of empty coffee cups and cigarette smoke though some others had taken to the large supply of alcohol which had been set aside for the anticipated night of partying. Gerda could make out the members of the Zentrale, as anxious as anyone else. Among them there were left oppositionists, right oppositionists, former Stalinists and former Trotskyites; all had bought into Adolf Hitler Thought, willingly or otherwise. When Hitler spoke conclusively they had usually managed to keep their heads down and carry out the tasks assigned to their roles but all had histories with denunciations and factionalism.

In the Soviet Union, Stalin had dealt with this by playing all factions against each other until they were broken up and reconstituted around a party centre. This orbited around Stalin but it also seemed to be self-sustaining. Hitler however, had structured party cohesion on his own authority and charisma and they had all bought into it, including Gerda herself. They had rejected Moscow and Stalinisation but if Hitler were to die, or to be incapacitated, that would result in them landing back were they were in 1923. At each other's throats.

Preventing such an outcome would require much introspection, a dangerous indulgence when in government with no majority, a hostile opposition and untrustworthy coalition partners. Undoubtedly the SPD would currently be going through their own panic at Hitler and Zeigner’s potential deaths but their structure was much more organic. To them losing Zeigner would be like the amputation of a limb whilst the loss of Hitler would be a decapitation for the Communists. There would likely be those planning to profit from this.

Removing Zeigner would break the strongest remaining link in the alliance between the two parties whilst Hitler’s death would potentially throw the KPD into internal chaos. It was the sort of scenario Gerda could have imagined Rosa’s father welcoming but it was hard to imagine him as part of a conspiracy to actually carry out such an act. There were plenty who would want Hitler and Zeigner dead whom she didn’t bear personal grudges against.

Gerda put Ernst out of her mind and thought again of Rosa, she cursed herself for not going back to the hotel at that moment. Instead of putting her daughter’s mind at ease she was waiting for news of whether or not Hitler was alive, the party leader she was now beginning to realise may have linked the party far too close to his own fate. And, it seemed, hers by default.

The hours of no news and hushed conversations continued to drift by and Gerda felt a weariness in her eyes already stung by cigarette smoke, alongside many others she succumbed to an uneasy sleep. Unwilling to go back to the hotel but also unable to stay awake without anything going on, she removed the hammer and sickle from her lapel and tucked her jacket into a makeshift pillow, before laying her head down on one of the tables laid out for the celebrations.

Gerda was brought back to a drowsy consciousness a few hours later by the noise of tables being moved. She noticed the sun was shining outside, the powerful rays reflecting around the building indicating that it must have just recently risen. She could hear a commotion going on around her and it seemed people were now clearing a space in the centre of the hall even as others remained sleeping. There was shouting from the corridor and Gerda recognised the booming voice of Heinrich Brandler. The former general secretary brought the news he was announcing into the hall, Goebbels was back from the hospital with an ambulance in tow.

The indication that there was finally some news from the hospital finally brought Gerda to full alertness, she was not the only one. Apparently there were press beginning to swarm outside the headquarters in the expectation of news but for the moment it seemed those inside were the privileged few. The excitement and expectation distracted her from any dread as to what the news might be but it returned when Goebbels appeared, haggard and unshaven.

The party propagandist had also been standing in a smoke filled room it seemed, or perhaps he had been crying. There was something in his hands and as he crept slowly into the hall, his bad foot after his good one, it appeared to be a bloody shirt he was carrying.


Standing in the centre of the room,the gathered party faithful crowded around him, Goebbels held it aloft to show that was exactly what it was.

There were audible gasps.

A hole punctured the shirt where the blood had spread out from, clearly this had been caused by a bullet. Goebbels theatrically spun the shirt around, showing another hole at the back of the shirt. This was where the bullet seemed to have exited the torso.


“Comrades,” Goebbels announced, almost choking with fresh tears, “providence shines upon us. There is a vision for Germany and its name is Adolf Hitler!”


There were more gasps but others reacted with cries of relief. A spontaneous applause broke out whilst Goebbels continued to hold the shirt aloft, using his own sleeve to wipe away his clears.

Suddenly a silence hit the room, dumbstruck almost, as those grouped around Goebbels parted to allow Adolf Hitler through.

Hitler made a pained expression with each step, his limp new and far less natural than Goebbels’. He guarded the bandaged side of his body defensively, subconsciously shielding it with his arm from any further shots. It was a scene of hurt and indignity but Gerda recognised a resolve that she had seen in the man many times before. Instinctively she hurried to put the hammer and sickle pin back on her lapel before throwing on her jacket.

The General Secretary stopped aside Goebbels and the crowd moved back in around them.

Hitler looked around the room before beginning to speak.


“In the fifteen years for which I have belonged to this movement I often demanded of my comrades, all gathered here, an unwavering loyalty to our cause. The same which I have maintained throughout all these years of struggle. Like many workers before me I have found myself in the firing line of the agents of capital and emerged on the other side once again. My resolve has never been stronger, Comrades, and seeing you all gathered here is heartening. It is clear I am not alone in being willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for our ideals. For our, German, ideology.”

Hitler coughed wearily before going on.


“All of this is true and as such I am afraid I cannot provide the news which you all long to hear. Comrade Zeigner remains in a serious condition. He may not survive. We hope for a happy outcome but we may be looking at a future without the greatest leader Germany has ever had.”

There was disquiet at the news of the President’s condition but Hitler’s own weariness seemed to shift into a far more recognisable expression. One of contempt.


“I have no doubt that the attempt on our lives was intended to be the death of us both. That the temporary shock to the workers movement from such an act would be taken advantage of to return you all to the chains which the German worker cast off four years ago. But they have failed. Comrade Zeigner may have been incapacitated but I, Comrades, am very much alive. Their conspiracy will now be rooted out and crushed. Our enemies are little worms, I have seen them up close before but never had the opportunity to stamp on them. That is different now.

For the duration of President Zeigner’s disability, under Article 51 of the republican constitution, I am assuming the powers of the Presidency. This is a statement I will be making to the Reichstag this afternoon before addressing the German people in the evening. I will pledge to safeguard the revolution using all the means at my disposal, to cleanse Germany of the reactionary FILTH-”


Hitler seemed to go weak from the sudden exertion, wobbling in the middle of the room. Goebbels rushed to prevent him from falling but Hitler recomposed himself before his lieutenant could unconsciously drape the bloodied shirt around its owner.


“These responsibilities fall to myself Comrades but I can only go forward with the support of you gathered here. This is what I need to do and this is what you need to do. We have the state for a moment but we need state power. This power will not be handed to us, even though it is owed to us and to the class we represent. We shall have to take it and so we must embark upon taking it together, in the knowledge of our history and of our duty.”

There was little hope in these words but there was that same resolve, borne of venom.


“When the music stops, we shall be the only ones remaining on stage.”


“Yes!” Shouted someone from the crowd, apparently with their spirits renewed. There was an infectiousness to the confidence and cheers rang out. The hollering continued with Hitler proceeding to move back out of the hall to face the waiting press outside. Many followed with their belief reignited, as did Gerda.


State power. That half-truth with which they had all embarked into government with the popular front, now at the cusp of being fully realised. She walked with the crowd into the morning sunshine amidst a hail of questions for their leader.



The blissful scene made Gerda’s heart rise, with thoughts of her hands placed around a neck.








---



The print is In Memorium Karl Liebknecht by Käthe Kollwitz

​

 

[The Red]

With the different methods of technical reproduction of a work of art, its fitness for exhibition increased to such an extent that the quantitative shift between its two poles turned into a qualitative transformation of its nature. This is comparable to the situation of the work of art in prehistoric times when, by the absolute emphasis on its cult value, it was, first and foremost, an instrument of magic. Only later did it come to be recognized as a work of art. In the same way today, by the absolute emphasis on its exhibition value the work of art becomes a creation with entirely new functions, among which the one we are conscious of, the artistic function, later may be recognized as incidental.

~ Walter Benjamin, The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction

​

The Louvre, Paris; June 1934





For all his fervent Italian nationalism, Filippo Tommasso Marinetti would have grudgingly admitted that the Louvre contained the finest art gallery in the world.



Although one could make a strong case for Italy having given more to the world of art than any other country, many of her finest treasures were showcased here. This included the most famous of them all, da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. The French guarded such wonders closely and he had no doubt that should an Italian patriot try to repatriate any pieces, such as Vincento Peruggia had attempted to do with the Mona Lisa in 1911, there would be hell to pay in spite of the new Franco-Italian partnership.


The reason for this blossoming relationship was indicated by the new banners hanging from the exterior of the palace. The white Cross of Lorraine on a background of Bleu de France was the symbol of the new regime and, as decreed by the recent constitutional convention, the new flag of the French state. It seemed to be draped all over Paris in recognition of this new reality and as such Marinetti hadn’t been surprised to see it hanging from the courtyard.

The interior of the gallery was largely the same as when he had last visited, other than a few signs of ongoing renovation. Even when in an impatient mood it was impossible not to stand back and regard the beauty on display, a visual history of much that was good with the world condensed into one palace of art. All the same it could be greater still, that was why he was here and that was also the reason for his impatience.

“Just as the Marechal protects the French nation, we here like to think of ourselves as protecting the French culture. Paris and Rome shall remain the cultural capitals of the world, even as Berlin, New York and Vienna fall to degeneracy.”

The new French regime was keen to build partnerships with regimes of similar stature across Europe in the name of containing the Bolshevik threat emanating from Moscow and increasingly Berlin. This included Pilsudski’s junta in Poland, Horthy’s regency in Hungary, and most importantly Mussolini’s fascist Italy. At the same time they were attempting a cultural restoration of France, away from Judaism, Freemasonry, materialism, and other Bolshevik apparitions. Marinetti’s host seemed keen to emphasise, however that French greatness needed only to be unlocked and that the experience of his Italian guest was more important than his Italian expertise. As such Marinetti was being taken through the empty galleries which had remained closed to the public ever since the new regime had directed urgent remodelling.

Lucien Rebatet, author, journalist and now Commissioner for the Directory of the Arts was his guide. Rebatet’s work was apparently of some renown but the young man irritated Marinetti, explaining his impressions on the fundamentals of French art to a man nearly twice his age. Marinetti would have liked to have reminded him that he had written The Futurist Manifesto when Rebatet had still been in his mother’s crib but in the name of diplomacy he opted to put him on edge instead.

“I must admit Monsieur Rebatet, I had expected to be meeting the curator rather than a member of the commission.”

“Signor Marinetti, I must apologise but Monsieur Huyghe is currently under review in regards to his position as curator. He has presently embarrassed himself and this institution.”

Rebatet rolled his eyes, apparently at the thought of the suspended curator.

“He was happy to repatriate works from the swindling art dealers,” Rebatet muttered, “but he was hesitant to take the measures needed to restore French culture and in doing so he revealed himself to be overly attached to the relics of the old system. We are doing our best to cast these illusions aside.”

Marinetti smiled at that, this was more his style.

“It is important not to be afraid to sweep away the constraints of the past. In Italy, the Duce saw what needed to be done and did so without regard for meaningless bureaucracy and debate. This dynamism has been reflected throughout our state and culture ever since, making us the most forward looking country in the world. It is encouraging to know that France is embarking on a similar path.”

“The old regime had been debating reform of the arts since before the war,” Rebatet vented in frustration, “thanks to that unparalleled inertia we fell behind, not only in culture but in the vigour which culture is meant to instill into the body of the nation. Instead we were made to fester and, deliberately or not, succumb to the diseases of bolshevism, corruption and debauchery. This is why we are grateful for the help of our Italian friends.”

Marinetti found the young writer’s superstitions to be tedious, it was indicative of the sort of anti-modernist thought he had struggled against throughout his entire career, outside and within Mussolini’s regime. He had comforted himself that it was an echo of the past whenever his position required him to indulge such attitudes; mysticism to be discarded as the state outgrew it, but this new French regime seemed far more eager to put it at the centre of their beliefs, even if it was in the name of progress. He hoped his own influence might help them to cast aside such aspersions.

“In these few weeks we have accomplished more in reforming the arts than our predecessors managed in decades, that is the promise of the Marechal.” Rebatet continued as he brought Marinetti toward a room with far more materials hanging around outside it, the unmistakable signs of a new exhibition.

“But as we build anew, we also have to warn against the mistakes of the past.”

It was indeed a new exhibit, the title leaving little to the imagination. It was proclaimed on a sign above the door and bundles of posters with the same name lying in the corner, likely ready to be plastered around the city.

What concerned Marinetti were the pieces on display, featuring works by the Swiss-German abstract artist, Paul Klee, whom it was noted made no secret of his Marxists beliefs. It went on in such a fashion, featuring pictures and prints where they could be attained, Rebatet explained, or copies if not. Marinetti raised his eyes at the works from the German avant-garde artist Max Liebermann. The information next to his work detailed at length his religious background and his role in subverting German culture.

“The German renaissance pieces are staying where they are of course, but the ways with which many German artists have debased themselves under their Marxist creed and hedonistic republic are worthy only of contempt. Unfortunately this is not a problem contained to Germany.”

Rebatet led Marinetti through works of the French avant-garde, expressionists and, to his shock, those of Félix Del Marle and other French futurists.

Before Marinetti had only murmured in response to Rebatet’s information about the exhibition, focusing his eye more upon the art on display but now he turned to face him, unsure about whether he was the object of a practical joke. Instead it was an earnest face which met him.

“We hope this exhibit will help to inoculate the French culture from further subversion as we move forward as a nation.”

Marinetti wished to protest but considering the seriousness of the Frenchman and in mind of his own official and diplomatic role, he hedged his criticism.

“Surely, going forward, it will still be important for French art to depict the strangeness of the world in which we live?”

“That will be important but we must also work out the proper means with which to do so, unlike those,” he said whilst waving carelessly at a work by the Russian futurist Natalia Goncharova, “which are detrimental to the vitality of a nation.”

“You will understand my confusion, Monsieur, at futurism being described as detrimental. It is the life blood of the fascist movement.” Marinetti replied coolly.

“That may be true of Italian futurism and Italian fascism, Signor but what is essential for one people can be detrimental for another, even when those peoples inhabit brother nations, such as France and Italy.”

Marinetti was far from convinced and it seemed the Frenchman could tell, for he went on.

“I cannot imagine Italian cinema tolerates the works of Fritz Lang or Sergei Eisenstein, unambiguous Bolshevik propaganda! We have had to endure such poison however, until now. Futurism can be a gift but it can also be a curse, why even Hitler, the Bolshevik agitator dispensing with the pretense of the German republic being anything other than a Marxist creation, dabbled in Futurism.”

Marinetti felt his stomach turn but merely shook his head.

“I am sorry Monsieur, to describe Hitler as a futurist is completely false and if that is the basis for futurist works being in your exhibition then I would advise you remove them lest you submit yourself and your regime to domestic and international ridicule. Did Hitler come into contact with futurist thought? Yes. Did he understand it? No. Did his rejection of my work do far more to motivate his Marxist creed than anything he took from it? It is beyond doubt.”

Rebatet was clearly resentful of being embarrassed in this way but Marinetti felt he deserved a medal for his own restraint. Not that Mussolini was ever likely to give him one.

“Be that as it may, such misreadings of your work are still dangerous, they are one of the many tools the Marxists use to weaken France.”

“Culture is essential Monsieur but if you had read my work you would likely agree that the time for dealing with Hitler through such a medium is past. We must not meet the German with that which he doesn’t truly understand, we must hit them with what all peoples understand. Force.”

Marinetti formed a fist before punching it into his other hand, it was a stronger blow than he had expected but it allowed him to relieve himself of his agitation. It seemed to compose his French host as well.

“That may well become necessary,” admitted Rebatet, “but before then we must restore the health of the French state. Our army would expiate the German scourge tomorrow if it became the main priority but for now our focus must be inward. With your help, we can achieve this restoration sooner rather than later, and then Germany will have her reckoning.”

Marinetti smiled at the Frenchman’s confidence. He knew better but he wasn’t sure the Frenchman did. He had maintained his friendship with General Federico Baistrocchi ever since their debacle in the Alps and before his trip the General had made him privy to Italian military intelligence, that the French army was built on sand and its armaments industry was decrepit. This was not the fault of the new regime but it was the reason for much of their bluster. This was why the French were so keen to build alliances and to distract away from a direct confrontation with Germany, so they could rebuild their army and industry whilst ensuring they weren’t alone when that was achieved.

Until then, their bark was worse than their bite.


“Still, it seems Goethe remains correct. There remain estimable individuals amongst the wretched Boche.” Rebatet admitted before relenting,


“Too bad one in particular wasn’t a better shot.”







---


The painting is Bretonnes 1913 by Félix Del Marle

 

[The Red]

At the present time petty bourgeois democracy is protecting the safes draped with republican odours more effectively than would the rifles of the Hohenzollern vassals. But who can tell for how long?

The workers, though they have been tricked, have not been defeated.

Petty bourgeois democracy has gone on the rocks.



~ August Thalheimer, Three Weeks of the Way of the German Majority Socialists

​

Lindenstraße, Berlin; June 1934




The People’s Guard unit stationed outside of Social Democratic headquarters appeared to be struggling in the summer heat, their dark grey uniforms allowing the sun to bear down upon them with extra malice. Ernst Mehr nodded sympathetically to the sweating officer who waved him through to enter the building. Whether it was the heat, or nerves, the sight of them made Ernst sweat as well.



They had been stationed there since May, ever since the assassination attempt on Chancellor Hitler and President Zeigner had allowed the former to assume the powers of the latter whilst Zeigner remained comatose from the gunshot wounds he had received. A state of emergency had been declared, finally putting a legislative stamp on the war scare that had been plaguing the country ever since the French coup. Buildings of great importance to the republic or the United Front, those which a fascist co-conspirator of the demented Oskar Dirlewangler might attempt to attack next, had been placed under the protection of the People’s Guard.


The move hadn’t made Ernst feel safer. Ever since they had been placed outside the building he had even enjoyed a friendly rapport with those posted there, some members of the People’s Guard were formerly with the Social Democratic militias after all, but he dreaded the day he would arrive at party headquarters only to be told he was under arrest by order of the Chancellor.

Hitler had exploited the crisis with a ruthlessness that had divided the nation in a time of shock, using the assassination attempt as the impetus for proscribing the German People’s Freedom Party and affiliated organisations, on the basis of Dirlewangler’s loose connection to the party. He had subsequently spun a web of conspiracy which implicated almost the entirety of the German aristocracy which had remained within the country since the civil war and many in the bourgeoisie at the same time. Austrian and Bavarian independence movements were then also proscribed and every significant opposition party of the centre or right was placed under suspicion, Noske’s German Socialist Party most of all.

Ernst did not feel more secure for having returned to the Social Democrats however. The removal of the far-right and secessionist parties had finally given the United Front a stable majority in the Reichstag but Hitler had opted to instead exploit Zeigner’s powers to rule largely by decree. The Social Democrat members were left to carry out policies they had not been consulted with. Amongst these were the implementation of the People’s Guard report, the introduction of conscription, feelers sent out to the Soviet embassy regarding a formal alliance, the cancellation of all mortgages and rents, the freezing of all private assets above certain limits alongside confiscation of stocks and the nationalisation of the banks. It was a legislative flurry which he could only see as being built towards a dictatorship, one in which the Social Democrats would be surplus to requirements.

However the party itself was divided on how to respond. Ernst felt there was still a way out of this if the party was willing to make it clear to Hitler that they would not lose the republic they had created in the name of a temporary emergency. Those on the right of the party largely agreed with him as did some of the party leadership, however there were also those who believed a more diplomatic approach to Hitler would be the preferable option or at least more in keeping with the spirit of the United Front. Then there were those on the left of the party who actively agreed with Hitler’s program, if not trusting in him personally. Ernst remembered those who had walked out alongside the KPD from the Reichstag prior to the civil war and those who had cheered on Hitler a bit too energetically during it. He wondered how truly loyal to the party some of them were.

All the same the party couldn’t afford to be divided at this time, Ernst vehemently disagreed with the left’s position but it was at least more substantial than doing nothing. This was why they were meeting today, to try and work out a coherent policy going forward which the whole of the party could broadly agree on. One which would see them through Zeigner’s recovery. Or death.

The party offices were half empty and there was an uneasy quiet in dread of further events which seemed to be spiralling out of any control but this only gave Ernst a sense of anticipation. It was time to get a handle on things.

He was genuinely surprised to see the meeting room so empty as well, however, there were only a couple dozen representatives of the party at varying levels. Those of the left were grouped around Max Seydewitz, Zeigner’s Saxon protege whilst those closer to his own views were sat with Rudolf Hilferding, the party’s chief economist prior to the crash. Otto Wels, the party chairman, sat alongside his own group of party functionaries whilst Otto Braun sat in the corner. Braun remained the Minister-President of Prussia, even if he held court over a majority Communist cabinet ever since the civil war. In Zeigner’s present condition he was the second most powerful man in Germany and seemed unwilling to take any sides. Worryingly, there didn’t appear to be any trade unionists present.

Hilferding waved Ernst over to sit with him and Wels looked disappointedly at this watch.

“Well then Comrades, I think that’s everyone.” He finally said, calling the meeting to attention.

“Where is Bockler? Isn’t it best to have the ADGB sit in on this?” Ernst asked, wondering if it was just a matter of some people being delayed. The People’s Guard checkpoints around official and otherwise important buildings weren’t exactly helpful for a commute.

“The unions are having their own discussions.” Wels sighed. “The ADGB have informed us that whilst dialogue is important at this time, they are wary of it being undertaken in a format which other parties could view as...prejudiced.”

“Quite right too!” Seydewitz responded, “Comrade Wels, the reasons for having this meeting seem to have a stink of conspiracy around them.”

“There is nothing underhanded about seeing where we all stand.” Wels fired back, “If the unions want to wait to see the result of that rather than the formulation then that is their right.”

“And where do things stand, Comrade?” Seydewitz asked.

“The situation as far as I see it is twofold; matters of process and matters of policy with both ultimately leading back to the current Chancellor. Hitler has put through a large number of policies which, either due to our own misgivings or Reichstag arithmetic, haven’t been realised up until now. Rightly or wrongly, Reichstag arithmetic is no longer an issue but with that he has also dispensed with any process for debate, whether between our two parties or within cabinet. Personally I believe it is more important that we restore cabinet governance and a dialogue with the Communists until the…resolution of Comrade Zeigner’s situation.”

There was an awkwardness about Zeigner’s condition, it was perhaps the one thing the room was united on but few wanted to speak of it in any great detail.

“As such I propose we approach him, together with the unions ideally, and communicate that the United Front which Comrade Zeigner’s Presidency has so far exemplified must be returned to immediately.”

“On the governance issue, we’re all agreed, I think.” Seydewitz said with some hesitation. “Such an approach could work as long as the unions are with us, if it was made clear to Hitler that we are all serious about the maintenance of the United Front. But we would have to embrace that by meeting together. I realise that Zeigner’s unification proposals did not sit well with everyone here but functionally, some sort of joint forum would see us through this crisis together.”

“The problem isn’t merely one of governance however,” Hilferding responded, “such as the way policy is linked to it with disastrous consequences. As a nation we already face being expelled from the League of Nations, this proposal of alliance with the Soviet Union will only ensure that. Even if Hitler isn’t willing to take the Stalin line directly, this sudden militarism and officially sanctioned paranoia over threats to the revolution means to return us to the regimented society of the world war. The economic policies he has put forward, they ensure this will happen. Hitler is going to tear the current economic model to pieces and it appears to be deliberate. In a few short months we may be faced with total state control of what’s left of the economy and there is no doubt where he will build from there!” It seemed to Ernst that Hilferding’s exasperation had gotten the better of him but he went on regardless,

“If we agree to a forum with which to implement this direction for Germany, we will be doing so at a Kremlin level. The current crackdown of conservatives will give way to liberals, then Catholics, and perhaps some of our own number as well. Comrades, I fear we would only be dipping our hands in the blood to come.”

“It’s a grim picture you paint, Comrade.” Seydewitz snapped, but a melodramatic one. You are allowing your own beliefs to get in the way of the situation. Need I remind you that we are a Marxist party?”

“Marx didn’t see only one road to Socialism, Comrade, and he certainly did not have Lenin’s in mind for Germany.”

“And what would your solution be?”

Hilferding seemed to regain his confidence at that and Ernst smiled as well. The initiative was theirs for the moment.

“We walk out of government whilst at the same time Comrade Braun expels the Communists from his cabinet who do not immediately pledge loyalty to Prussia. At the Prussian level we replace Communists with Trade Unionists and other democratically minded individuals whilst at the German level we build a unified opposition of the same groups. We dissolve the Reichstag and if Hitler refuses to hold new elections then his designs towards dictatorship will become clear for all to see. At that point, if necessary, we organise a general strike.”

It was then that Braun, the key to all this, made his own thoughts known.

“As it appears such a gambit would rely principally on myself becoming dictator of Prussia, I must admit I am more than hesitant. Such maneuvering at the Prussian level would be likely to erupt into an immediate collision with the Reichstag. What would stop Hitler accusing us of launching a coup of our own?”

“We would be honest in our intentions, in comparison to Hitler’s tales about Franco-Italian plots and fascists around every corner.”

“And who would tolerate such honesty?” Seydewitz spat back. “Dividing the workers once more in favour of these ‘democratically minded’ elements. Which would be whom exactly? Noske?”

“Primarily the Centre and Democrats. Regarding the German Socialist Party, a dialogue could be helpful.” Ernst admitted.

Seydewitz slammed the table at that.

“And there we have it! The exact same scheme Noske tried to pull in ‘31 reheated. Do tell us, Comrade Mehr, is it true that he had offered to make you Chancellor if your man Marx had defeated Comrade Zeigner? Is that the sort of Marxism Comrade Hilferding professes to uphold?”

Ernst blushed a fiery red, unable to contain his embarrassment even as Wels called for order.

“And I wonder what Cabinet position Hitler will offer you, until it is your turn for the gulag?”


At that Wels banged his own hand on the table until it was quiet in the room. Although he had extinguished the argument the acrimony remained, as did the impasse. To some it was a conclusive one.

Ernst left the meeting dejected and he was dismayed to see the offices as quiet as when he had entered. Devoid of the energy and life which had once made them central to the workers movement, and Germany’s future.

The People’s Guard unit stationed outside were relieved from the sun having disappeared behind the tall buildings surrounding them but Ernst felt a chill in the air. He went back home to put on a heavier coat. And to pack a suitcase.

Onkel Tom’s Hütte was no longer the remarkable site it had once been, such housing projects now lined the outskirts of Berlin and most other German cities in the name of a new way forward; housing for everyone and communal living. He had been bought into it for so long that he no longer recognised the difference between such imagined communities and reality. From his apartment he gathered his best clothes and the small amount of gold he had secreted away ever since the hyperinflation. From his personal items he took a few books and some papers, those with which he had borne witness to the creation of the republic.

He held the suitcase close to himself in taking the underground back into the city centre, not that anyone seemed to notice. Those who knew him as a Reichstag deputy long having lost interest, he tried to remain an individual in the crowd.

It was a crowd which went on with life regardless of his own fears, the thoroughfares of the city remained packed with the rush to get back home, one to which he wasn’t going to return. He could already hear jazz music from some of the cafes and he hesitated on whether or not to stay a moment, before heading to the bank to withdraw his savings account before it closed for the day. There was barely a queue at the bank and his assets, well below the level which were now subject to being frozen, fit bearably within the remaining space of his suitcase.

Minus the amount required to buy a train ticket to Prague, which he placed into an envelope. He dwelled upon spending one more night of the city which had reflected the republic more than any other, its electric light already breathing new life upon the darkening sky. It was with this notion Germany had embarked on the direction he had tried one last time to steer it away from. He was confident in his rejection.


Ernst wondered how and when life would bring him back here, whether his type would ever be welcome again in a city which now belonged to those he had rejected and abandoned. All he got in response was a big band starting up for the night in a nearby beer hall.



He took in the glitter around him once more before heading towards Potsdamer Platz Banhof.





---





The picture is Ex Libris by Miles Aldridge

 

[The Red]

For my part I'm not angry to see so many generals arrive at the Chamber. They will doubtless explain to you what special means they employed in being so constantly beaten. There must be a secret to this. Perhaps they'll reveal it to us. This won’t give us back Alsace and Lorraine, but at least we'll know why we lost them. They'll probably end up by confiding to us that if they lost so many battles it’s because they didn’t know how to make war, and this will be an excellent opportunity for us to cry out, we enemies of human butchery: “Well, if you don’t know how to do it, then don’t do it any more!”

~ Henri Rochefort, For a citizens' army

​

42ème Division d'Infanterie Headquarters, Franco-German Border; July 1934





It was a balmy summer evening, one in which the troops of the French army stationed on the border might have hoped for a quiet night of sleep in the years gone by. The establishment of the Marechal’s new regime and the subsequent German reoccupation of the Rhineland had changed all that. Either side of the border was now restless, there were already rumours of small exchanges of gunfire which couldn’t be placed. Now those who watched over the developing situation were required to sleep with one eye open, the only consolation being that the same could be expected of their superiors.



Colonel Charles de Gaulle did not resent having far more sleepless nights over the past few months, not when the cause was his newfound role as Director of Strategic & Tactical Development. It may have been a long-winded title but it gave him a remit to overturn a decade of malaise within the French army and its supporting infrastructure wherever he found it. In achieving this aim, he would be able to put his theories of armoured warfare up against the Germans, preferably sooner rather than later.


It was for this reason that he was patrolling the border on this Summer night, inspecting the troops and surveying their readiness to see how it could be improved. He had found many shortcomings and almost many excuses from the local Commandants as to why they hadn’t been addressed.

The troops themselves were alert in spite of his time of arrival, his visit was meant to be a surprise but it had become widely known that an improvement campaign was underway and as such many units seemed ready for his appearance. All the same there were certain difficulties that couldn’t be fixed overnight and these were the ones de Gaulle was interested in.

The local Chef de bataillon whose office in which he now sat appeared more interested in diverting any blame away from himself. He eyed the medals from the last war proudly displayed on the desk whilst receiving the non-commissioned officer’s explanations.

“It’s a matter of logistics Colonel, the men are happy to have a go at the Germans but they don’t feel certain as to whether they will be properly supported when the time comes. They will hold well enough but they might be hesitant to charge across the border.” The local Commandant tried to explain.

The man was older than de Gaulle by a number of years but in spite of his pride in having served in the last war he appeared to have grown complacent in his rank ever since, to the Colonel’s horror the man had neither a phone nor a radio in his office.

“It is worse than that Commandant, you will not charge across the border regardless of your situation if you are unable to properly maintain your vehicles. We are embarking on a new form of warfare in this army, once which builds on the lessons of the last war rather than merely basking in the victory it wrought. We will use the expertise of our industry and the ingenuity of our troops to create methods which will allow us to overcome the greater numbers the Germans or Russians may bring to bear.”

The Commandant seemed genuinely happy to hear such an appeal, his eyes lighting up at the thought of his younger days.

“I served in the last offensives of the war Colonel and to hear that we as a nation are finally developing upon those lessons brings me great relief. We routed the Germans then and we will do so again.”

“But that relies on veterans such as you and I.” De Gaulle stressed, trying to remove the Commandant from the warm memories of victory. “The men under your command are not veterans, they are conscripts and that is why they need to have battle-hardened centurions to make them the veterans of the future!”

The Commandant had started to agree with the Colonel before the light in the office grew bright for a moment. The two men sat there hesitantly before things seemed to have returned to normal. Yet from the window the night appeared to have grown darker.

There was an echo from outside almost like a buzzsaw at a timber yard. Then came a sound like fireworks, as if someone hadn’t been informed that this year's Bastille Day celebrations had been cancelled. However the shrieking became far more directed and was soon being joined by a human chorus.

The men de Gaulle had spent the night inspecting were shouting amongst themselves, the Colonel and the Commandant looked to one another in confusion before exiting the office only to see chaos unfolding around them.

Tracer fire hung over the landscape to the east in all colours, illuminating the darkness in a vicious display of white, orange, green and yellow. De Gaulle recognised their own troops beginning to reply from afar as red flashes joined them with the Fusil-mitrailleurs opening up. De Gaulle himself wasn’t able to respond just yet.

He had believed there was time to wrinkle out the problems in the French army and he had been striving to do so as quickly as possible but this was far too early. De Gaulle wondered if the Germans had lost their minds, their leaked reports had shown how weak they were. Was this truly the beginning of the German attack the coup had been planned to pre-empt or was it all just a misunderstanding? Or perhaps a madman’s obsession being borne out?

The firing of a gun close to his ear brought the Colonel back out of his head, the Commandant was firing his pistol into the air to rally his bewildered men.

“Calm yourselves!” he shouted to them and perhaps to de Gaulle as well. “Alright then, little soldiers, this may be it. It wasn’t what we were expecting tonight my brothers but it is what we are faced with. So, to arms, we go up against the Boche once more, for God, for the Marechal, and France. France above all!”

The Commandant spoke with a fire that de Gaulle didn’t recognise from the man making excuses a moment ago but he seemed to be in his element amongst the approaching gunfire. His troops rallied around that energy, moved to take up arms and advance. They did so with a determination de Gaulle feared they did not have.

Behind them, artillery opened up and shells went soaring above their heads into the flurry of colours ahead of them before large explosions joined the cacophony of violence.


Colonel De Gaulle flinched as the junior officer embraced him with a look of grim resignation. At that moment he noticed the fear in the man’s eyes. He was as scared as the rest of them had been.



“As it was in the last war,” he said nonetheless, “it shall be again.”






---



The photo is Fireworks at Longchamps by Brassaï

 

[The Red]

From great inequality of fortunes and conditions, from the vast variety of passions and of talents, of useless and pernicious arts, of vain sciences, would arise a multitude of prejudices equally contrary to reason, happiness and virtue. We should see the magistrates fomenting everything that might weaken men united in society, by promoting dissension among them; everything that might sow in it the seeds of actual division, while it gave society the air of harmony; everything that might inspire the different ranks of people with mutual hatred and distrust, by setting the rights and interests of one against those of another, and so strengthen the power which comprehended them all.


~ Jean Jacques Rousseau, On the Origin of the Inequality of Mankind

Santa Palomba transmitter, Rome; Shortly after





“As we have seen, the fascist aggression can only be met with the same violence they would inflict on the German worker. Their attacks across the border began again last night, we have been returning fire since 2 AM. From now on bullet will be met with bullet, shell will be met with shell-”



The Crown Prince Wilhelm, head of the House of Hohenzollern, took another sip of his coffee and smiled. Hitler had developed his ability to broadcast vitriol over the airwaves for over a decade, he had no doubt this new act of defiance being broadcast across Europe was scripted to time with the sudden outbreak of skirmishes across the Italian border. He had underestimated the man as an adversary beforehand but no longer.


This news had come alongside similar reports of firefights in France, Hungary and Poland. Scattered on their own but together, enough to paint a picture of Germany under siege.

In regards to the news of shooting in the vicinity of the Brenner Pass, Mussolini was yet to respond with his usual bombast, casting doubt on Hitler’s aspersions about a coordinated fascist offensive. The Crown Prince had no doubt the Duce was currently just trying to figure out what was going on before responding.

The increasingly confused activities of the United Front were perplexing to many and the Crown Prince would not have begrudged Mussolini’s confusion. Indeed, he held the Italian dictator in high regard, with him having been a generous host in accommodating the Hohenzollern family after the Third Reich debacle had forced their flight from Germany. Since then their lands and fortune had been expropriated by the United Front. They had few means but Mussolini had provided them with a luxurious existence at the expense of the Italian state, with an easy line of credit. It was charity which the Crown Prince aimed to repay one day.

To this end he had looked to establish a government-in-exile after von Seeckt’s assurances that he must lay low seemed to be leading to little practical action on behalf of German patriots. Von Seeckt himself and many other potential followers of the Crown Prince’s cause had left Europe altogether for the opportunities offered by the new world but he refused to leave his empire behind and as such he had looked into seeking recognition for himself as the true leader of Germany. Mussolini hadn’t been willing to go this far with his support, however he had been decent enough to send his son-in-law Ciano, now Head of the Government Press Office, to meet with the Crown Prince once more.

Ciano had explained that the breaking-off of all diplomatic relations with Berlin was not advisable. If he was ever to become Kaiser through Italian help then Italy would need to be strong and that strength was only enabled by the German trade which helped to grow the Italian economy.

The Crown Prince had been frustrated by having his dedication to duty be tempered by such clerical matters but it seemed the recent events in France and subsequently in Germany had allowed for a change of tact on behalf of his Italian hosts. It appeared that the republic was about to fall entirely to Bolshevism much as he had warned before and his request to make an appeal to German patriots to resist such a direction was now given the green light.

It was for this reason that he was now sitting leisurely in the waiting room of one of Europe’s most powerful radio transmitters, used by Italian state radio, to deliver a broadcast in German. Ciano had welcomed him there himself, having assured the Crown Prince that they were going to great lengths to ensure his broadcast would be heard by as many in Germany as possible. The script he had been given was more measured than the one he would ideally have liked to broadcast but it was a start. Where Mussolini dithered, the Crown Prince intended to show once again why leadership was in his breeding.

Hitler continued to outline the details of his outrage from the waiting room’s radio, elaborating on a conspiracy in which treacherous royals were mentioned more than once. The rhetoric made Hohenzollern smile further, Hitler wasn’t the only one who could utilise this technology and he would soon find that out when the Crown Prince himself took to the airwaves to set the record straight.

He saw Ciano arrive at the door, the Italian glancing awkwardly at his choice of programming, Hohenzollern turned it off for his benefit.



“Important to know what the Bolsheviks are up to if we’re to beat them at their own game. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Quite, excellency. They’re ready for you now.” Ciano replied with an awkward deference.


“Wonderful, then let us shed some light at last!”


He was, of course, not entirely blind to how some of his future subjects viewed him. There were those who had tried to vote to expropriate his families lands even before the civil war and amongst his own supposed adherents there had been those like von Schleicher, who saw him as fit only to be a useless bauble to lend legitimacy to a regime whose power lay elsewhere. Since the events of the Third Reich had required him to flee he had been branded a pretty tyrant by the left and a feckless criminal by many on the right. It was enough to stoke a fire inside anyone but he knew that such impressions were temporary, he had been a prince across the water in worse circumstances. Now he had a chance to show he could lead once more.



Or, at the very least, he could cause a little chaos of his own.






---


The painting is Wanderer above the Sea of Fog by Caspar David Friedrich

 

[The Red]

What is important is that the worker can say of the land in which he was born: It is my country, in which I can lead a free and happy life. It is important that in such a country the worker together with other workers exercise power, not the bourgeoisie that lives by exploiting the workers. The question of fatherland always was and is a class question. The worker’s fatherland cannot be a country where the last exploiting class on the planet lives, where the monopolists control the factories and slaughterhouses, the land, the army, the police, the courts, the press, radio, and television. The fatherland of the workers, farmers, and productive people is where he is free of exploitation and slavery, where the working people rule, united under the leadership of the working class and its revolutionary party. It is where the government serves the good of the people and the happiness of mankind. Only such a fatherland is worthy to be defended.


~ Heinz Hoffman, The Meaning of Being a Soldier

​

Luftstreitkräfte Flugplatz, Stolp; July 1934






Johann rubbed his eyes wearily in contemplating the maps he had laid out in front of him. The entire country was preparing itself for the worst and it seemed the Luftstreitkräfte might end up being on active duty far sooner than he thought. It was important to be ready.



There was a certain anticipation to the prospect of going up in the air into combat once more. The crackle of gunfire which could occasionally be heard from the Polish border had already given the airfield a sense of impending conflict in the preceding days. It left everyone on the base on-edge, a feeling those belonging to the new German air force had hoped to be free from with the revelation of their existence, only for events to leave Europe teetering on the edge of a cliff.


He liked to think Germany having an air force had made the fascists more apprehensive about an all-out attack, hence why the aggression had been limited to skirmishes so far, but there was a creeping fear that they were only waiting for certain stars to align. The sudden reappearance of the Crown Prince had felt like such a moment. His message over the airwaves to the German people, vaguely calling for them to stand in opposition to what he had claimed was a Bolshevik coup, could easily have been an activation order to the groups Hitler had spent the last few weeks warning everyone about. Chaotic figures similar to the strange creature he had witnessed in a Berlin cell. There had already been rumours of sabotage going on within Germany over the last few days, only adding to the tension on the base. There were former Reichswehr personnel amongst them after all.

His room onbase was still in the warm night all the same, Johann’s role as flight group leader was not quite as prestigious as the one he might have had within the Citizens Defence Council but this had been his goal ever since his days in the Ruhr Red Army and should Germany be thrown into the conflagration of another war he was glad to be at the front, in the air. He cast his eye dreamily to the science fiction novel lying on his bunk, The Shape of Things To Come, before turning his eyes back to the maps of Polish targets that would be first to face the anger of the Luftstreitkräfte. It was hard not to think of his Polish counterparts doing the same to German targets at this moment, let alone the French and Italians. The French crew who had opposed him with so much defiant bravado over the skies of Russia, only to be sent to their deaths, came to mind. Perhaps friends of theirs were planning the same fate for him just now.

A blaring sound of alarm came from the base’s speaker system, calling on all stationed to assemble in the parade grounds at once. It was a means of collectively informing them all that something was wrong. Johann was disorientated from the noise after being taken out of his thoughts but he composed himself quickly. If this was it then there was no point in panicking. He casually threw on his staff jacket and walked out his quarters, the younger pilots under his care already filling the corridor, gossiping about what the alarm could mean whilst waiting for Johann to lead them out.

It was not an unpleasant night to be outside, the breeze from the Baltic sea broke up the humidity although those who had been forced to climb out of their beds shivered all the same. Perhaps some were struggling more than others to not look terrified. Johann remained blank faced; up in the air he was truly alone, there he could scream.

He drew his men to attention as their superior, Colonel Blaas, strode on to the parade ground. The base commander nodded with satisfaction before putting them at ease.


“Kamerdan, you may know that in these last few days our Fatherland has been the target of probing attacks across our borders. What you will likely not know is that less than an hour ago Polish troops began to march into East Prussia.”

Blaas let the news hang in the air, but there was no audible reaction from the well drilled pilots and ground crew. Johann tried to count in his head how many among them he knew were from East Prussia, and how many had family there.

“Our comrades on the border are resisting but have been forced to fall back. It seems the Poles have had help, either from infiltrators, or from traitors, to help them find weaknesses in our line. Plan Kolberg is now in effect. We must clear our runways at once and prepare for attack.”

With that the orders of mobilisation were barked out, there was no time, no place for any words of comfort. Johann and his men moved to change into their flight suits even whilst the runway was cleared for their expected arrivals.

The gossip was more alarmed now,

“It’s the middle of the night!”

“Oh no, did the Defence Council forget to consult you again?”

The back and forth between his men made Johann consider that it would have been good to have been on Citizens Defence Council at this moment. It would have been good to know what was truly going on.

Kolberg was a dread phrase for it was the name given to the hypothetical worst case scenario. It meant that in short order Germany was expected to come under attack from three fronts simultaneously and as such the thinly spread forces of the People’s Guard were being gathered to defend the interior. It had been predicted that such an offensive might start with a diversionary attack in the Polish corridor and so the plan called for sacrificing East Prussia in the process of not being caught short elsewhere.

The Luftstreitkräfte’s immediate role in this was the evacuation of its East Prussian assets to bases inside Germany proper. Given the suddenness of the Polish attack, Stolp would be expected to bear the burden of this. At night of all things. Every light on the base slowly came on, punctuated by the loud clicking of the flak gun’s searchlights, illuminating them on the horizon and with luck, thousands of feet in the air.

They were sitting ducks, even as they helped to roll their new Heinkel He-50 fighters into the turf surrounding the base to help make extra room. It was a physically demanding task, even when not in a flight suit and amidst the strain it had been possible to miss the first droning noise from up above.

The searchlights jerked towards the place in the sky the noise was coming from and the assorted pilots stopped pushing and pulling for a moment to see the shapes illuminated in the dark, heading towards the base.

Johann recognised the familiar buzz and silhouette and realised he had been holding his breath. He exhaled as the He-16 came into land. The German upgrade to the Soviet Polikarpov he had flown against the French was the first to make it to safety it seemed, the pilot quickly exiting the aircraft before joining in with the efforts to make room.

More fighters landed, taking precedence due to their lack of flight time and ease with which they could be moved to make way for the bulkier transports and bombers. The searchlights focused on the larger planes now circling above, waiting their turn. The way they swung back and forth was an uncomfortable watch, making it easier to focus on the task at hand. One misstep out of the light and a collision could become inevitable.


The sight made Johann’s stomach turn. He couldn’t help but think of those in Berlin, going through the same focus. With not only their own lives on the line but those of the country as a whole.



He was glad he couldn’t see the nation going through similar motions.






---





The painting is Internationale Blatt II by Arno Rink

 

[The Red]

In many ways, present-day Russia reminds us of France in the period of the great revolution. This similarity finds expression, among other things, in that in our country, as in France, counter-revolution is spreading and, overflowing its own frontiers, is entering into an alliance with counter-revolution in other countries — it is gradually assuming an international character. In France, the old government concluded an alliance with the Austrian Emperor and the King of Prussia, called their troops to its aid, and launched an offensive against the people's revolution. In Russia, the old government is concluding an alliance with the German and Austrian emperors — it wants to call their troops to its aid and to drown the people's revolution in blood.

~ Joseph Stalin, International Counter-Revolution

​

The Reichstag, Berlin; the next day







The mood within the seat of German power was one of a weary dread, those few staff who had remained on from the time of the Third Reich could not help but feel a similarity to the moments before the Blackshirts had seized control of the building in desperation. Once again there were forces gathered against its current occupants.



The members of the Zentrale gathered within the Chancellor’s office felt awkward being there in the first place. The leadership committee of the Communist party were used to being summoned to hold court alongside the General Secretary but never had he called them into the seat of state power, not even since he had assumed the duties of President Zeigner whilst he remained in his comatose condition. The recent reports had made it clear that things were not looking good for the President’s chances of recovery but these had been kept secret from a nation which was already fearful enough of the enemies at their door, and now those within.


Only the portrait of Engels, which hung where Bismarck once had, gave the room a familiar feel to the assorted revolutionaries. Willi Munzenburg sat amongst the rest of the Zentrale in the ornate, well-furnished space, waiting for Hitler to return from his briefing with the Citizens Defence Council down the corridor. He had apparently demanded they liaise with him here as events in East Prussia were too pressing for him to leave. Couriers flowed back and forth from the Bendlerblock to the Reichstag almost continuously.

Occasionally they could hear the secretary and guards holding fort outside of the office directing someone or other down the corridor to where the briefing was taking place. This was until an insistent voice could be heard making their case to be allowed entry before having the door opened for him by a guard.

Hermann Müller seemed a sight even to the worn out members of the Zentrale, the Foreign Minister walked in unsteadily and slumped into a seat in front of the Chancellor’s desk which had once belonged to him. It was as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders, physically crushing him into the seat.

Many countries had already made their reactions to the events in East Prussia known; the Poles themselves had said they were protecting their own borders and German civilians and patriots within the territory, from Bolshevik agitators, the French and Italian regimes had been quick to back them up as had the Hungarians. The Americans and the British had urged caution on both sides and had called for negotiations but with nothing concrete to offer in that regard both calls sounded like platitudes. The only words of sympathy Germany had had so far were from Spain, the Soviet Union having thus far been silent. Müller had been sent to the Soviet embassy to glean their response and it seemed that he had been there for some time.

Munzenberg was wary of the minister’s apparent exhaustion but was keen to know if there was any news.

“It’s about as good as could be expected.” Müller replied wearily, before closing his eyes.
He only jerked them open again upon the door opening once more, followed by the sound of a walking stick clicking on the tiled floor.

“There are important events unfolding Comrade Müller, this had better be important.”

Adolf Hitler didn’t seem to be tired at all whilst he limped purposefully through the room with the aid of the stick he had been using ever since the assassination attempt. He acknowledged his gathered Comrades, before sitting down across from Müller with a look of anticipation.

“It is Chancellor, perhaps we should-” Müller looked apologetically to the Communists waiting around him before Hitler interjected.

“It is better we all talk it over together, please, go on.”

“The Russians are with us but they want certain understandings.”

“I knew it!” Hitler shouted triumphantly, slapping his hand on his desk theatrically, “Now the Poles will see the true error of their actions. They are in a trap of their own making!”

“You really should let me finish Chancellor.” Müller hissed through lips whilst holding up his hands as if to stop a horse galloping towards him.

“The Red Army is mobilising but they don’t want a war over East Prussia, at least not one which can be avoided. If the Poles or anyone else escalates the situation further they will go to war in our defence and they are willing to announce this to the world. However any move by ourselves to escalate the crisis and we will be on our own. If the fascists limit themselves to this attack, they have said it is better to use international pressure and rely on resistance from within East Prussia to dislodge the Poles. They have offered support in this regard as well, should we avoid conflict.”

“Avoid conflict?!” Hitler replied in disbelief. “Avoid escalations?! Our fatherland has been violated. We have been invaded! They want us to do nothing?!”

“They say,” Müller closed his eyes to collect his thoughts, but also to wince, “that our military evacuation made the situation difficult to justify.”

“They’re fools to believe that! We need to preserve our strength to allow us the best opportunity to strike back at the fascist invader.”

“For which we also require the Soviets.” Müller hissed again. “We all read the read Defence Council’s own report, if we were to face an all-out invasion we would need the Soviets to have any chance of withstanding it. We cannot go looking for a fight if we aren’t ready to fight it on our own. We need allies and that means listening to them occasionally.”

Hitler’s face, red already, seemed to go purple. He leaned over his foreign minister and proceeded to begin screaming in his face to the pain of all bearing witness.

“You only reveal how lacking your knowledge is! You must either be incompetent or a traitor! A social fascist traitor! No doubt your desperation to maintain the Polish apparition of your paymasters has unsettled the Russians, well we shan’t make the same mistakes again!”

It was an explosive rage but in the heavy breathing Hitler’s eyes remained focused on Müller, the look of hatred not abating even as his breathing slowed.

“From this moment your services are no longer required, Müller, I only hope I can try to fix this mess you have made.”

Müller rose from his seat as if the weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

“I’ll indulge this insanity no longer. This circus isn’t worth it.” He spat before marching out of his old office far more determined than before.

“There goes a perfect example of what we are up against Comrades. They conspire against Germany from within this very building. No wonder we have been caught out as we have, but no longer!”

Hitler now also rose from his seat, producing a set of keys, leaving his walking stick behind.

“We face the most insidious conspiracy of all time; liberal capitalists and fascist capitalists, their bond being the forge of international finance. Their attempts to enslave the world with the Great Imperialist Slaughter were foiled by the German and Russian revolutions, now their second attempt will see those two nations end them once and for all.”

He paused before a filing cabinet momentarily before selecting out a key from the set.

“In the meantime, we get our house in order. I will be introducing an Enabling Act to the Reichstag tomorrow, which will give us full freedom to do what must be done without these bourgeois constraints. This building will be put to its purpose at least, it will become the centre of operations dedicated to the German people.

Hopefully we can undo the damage of Müller's treachery but even if we are restrained within our borders momentarily, then we will heighten our efforts to extinguish his sort from the worker’s Germany. I have not been naming our enemy fruitlessly, the lists are under preparation, the bank details, the addresses. We know who to target.”

Hitler turned the key in the lock, revealing a large number of pristine files. Freshly typed, perhaps by the secretary outside. Or perhaps by his own hand. The same hands which had written out his book with such vitriol, as the words of that text were finally being put into action.

“I have been conferring with the People’s Guard, they are with us in our principles. Perhaps not to a man but enough to follow my instructions. We are opening the armouries to every civil war veteran who fought with us, every person with credited revolutionary experience ever since 1918. They are to be armed and they will find those who must be eliminated in their own communities. Then they will help organise the German people to withstand any foreign aggression.”

The members of the Zentrale raised their fists in response to the General Secretary as he looked around them before laying the files down on his desk.

“We will unleash a storm on our enemies! One composed of the German worker!”


Hitler produced his own pistol and held it in front of the Zentrale, considering it for a moment before calmly placing it down on top of the files. He eyed his comrades with a knowing smile.




“We have taken Germany, now we remake it in a better way.”







---



The painting is New Planet by Konstantin Yuon

 

[The Red]

Those who are defeated today shall be the victors of tomorrow. Because defeat serves as a lesson. The German proletariat still lacks revolutionary experience. And only through tentative attempts, adolescent errors and painful setbacks can it obtain practical education, which will ensure future victory. For the living forces of the social revolution, whose unstoppable growth is the natural law of societal development, a defeat means stimulus. And through defeat after defeat, their road leads to victory.



~ Karl Liebknecht, In Spite of Everything!

Schleswig Holstein Land Administration Office, Kaltenkirchen; July 1934






“It was with the best intentions that our movement entered into reconciliation with those forces who had shown themselves willing to tolerate the fascist-monarchist coup of Hohehnzollern and von Schleicher. Since then we have done everything we can, in the aim of peace and reconstruction, to work together with them for the betterment of Germany.

We were, from that point on, beset almost constantly by challenges to our United Front and our programme, beyond all that was reasonable. And yet through every infraction, every obstruction, every slander, every minor opportunity they took in an attempt to destabilise the workers government, we persevered. We continued to uphold the system agreed upon by the terms of the cease-fire, for we believed that for all our differences we were all patriots, with Germany’s best interests at heart.

When it came to the union of my Austrian home with our shared fatherland there was again obstruction, it seemed even this natural reunion of the German family was worth sabotaging in order to stifle the worker’s cause. Some did this alongside suggesting Bavaria be torn from Germany at the same time. Yet, perhaps naively, we continued to believe such people had Germany’s best interests at heart.

The events of these last days no longer allow for such optimism, we are under attack not only on our borders but also from within-”




A fires which surrounded the town cast the night in an angry orange glow. From the increasingly fortified Land Administration office it seemed the entire horizon was aflame.


Fires had spread, either with no-one to tend to them or perhaps deliberately.

Gerda gripped the pistol in her jacket pocket, from the window she observed the People’s Guard regulars, the newly drafted conscripts and the volunteer militias erecting barricades and sandbags outside the office. It was to be the centre of anti-fascist operations for whatever was to come. Those out of uniform had red cloth tied around their arms to show their allegiance to Germany, a throwback to the Civil War that many now gathered around the building had fought in.

Rosa sat in the corner, staring blankly at the radio as the Chancellor’s speech from earlier that day was repeated once more. There had been little real news from German radio stations all day, the broadcasting restrictions put in force by the Enabling Act the Reichstag had passed the previous day having limited the airwaves to official government broadcasts. Foreign news was not to be trusted.

Included within the official broadcasts were instructions of a curfew now in effect to limit any potential outbreak of violence from fascist elements within Germany, the German people were encouraged to remain in their homes other than those called upon to serve in their nation’s hour of need. Many of those people had also brought their families to where they could be protected before taking up arms themselves. Rosa wasn’t the only child currently under protection in the Land Administration office, although she was perhaps the best informed as to the ongoing events.

“There’s still a chance of stopping them isn’t there? The fascists won’t come, now they know we’re ready.”

Gerda looked at her daughter and noticed she was shaking slightly. She held her hand whilst the Chancellor continued on his tirade against the treacherous elements they faced.

“Comrades we shall, as a demonstration of our resolve, and as a sure sign to those who attempt to threaten our revolution and our fatherland, take up arms. The German people will not rest until this threat has been eradicated. Until then, death to the fascist invader! Death to the traitors and their conspiracy! Death to all those who would threaten Germany and the German ideology! Now, people rise up, and let the storm break loose!”

She squeezed Rosa’s hand whilst the radio began to play revolutionary songs in the interlude before the next information announcement, the upbeat choir felt incongruous with the orange glow outside and it was unclear whether it’s influence was meant to be calming or a call to join whatever might be unfolding.

“This is all but a temporary moment in history, a moment of transition in our lives.” Gerda remarked, holding Rosa’s hand to her left and the pistol in her pocket to her right. “One day we’ll look at this time as a bad dream, one we had to endure for the better tomorrow. You’ve spent your entire life in the revolution, soon you’ll be at the age I was when this all began, with the war. I haven’t been fair in raising you like this but life hasn’t been fair to people like us. I had hoped we could settle and find happiness at last but there is more to be done still. This, all of this,” Gerda motioned to the glowing horizon, “is just a nightmare before the dawn.”

Mother and daughter walked over to the window to look once more at the preparations going on outside.

“Tomorrow there is nothing that will be denied to workers like us but we have to reach out and take it first. We don’t lose hope because the fascists are acting out of fear but take joy in the fact that they are scared of us. Because we know that we’ll win.”

There was a flicker of a smile on Rosa’s face but it vanished just as suddenly upon noticing something outside.

“Are they with us?”

Gerda noticed the man now too, emerging out of the shadows with three following behind him. The assembled People’s Guard regulars took their positions whilst a group of volunteers approached them, she saw with relief that the visitors were brandishing a white flag. She could make out Dieter walking over to the two groups, his large arms and broad back cutting a figure she would have noticed anywhere. It wasn’t long before he was rushing back inside the building and up the stairs.

The sudden clatter startled Rosa before she noticed her mother’s partner standing at the door, out of breath from sprinting with a rifle on his back.

“They’re from the Rural People’s Movement. They want to speak to you.”

Puzzled, Gerda looked back at the men standing around with their white flag. It was hard to make them out in the shadows but she knew they likely meant trouble. They had been the source of disruption for her office on many occasions, surely they came under the groups that Hitler had spoken about? They had supported the United Front in the civil war but that could have changed in their displeasure at what they got out of the peace.

She masked her confusion with a smile to her daughter.

“Looks like the revolution needs me, I’ll be back soon.” It was a promise she intended to keep, she hadn’t let her daughter down for some time and intended to keep it that way.

“Stay with Rosa will you?” Gerda whispered in Dieter’s ear whilst rubbing his shoulder affectionately. She had built a family for herself here in Kaltenkirchen but the revolution had come to her here all the same.

The air had a strong smell of smoke to it, there weren’t any stars in the sky, but despite the fires in the distance the town remained in one piece. When she had been surrounded by the fires of Hamburg it had been a blazing inferno amidst a chaotic battle, here it was quiet. Almost serene. Gerda hoped the new arrivals intended to keep it that way. To her annoyance she noticed they were led by one of the hecklers from one of the many public meetings involving the division of landed estates, one who relentlessly brought up those estates which weren’t to be divided. He seemed happy to see her now all the same.

“Gentlemen,” She addressed them curtly, in the past they hadn’t liked being called Comrade, “I believe you wanted to see me?”

“We’re here to join forces with you but there’s a matter which must be straightened out first.”

“What would that be?”

“It’s better if you see for yourself, we’re over at Vogt’s estate.”

Vogt had been accused of supporting the Third Reich even if there had been no clear evidence for it like some of his fellow landowners. Because of this he had been allowed to keep his land thanks to the compromises the United Front had had to make.

“That’s almost fifteen kilometres away.”

“We have a car, you’ll be there before you know it.”

The man seemed genuinely excited about the prospect. Her eyes narrowed.

“This wouldn’t involve getting rid of me would it?

The former heckler put up his hands disarmingly.

“That might be how you operate but you’re safe with us. I would refer you to our flag of truce. Hopefully we can march with our banners together soon but they’re waiting for you on the Vogt estate before that can happen.”

“All the same, these three will stay here until I return. I’m bringing two comrades with me.”

She called over for two of the People’s Guard infantrymen who stood behind the assembled barricades to accompany her. They could be relied on for discipline at the very least and their uniforms might be intimidating, even to those contemptuous of the United Front’s legitimacy. The heckler relented and led the three of them down the street, leaving his own comrades behind.

Gerda didn’t know much about cars but one of the People’s Guard troopers whistled in amazement. The vehicle certainly looked stylish, all sleek shapes and curves moulded into one another.

“It’s a Citroën Rosalie, one of the fastest in the world. The bastard used to love speeding around the estate in it, flaunting the money he made off of our toil. Now it’s ours at last.”

“As long as it isn’t too fast,” Gerda muttered whilst stepping into the plush interior, “you wouldn’t want your new toy to be the death of you.”

“I’ve been driving tractors since I was a boy, you’re in safe hands.”

Gerda didn’t get a chance to ask if there wasn’t a difference before the engine roared to life and they sped through the town of Kaltenkirchen. Towards the many fires. The car could indeed go at some speed and as the engine continued to growl the rush was exhilarating. The fires added to that effect, they were growing larger now and not just in the distance. They were being driven towards one gigantic blaze where the Vogt estate house had once stood.

The heckler awkwardly brought the Citroën to a halt in front of the burning mansion. Gerda felt the heat hit her even before she left the car. The People’s Guard soldiers cocked their rifles in hesitation.

“I hope you can understand why we wanted you to see this.” The heckler smiled from the driving seat. The fire exaggerated his features, making him look manic. Gerda stepped out with her Comrades only to see a larger group were waiting for her.

“Good to see you again, Comrade Muller.” The Rural People’s Movement’s leader welcomed her. Claus Helm had an impish look on his face in spite of his years.

“I thought you weren’t fond of that address, Claus.”

“Well the world changes and we must change with it.”

It was hard to hear with the fire consuming the home but she could hear muffled shouts. The group parted to reveal a kneeling figure with a bag over his head.

“Then again,” Helm went on, “some are simply unable to adapt.”

He lifted the sack to reveal the bloodied face of Ludwig Vogt, the owner of this estate. He uttered muffled curses due to the cloth tied around his mouth, whilst looking at his house disappear in horror. In spite of his situation this seemed to be what truly concerned him. Gerda regarded him neutrally before looking amongst his captors.

“Throughout Germany the people are taking up arms to defend the revolution against those who would put us back in chains. You have acted, Comrades, and we Communists support you.”

“There is one outstanding matter all the same.” Helm produced a pistol and extended it to Gerda.

“You claimed to be of our class, Comrade Muller. Time to show your allegiance to the land.”

Gerda looked to the pistol and then to Vogt suddenly less interested in the state of his home. His eyes were now fixed on her, his smothered curses now beginning to sound like pleading.


The powers of the past, the mortal enemies of the proletariat, pleading through a mouth of dragon’s teeth.


She placed the sack back over his head and produced her own pistol.



“For Rosa.”





---


The painting is Monk Christopher with Christ near the river by Yuri Annenkov

I hope everyone has a Merry Christmas!

 

[The Red]

Act! Act! Courageously, resolutely, consistently – that is the ‘accursed’duty and obligation of the revolutionary chairmen and the sincerely socialist party leaders. Disarm the counter-revolution, arm the masses, occupy all positions of power. Act quickly! The revolution obliges. Its hours count as months, its days as years, in world history. Let the organs of the revolution be aware of their high obligations!

~ Rosa Luxemburg, What are the Leaders Doing?

​

The events of the Tage der Wut have been used in the histories of both the apologists and detractors of the German Workers’ Republic as a defining moment in the formation of the state. The justification and scale of the violence which reached a high point between July 20-24, 1934 remains a subject of great controversy.



In the years following the events the Communist leadership themselves could be seen to tacitly admit that events had gotten out of hand, albeit that the reprisals carried out against wealthy families, landlords and in some cases churches, were a righteous display of indignation at what the activities of the International Financier Plot had brought about.


The Polish occupation of East Prussia sparked panic in a nation already primed with fear. Ever since the French coup the nation had been preparing for a foreign invasion whilst the assassination attempt on both Hitler and Zeigner created a new worry of the enemy within. As we have seen, Hitler played to both of these fears in the immediate aftermath of the attempt. The International Financier Plot was now elaborated upon in depth for the first time.

The Enabling Act hurriedly passed through the Reichstag gave both a quasi-legal justification for Hitler’s dictatorship whilst giving the new dictator carte blanche to act upon his theories of a conspiracy composed of both domestic and foreign agents to destroy Germany. What followed was both the mass arming of what were designated to be German revolutionary forces and an endless list of potential enemies to eliminate. The ensuing scale of revolutionary violence eclipsed anything seen from the periods between 1918/19 or 1930/31 as scores up and down the country were settled with no barriers to hold them back. Junker estates left untouched by the United Front’s land reform program saw the landowners beaten or outright executed in repayment for decades of exploitation, their managers and families often meeting similar fates. Their dwellings were burned, lighting up many parts of the German countryside. Industries previously outside the remit of the National Reconstruction Council were occupied by their workers, the industrialists and financiers finding it easier to escape with less attachment to their property. Some were found at home however and met with arrest when lucky, the same going for the larger aristocratic elites and bourgeois intelligentsia who had had neither the means nor wherewithal to already flee. Conservatives, Catholics, liberals, monarchists and other such elements labelled to be in some way or another part of the International Financier Plot were faced with arbitrary arrest or immediate violence. Casualty estimates vary but even the most conservative figures are numbered in the thousands.

The role of the People’s Guard in facilitating this wave of revolutionary violence remains disputed but by the time it had become clear that there would be no immediate invasion to fend off the task of dealing with the tens of thousands of prisoners apprehended in the preceding days became a logistical effort which only they could be called upon to handle. Beyond a small minority who escaped or were otherwise sent home, those who had been arrested in the previous days were now held in courtyards, sports grounds and other available public locations. Few were held in prisons amidst the bureaucratic nature of the system and state judiciaries not always willing to cooperate with the new regime at this initial stage. There are examples of thousands being deposited in disused warehouses or surrounded by barbed wire in empty fields. Some of these temporary sites would eventually form the first reclamation centres, where so many Germans would disappear in the coming years.

These arbitrary purges would begin to receive a legislative stamp not long after the violence had died down. The judiciary and civil service had remained a hangover from the imperial era throughout the life of the republic and though many of its worst offenders had been removed following the civil war, the remainder were now put through a trial by fire in accommodating a swathe of new procedures which effectively put Germany on a war footing. Blanket judgements on those incarcerated during the round-ups and reorganising departments to better facilitate the directives of the new regime nonetheless required round the clock shifts, forcing resignations and early retirements where suspect individuals could not cope.

The Reichstag was not immune to this. Following the Enabling Act, Hitler elaborated on new evidence which implicated Noske’s German Socialist Party and the allied German People’s Party in the conspiracy to attack Germany. It was alleged Noske had been playing a long game ever since the civil war and the ‘Fatherland Front’ the two parties had campaigned under was merely a manifestation of the reactionary forces at play. The Catholic Centre Party was similarly proscribed not long after, new ties to Mussolini being cited alongside the party’s historic relationship to the Holy See when Hitler described them as ‘the two voices of Rome in the People’s Chamber’. With the right-wing DVFP having been banned shortly after Dirlewangler’s assasination attempt, the Reichstag was now limited to the parties of the United Front, their occasional allies in the German Democratic Party and a handful of smaller interest parties. The United Front itself was soon also broken however.

The Social Democratic Party split in two and with it the only major force dedicated to the maintenance of the republic they were largely responsible for creating was rendered ineffectual. The death of Zeigner, who finally succumbed to his wounds in August, prompted calls for fresh Presidential elections. Hitler refused, citing the continuing emergency situation. Those willing to continue to work with Hitler, at the very least for the sake of Germany, formed their own working group as the remainder of the party in the Reichstag stated its opposition to Hitler’s indefinite assumption of Presidential power.

Although he would not take on the Volksfuhrer title formally until the constitutional convention delivered its verdicts in the spring of the following year, Hitler had already cast aside any illusions that he was now dictator of Germany. The insurgent Social Democrats and their liberal allies would continue on in anemic opposition in a Reichstag which was increasingly bypassed before their parties were dissolved entirely to make way for the delegates of the constitutional convention. From then on the Social Democratic presence in the Reichstag would be limited to the Revolutionary Committee of the Social Democratic Party of Germany. They would march in lockstep with the Communist Party in the direction Hitler had set out on the basis of Zeigner’s legacy.

The two million people living within East Prussia were left to endure their own set of misfortunes at the hands of their Polish occupiers although the subsequent installation of a client regime of conservatives and monarchists brought a peace of a sort. Some within the largely agrarian territory even welcomed this return to power of the old elites whilst the population swelled from the influx of refugees eager to reach a Germany which was free of Hitler’s control.


The time of Weimar had ended. The Enabling Act Hitler presented to the Reichstag following the events of the Polish occupation gave carte blanche to the Communist leader to restructure German society to his whim. The anger he had summoned within the German people, whether ideological or patriotic, would become infused with what was to come.




It was in this fire that the German Workers’ Republic was forged.





~ Shaun Williams, Weimar's Rise and Fall






---





The pictogram is Factory Occupation by Gerd Arntz

Happy New Year everyone!

 

[The Red]

Antagonism and contradiction are not at all one and the same. Under socialism, the first will disappear, the second will remain.


~ Vladimir Lenin, Remarks on N. I. Bukharin's Economics of the Transitional Period

​

The German Workers’ Republic was reliant on the constitutional convention which hailed the state’s inception. It was, concisely, to be a republic composed of the German worker.



The constitutional convention was gathered in the Autumn of 1934 for a broader purpose of ironing out the problems that had prevented the old republican constitution from truly serving the people of Germany and in investigating the best means for Germany to go forward into the future as a socialist state. This was on the basis of such a settlement being the people’s demand following the civil war, one which had apparently been threatened over the Summer by internal reactionary violence and external threats of invasion.


By the Autumn these joint threats appeared to have been temporarily dealt with. The rallying of the German people to defend themselves had quelled the reactionary coup far more quickly than had been the case in 1930 and this had seemed to give the fascist powers surrounding Germany pause, alongside the performance of the People’s Guard and the declared support of the Soviet people for their German fellow workers. The proposal already drawn up for an upending of the constitution was thus put to a referendum of the German people alongside a list of potential delegates.

Compared to the close elections of 1931 and the surprisingly bitter referendum campaigns of 1932 the application of this referendum was largely functionary. The impetus of the German state, now Communist dominated, was on securing an affirmative vote whilst little opposition campaigning was tolerated. The delegates selected were all technically independent although it can be estimated that a large majority were either of communist or trade union origin with smaller but still significant numbers coming from the Rural People’s Movement and the proto-revolutionary Social Democrat working group.

The delegates worked over the winter in crafting their proposals as outlined by their remit and much of the German public debated with them as news of the convention’s progress remained closed within the Reichstag. By early 1935 however an emphatic new vision for Germany had been produced, one which would allow it to become the world’s first truly socialist state.

The new state had its executive in the form of the Central Committee. The Planning Council was to be the overall body representative of the German worker as a whole and would deliver the state plan for whatever length of time either it or the Central Committee would propose. This was except in times of emergency wherein a People’s Leader delegated by the Planning Council and vetted by the Central Committee could introduce the plan with the Council subsequently taking on an advisory role. This state of emergency was the first order of business when the Council was convened for its introductory session.

Legislative control beyond the Central Committee and Planning Council was represented in the People’s Council in which the German nation as a whole belonged, regardless of whether or not they were workers. Matters below the national level were to be determined by the 40 new states outlined by the convention. These arose out of the looser Weimar set-up in an attempt to resolve the arbitrary nature of state power within the old republic. It was not lost on the non-Communist delegates of the Communist-dominated convention that the new states were based on the existing regional divisions the Communist party used internally. This included a state chamber in-exile for the people of East Prussia, which sat with little real power over the state they were supposed to represent at the time of the formation of the Workers’ Republic.

Throughout Germany the most significant of the entities created was the Works Council. These harkened back to the councils which emerged during the German revolution of 1918/19 and in the spirit of that period they were to be the crux of German life and society going forward. There were three broad tiers tied to membership. Councils of between 100-1000 workers would be semi-autonomous in nature but in return were the most subject to state planning measures. Those between 1000-10000 would have the opportunity to elect their own delegates to the People’s and Planning Councils wherein they could affect the outcome of the plans. Those between 10000-100000 would usually have direct representation on at least the planning council.

Those above 100000 departed from the Works Council model. They would directly comprise part of the Kombinat system, the dominant economic model within Germany throughout the Hitler period whose whims the planning council was ultimately subject to. These industries were strategic; heavy industry, coal, steel, chemicals, shipping and other sectors considered essential to the national livelihood. They were state controlled and thus collective bargaining remained more present than existed in the autonomous Works Councils. Similarly they were subject to greater constraints than what those councils would endure with regards to economic planning, though workers could usually rely on high wages and more indirect forms of influence on their states and the republic itself. The design, at least in theory, stipulated that an increase in direct influence would mean reduced overall independence within every level. At the other end were the Guilds; small businesses of less than 100 people which could be run almost entirely as private enterprises if the owner was content with being a small fish in a big pond. Capitalism had been largely unchecked amidst Weimar’s so-called Golden Age and whilst a mixed market had dominated the period of the United Front, the Guild structures were the last bastions of capitalism with the Workers’ Republic. As such they were often treated with suspicion and it was made clear that they were subordinate in stature to the Works Councils and the Kombinat. Any exponential growth in a Guild would lead to it becoming part of this larger system, officially to limit monopolies but also to attempt to offset the tendency of German industry towards bespoke and specialised craftsmanship in the pre-civil war era.

Such demands would affect every level of the new workers’ state as the necessities of the immediate plan with its demands for a crash rearmament program unprecedented in human history would stretch every aspect of German life, as the economic and social spheres were moulded together into one proletarian vision of international liberation. Every privation of means and power the German worker would be expected to suffer in these intervening years was emphasised as a temporary but necessary evil, so that they might never be suffered again.

It was thus that this epoch of a workers’ utopia remained a promise. One to be delivered by that greatest revolutionary of all, Comrade Hitler, on whom all responsibility now lay.



~ Annett Gerhardt, Kriegsphilosophie: Totalitarismus und Demokratie in der Deutschen Arbeiterrepublik



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The Reichstag, Berlin; May Day 1935




The newly elected representatives of the Peoples and Planning Councils rose as the Volksführer entered to speak



The assembled audience were hushed before he turned to the large posters hung behind the podium and raised his fist. Behind him Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels; two of many founders, were displayed looking towards the future. To either side were Paul Levi and Erich Zeigner; two of the many revolutionary martyrs, smiling down benevolently on the occupants of the Reichstag and the Volksführer in front of them all.


“In 1933 I entered this building as Chancellor, filled with deep concern for the future of my class and of my nation. Today, two years later, I can speak to the first Reichstag in the German Workers’ Republic!”

Adolf Hitler could hear his words echo out in triumph and as the chamber erupted in applause. He was inclined to applaud himself but in the moment he could only gaze into the smiling faces of those he had brought to this point of victory and bask in the glory.

“Truly, perhaps more than any other generation, we may be able to gauge Marx's meaning when he said “History is the judge - its executioner, the proletarian.” He went on triumphantly,


“We today are fulfilling the promise of a millennia of struggle. How much blood flowed around this destination in vain! How many revolutionary martyrs, consciously or unconsciously in the service of this purpose, have gone down the bitter road of rapid or painful death for more than a thousand years! How many others were condemned to end life behind fortress and dungeon walls, for the freedom that they wanted to give to the German worker! And now the realisation of this dream has succeeded. We have fought for the future and slain our oppressors!”

Looking out into the crowd Hitler felt he could see the dead gazing upon him, the shocked faces of those who he had seen die in the great imperialist slaughter, those whose bodies had been left to decay by their betters, the first revolutionaries he had fought alongside in Munich and those he had had led in the Ruhr. He felt their power within himself.

“Countless blood-covered dead and injured in all German districts are the witnesses of the fight. It has ended, as Comrade Lenin predicted it would inevitably end, in the transfer of political power to the German proletariat. We have done away with the empty rhetoric and faced the cold reality of international capitalism. We asked the German worker “is that the way you want things to remain?” The German proletariat responded in unison:

“No! Freedom and prosperity!”

The German people stood up and demanded a Germany that belongs to them, one that is free of the chains of the oppressor. One in which the fruits of their labour belong to them. This is the historic mission of the German working class. One the German Workers’ Republic, thanks to your tireless efforts, now exists to accomplish!”

Hitler bathed in more applause lapping over him, even from within his own head. The revolutionary martyrs were gone, in their place the imperialists of the old guard. Those who had tortured him for dissent at the front, those who had sent him off to be cannon fodder at Verdun along with so many others. Those who had locked him up in Munich and forced him to come to terms with his reality.
Now they bowed before him in his imagination but he knew this was idle fantasy. They would never be brought to their knees until the entire world was under his direction. His message towards them was simple.




Now, let’s find more of your kind.




“We are the war cry against the rotting world of capitalism!” Hitler declared to those who were really in front of him.

“Hold out your hand, international proletariat! The day of freedom is coming, you only need to want it!”


For the moment the German revolution was secure, the international revolution beckoned.





“Germany is showing you the way!”





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The painting is Composition by Nikolai Suetin