The Genoa Conference and the Shadow of Rapallo
"Please, look this way just once!"
"Chancellor Wirth! What will you say this time?"
"Are you going to accept the demands of the Allied Powers?"
As soon as we stepped out of the car, a barrage of questions from the reporters poured over us. Wirth paid them no mind, walking slowly toward the entrance. The atmosphere was quite different from the previous conference in Cannes. As we entered the Palazzo San Giorgio, a historic cultural landmark of Genoa, the vast main hall of the palace revealed itself.
"I didn't know a place like this existed."
"...Hah, to think that someone who has been everywhere from Sanssouci would say such a thing."
When Rathenau said that, I clamped my mouth shut. It was fascinating to me, but for Joachim, it was a place he shouldn't have found surprising.
"Your Excellency, the Russian delegation," Rathenau whispered to Wirth, watching a certain group enter. My gaze naturally followed them.
Georgy Chicherin, the People's Commissar for Foreign Affairs, led the delegation. Behind him were Leonid Krasin, the People's Commissar for Foreign Trade, and the negotiator Adolph Joffe. The three of them walked in with an air of defiance, regardless of the stares they drew, projecting a sense of alien ostentation.
"Tsk."
"So arrogant, for a bunch of communists."
The sneers of the French delegation reached my ears from a short distance away. Led by Prime Minister Raymond Poincaré, the French delegation—steeped in a hardline stance quite different from the previous Prime Minister Briand—was looking at the Russian delegation with unconcealed displeasure.
"Now, we shall begin the conference."
Once all delegations had taken their seats, the conference began with Prime Minister Lloyd George’s opening remarks. George scanned the room. The eyes of the representatives from each country naturally converged on him.
"The purpose of this conference is simple. How to restore the European economy, which has been shattered by the war, and..."
He paused for a moment and turned his head.
"...how to handle Germany and Russia in that process."
At those words, the air in the room grew strangely heavy. The expressions of the French delegation stiffened, and the Russian delegation showed no reaction. George continued, unbothered.
"A gradual return to the gold standard, currency stabilization, and the restoration of international credit. These three will be the core agenda. If possible, we will even address the reparations issue and diplomatic normalization."
The Italian delegation nodded, and the Belgian representative also flipped through his documents, signaling his agreement.
"Of course, since this process involves the conflicting interests of each nation, it will not be easy."
George gave a short laugh.
"But that does not mean we can simply do nothing, does it?"
A brief silence followed. George seemed to think he had made a joke, but it wasn't a remark anyone found easy to laugh at. The French side spoke up first.
"...We understand the intentions of the British delegation, but there is one thing that must be made clear."
Poincaré slowly leaned forward.
"We must address the reparations issue first. Any further weakness will be of no help."
His gaze turned toward the German delegation.
"Germany has still not fulfilled its obligations."
I did not avoid his gaze, and neither Rathenau nor Wirth showed any reaction. Poincaré continued.
"Currency reform is fine, and credit restoration is fine. But all of that is predicated on reparations."
It was a short but clear line in the sand. The air in the conference hall stiffened once more. I quietly caught my breath and glanced at Wirth. He was already prepared to speak.
"...We understand the position of the French side," Wirth said calmly. "However, you must also consider that under the current structure, the reparations themselves are impossible to pay."
Poincaré’s eyes narrowed slightly.
"Impossible?"
At Poincaré’s words, Wirth nodded.
"Demanding the impossible, even if we are a defeated nation, is difficult for us to accept. And the repercussions will eventually fall as a burden upon every nation here."
George nodded subtly at those words. However, the French side responded immediately, showing no sign of backing down.
"Germany has still not fulfilled its obligations. And we do not have the authority to waive those obligations for you. Do not try to evade your responsibility!"
"We are asking for time to fulfill those responsibilities!"
The voices echoed through the Palazzo San Giorgio, and Prime Minister Lloyd George let out a deep sigh.
"As I said, the main agenda today is the gold standard. If you intend to engage in a power struggle over reparations, you may return to your respective countries."
Prime Minister George’s voice was low. At that moment, Poincaré cleared his throat and sat down quietly, reminding everyone once again who held the reins of this conference.
"The French are one thing, but the British are also too hardline. They only insist on a return to the gold standard; it's driving us mad. And the United States didn't even attend..."
Four days into the conference, the flow remained the same. If someone insisted on a return to the gold standard, some opposition would arise, the conclusion would inevitably boil down to reparations, France would pressure Germany, and when Germany was in a difficult spot, Britain would step in to steer the conversation back to the gold standard. The repetition of this cycle exhausted everyone.
I scanned the room. The delegations were scattered in small groups, but the only people smiling were the British delegation, the hosts, and the Italian delegation, who seemed to have no particular thoughts on the matter. I looked at them and spoke to Wirth.
"At this point, this isn't a negotiation; it's a confirmation. Britain still thinks they are the hegemon."
At my words, Wirth looked up and said, "They came here having already decided on their own conclusions. They have no intention of changing them."
"That's likely true," Rathenau agreed, letting out a short breath. "...Then it becomes even clearer. We will gain nothing this way."
When Rathenau spoke after much deliberation, Wirth furrowed his brow. "Minister, we cannot simply collide head-on, can we? France will not back down, and Britain will not stand by and watch that happen."
"That is the problem," Rathenau’s voice remained calm. "We have no time, and we do not have many options."
Wirth was filled with anxiety, but Rathenau’s eyes were full of conviction. Listening to the two of them, I opened my mouth.
"...Then there is only one way."
The eyes of both men turned to me simultaneously. I chose my words carefully before speaking calmly.
"We apply pressure."
Wirth’s eyebrows twitched slightly. "Pressure... in our position, who are you talking about?"
"Everyone."
Rathenau’s gaze deepened ever so slightly. "How do you mean?"
"If we cannot persuade them at the negotiating table, we must make them move outside of it."
"Speak specifically."
Wirth’s voice dropped. I turned my gaze. On the other side of the conference hall, a group stood intentionally at a distance. "...There is one more isolated nation, isn't there?"
Rathenau said nothing.
"If they move, this entire board will be shaken."
A brief silence. Wirth said in a low voice, "...State Secretary, that is too dangerous a choice."
I nodded. "I know. That is why it is effective."
The corners of Rathenau’s mouth rose ever so slightly. "...Your Excellency, I will speak with them."
Wirth glanced at Rathenau, who was already prepared to act, and then at my expression. He clasped his hands together, filled with anxiety and uncertainty, and fell into deep thought. It was around then that time began to slip away.
"The Russian delegation."
"...So, the German figures have come."
As Rathenau and I approached, Chicherin smirked, watching us with interest.
"Do you have any words passed on from Chairman Lenin?"
As Rathenau went straight to the point, Chicherin’s eyebrows rose, and the amusement in his expression gradually faded.
"...You are direct."
He looked at Rathenau for a moment, then shifted his gaze to me.
"I have received quite a few words."
He shrugged lightly. "He always says the same thing."
Rathenau did not take his eyes off him. "I would like to hear it."
Chicherin smirked and held out his hand. "That Germany would eventually come looking for us."
The moment I heard those words, I caught my breath very slowly and opened my mouth.
"...Then, is the option still open?"
Chicherin’s gaze turned back to me. "The option is always open. The question is whether you have the will to pay the price."
He was still holding out his hand to me. I hesitated, wondering whether I should shake it or not, my hand hovering in the air. That was when Rathenau broke the flow.
"We are already paying it."
Chicherin’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Then, what do you want?"
"Diplomatic relations."
Rathenau answered immediately, and Chicherin nodded very slowly.
"...Interesting."
His gaze drifted toward the conference hall. The place where the French delegation, the British delegation, and all other eyes were gathered.
"They will not like it."
I answered briefly.
"That is why we are doing it."
"...I understand. Prince of Socialism."
Chicherin said it with a smirk, but there was no particular mocking tone in his words. He said it quite calmly.
"Then, there is no need to continue the conversation in this place."
Rathenau nodded and asked, "Can you spare some time?"
Chicherin answered without hesitation. "Let us meet in two days. Comrade."
He said that, laughed, and simply went back to the banquet hall. Rathenau and I could only follow the backs of him and the Russian delegation with our eyes. Rathenau let out a deep sigh, straightened his clothes, and said to me,
"Let us go, State Secretary."
I nodded and followed Rathenau.