The Hope of German Democracy
“Heinz! The hope of German democracy!”
“Guardian of the people! The sword driven into the capitalists!”
The next day, the citizens who had swarmed the front of the Frankfurt Communist Party headquarters since before dawn kept me from getting any proper sleep.
Ugh…?
It was still so early that every other parliamentarian had probably returned to their own homes to sleep. I was the only one staying here because I couldn’t afford a place nearby.
I hastily smoothed my hair, pulled on decent clothes, and stepped outside.
“What on earth is…”
“Heinz! You are the true savior of the people!”
Their clothing told me their station at once. Low-ranking civil servants facing immediate dismissal and unpaid wages thanks to Brüning’s policies.
“The Chancellor is about to let us starve! Politics kept telling us we had to tighten our belts to save the nation, but you’re the one who actually saved us!”
“Social stability? What good is that when the choice is change or death?”
“I don’t know much about proletarians or soviets, but the only person who can knock the arrogance out of those fat-bellied capitalists and return the country of Germany to all its people is Representative Heinz!”
These were civil servants already seething at Brüning’s reckless austerity measures.
“All right, everyone, calm down.”
The crowd that had been shouting in front of the headquarters fell quiet at my words.
“Your anger is entirely justified. You gave your labor for this country, yet all you received in return was a unilateral notice that your wages would be cut. You have every right to be furious.”
“Exactly. At least factory workers can talk to the boss. Trying to negotiate with the state itself is nearly impossible.”
“They won’t seize the ill-gotten wealth of the corrupt and redistribute it to those who need it. All they think about is slashing salaries…”
The rage they shared was identical. The country is supposed to belong to its citizens, so why am I not allowed to say a single word about my own life?
This might become the bridge that connected the revolutionary left with these middle-class citizens.
“In the order of capital, citizens have no place to stand. The law that should protect the people is instead protecting a system that does not serve them. How can any change come from that?”
“Right! Right!”
“You—perfectly ordinary German citizens who are neither special nor wealthy—are the future of Germany. Politics is not something politicians do; it is something the people do. The right wing has deceived you for years with the lie that politics and economics have nothing to do with each other. Here and now, we must declare that is false! There can be no democracy so long as the people are denied economic self-determination!”
“That’s it!”
“But! We must still be careful.”
Anger is the engine of progress, yet when released without restraint it becomes the most violent force imaginable.
“What we want is our lives—nothing more. We are taking back the rightful lives stolen from us by capitalists and landlords. That is why we must speak peacefully, yet firmly.”
In other words, we had to remind the government exactly who the true owners of this country were.
The slogans that had died down began to rise again from the crowd.
Once the chants had found a balance between fury and restraint, the crowd began marching down the streets, shouting them at the top of their lungs.
“What’s going on, Heinz?”
Thälmann had arrived at the headquarters on his way to the Reichstag.
“Citizens who came at dawn.”
“From their clothes, they look like civil servants.”
“I suppose so. They said they were inspired by my speech…”
“Well, that makes sense.”
Thälmann crossed his arms and watched the departing demonstrators.
“These are people who spent their entire lives inside the illusion that the state would protect their jobs. They never imagined they would one day march alongside the left. To them, workers’ strikes were simply a nuisance.”
He clapped a hand on my shoulder.
“You persuaded them. You pulled them to our side. You are the hope of the left, Heinz. You have taken the ideology of communism—something that had been confined to workers and the lowest classes—and elevated it into an ‘alternative for democracy.’ The ideological bridge the left had been searching for was inside you all along. To the right wing that painted us as destroyers of democracy, you have answered that they are merely the guardians of privilege. The Chancellor fell for it beautifully and handed us the trophy of logical victory.”
“It wasn’t persuasion. I simply spoke the truth.”
“The Communist Party waited eleven years since its founding to speak that truth to the middle class that refuses to associate with workers. Now that we have you, Heinz, the revolution may be closer than we think.”
“I can only hope you’re right.”
“Revolution is not some grandiose event. It is simply the process by which the collective will of the people is reflected in politics.”
“But that process is never easy. As long as capitalists and authority exist, they will keep trying to crush us.”
“Of course. Yet the left has already triumphed in Spain and Russia. Germany is far more industrially advanced than either. Exercising the united power of the workers should be easier here. Therefore we must awaken the workers and the people and instill in them a longing for a new society.”
Thälmann turned and headed deeper into the headquarters.
“That is why your work stands out, Heinz.”
“Come on, I’m a freshman representative. And we belong to different parties.”
“Does that mean there’s still plenty of work left for you to do?”
“How about you stop talking, Thälmann?”
It was a little embarrassing. Honestly, the ones truly doing the work were the workers and citizens protesting in the streets and laboring in the factories. At least I no longer had to worry about missing meals. That alone was already a luxury.
“Did something happen, Thälmann?”
“Ah, nothing at all. I was simply recounting Heinz’s latest exploits again—though my mouth grows tired just speaking of them.”
This man really…!
“I told you to stop!”
That same day, the headline of the Frankfurter Zeitung was nothing short of shocking.
Labour Party Representative Heinz Delivers a Stinging Rebuke to the Stagnant Politics of Reality!
“Good heavens… the voice of the reds has grown this loud? The world truly is ending.”
“Heinrich, how can you call her a red! Tell me, what part of what this woman Heinz said was wrong? Is the system we live in truly democracy?”
“Johann is right, Heinrich. What exactly has Brüning—who claimed to represent the people—done for them?”
“Well… hmm…”
“Communism is not a monster. To my eyes it looks like the first gateway to a new age.”
“Yes, but if communism comes, all the wealth you’ve accumulated will be seized by the party. Are you still fine with that, Martin?”
“You clearly didn’t listen to Heinz properly. The party doesn’t seize property, Heinrich. It redistributes it. Everyone—rich or poor—contributes their wealth to society and receives an equal share of what is produced. We might actually live better. At the very least we wouldn’t have these massive waves of unemployment driving wages to the floor.”
“True. Even Bayerische Motoren Werke in Bavaria is tottering; they say wages there have been cut nearly in half. I don’t even want to think about how much my own salary has been slashed.”
“Still… the right to private property is inviolable, isn’t it?”
“Even when that private property is destroying democracy?”
“That’s…”
The debate around socialism and communism was truly spreading even among the middle class. Socialism, stripped of the instinctive middle-class fear that had once contained it, was becoming an enormous snowball that threatened to engulf all of society.
The square in front of the Reichstag—which I had thought crowded enough yesterday—was now packed shoulder to shoulder with no room left to move.
“Democracy without democracy—step down!”
“Bread for the true owners of this society! The factory belongs to the workers inside it!”
Most of them had come after hearing my speech.
…Seeing it all, I finally began to understand why Thälmann and the party members kept praising me.
“Excuse me, coming through.”
“Hey, it’s Heinz! Heinz! The face of the workers—Heinz!”
“Representative Heinz! Please replace this empty democracy with one that truly belongs to the people!”
“Representative Heinz! Could we have a moment of your time?”
It was already deafening. I honestly hadn’t expected things to grow this large…
“I’ll answer questions after the plenary session! Thank you, everyone!”
“No, no—we’re the ones who should be thanking you! Liberator Heinz!”
The chants that rose whenever they called my name were remarkably varied. Liberator, Liberator of the Workers, Liberator of the People, Revolutionary, Orator, Eloquent Speaker, Defender of Democracy, Face of the Workers…
In truth it didn’t matter what they called me. Personally I would have preferred the plain “Representative Emilia Heinz,” and if they insisted on “liberator” I would have preferred the masculine Befreier… but they were all supporters, so it was I who felt honored.
“What is this… move!”
“It’s the National People’s Party! Exploiters! Usurpers!”
“What the— I am a parliamentarian! Get out of my way!”
The National People’s Party, which had traded barbs (or rather trash talk) with me that morning, had now been firmly branded as “traitors to the nation.”
Good. It suits you perfectly.
“Much more pleasant~”
Without the right-wing representatives who had booed me the moment I entered yesterday, the chamber felt ten times more comfortable. The plenary session had not yet begun, so I thought I might sit for a moment—
“Representative Emilia Heinz? Might I have a word?”
Once again, someone called out to stop me.