Austerity or Death
The letter from the Comintern read as follows.
“I truly regret that the German Chancellor has ultimately resorted to undemocratic methods. The so-called German democracy is fading away. Now is the time for the Communist Party and the Labor Party to act.”
“The Comintern believes the Chancellor won’t go that far,” Thälmann said, reading the letter.
“On what grounds?”
“The Popular Front… the self-proclaimed ‘liberals’ must fight in the narrow space between us, who champion people’s democracy, and the right, who want democracy’s collapse. Their logic is full of holes, and because their path is so constricted, they’ll end up relying on the fundamentals—rule of law, democracy, those tools.”
“Hmm…”
It was a sound argument. Vague as it sounded, believing it was still the best option. Surely, surely he wouldn’t invoke it. People say “surely” gets folks killed, but…
“So we must voice our opposition even more clearly, keep explaining to the workers why this policy is unjust, and at the same time tighten the net around those National Socialist bastards.”
Thälmann laid out the investigation reports the Comintern had sent across his desk. “They’re no ordinary right-wing group. But they’re clearly using the same large-scale fundraising methods the right employs to finance party activities. That absurdly cheap newspaper is probably their laundry. It’s obviously the same file as those rioters with the swastika banners outside the Reichstag, yet their connection to the German National People’s Party—and to Hitler—is still unknown.”
“There’s definitely a link, I’m telling you.”
“It’s only a suspicion. But suspicion is enough to start an investigation.”
Because this went beyond official institutional politics—beyond the mere authoritarian essence of parliament—Thälmann was being unusually cautious.
“First…” Thälmann’s finger tapped the upper right corner of People’s Observer. Palais Barlow. “Let’s start there.”
The next morning, 45 Brienner Straße, Munich, Bavaria.
“Ah, it’s been a while, Rudolf.”
“Likewise, Paul.”
The house, built of brown stone, was under heavy construction. It had to be Palais Barlow. He lingered at the edge of the property where many people passed, secretly watching the front.
“How’s the reconstruction coming?”
“Oh, it’ll be finished soon. Thanks to the funds you provided.”
“That’s a relief. The new headquarters of our great Führer must be suitably grand, after all.”
The two men exchanged words I couldn’t catch and went inside. Only then did he step out from the shadows, dressed in neat, expensive clothes.
“Excuse me, what exactly is this place?”
When he knocked, a well-groomed man opened the door.
“Who are you, and what brings you here?”
“Wilhelm, from Pomerania. I read about it in People’s Observer. Is this the right address?”
“Ah, yes! You’ve come because you’re interested in the National Socialist German Workers’ Party? We welcome anyone willing to do their utmost for the nation and to tear down this rotten Germany! I am Hermann Göring, deputy chairman of the National Socialist German Workers’ Party.”
Hermann Göring. He shook hands with the man.
“A pleasure, Göring. Why ‘deputy’ chairman?”
“Ah, we attempted direct action against the government in 1923. Our chairman was arrested and spent some time in prison. He’s no longer serving as chairman; I’m acting in his stead as deputy.”
“Is that so? Quite the turbulent history. May I know his name?”
“You’ve probably heard it before. He’s currently a Reichstag member for the German National People’s Party.”
Göring proudly displayed the swastika badge on his chest.
“Chairman Adolf Hitler.”
“That Göring fellow called Hitler the chairman?”
“Confirmed, Comrade Thälmann.”
Back at party headquarters, he removed his disguise and reported to Thälmann.
“Dual party membership?”
“They say those bastards tried direct action in 1923. After being arrested and released, he headed for parliament.”
“From Munich?”
“Probably.”
Thälmann pondered for a moment. “Good work, Wilhelm. Did they buy the story?”
“Didn’t suspect a thing, Comrade.”
“Excellent. Security?”
“It’s a building, so probably tight.”
“Then intelligence gathering comes first. Find the link between those rioters and the National Socialists, and locate a good position for our Red Front Fighters’ League to strike. And Heinz?”
“Yes?”
Thälmann called my name as well. “You dig up as much information on Hitler as you can inside the Reichstag.”
“Understood.”
I now had work to do inside parliament.
“At least 150 percent. Anything less is unacceptable.”
The next day, negotiations between the Chancellor and the German National People’s Party—ongoing since the day before yesterday—were in full swing inside the Reichstag.
“…”
“What, you don’t like it?”
Having realized he held the upper hand and the Chancellor the lower, Hugenberg of the German National People’s Party was playing hardball.
“A 150 percent tariff on grain imports is excessive. It’s tantamount to cutting off grain imports from abroad entirely.”
“So cut them off. Does Germany lack fields? Seeds? Labor?”
“Even so, are you unaware that the people lack bread to eat?”
“Then what do you propose?”
“If the tariff rises 150 percent and imports stop, will the landowners sell their grain on the domestic market?”
“The domestic market matters, but ultimately they’ll sell abroad.”
“Then the German people will starve. We’ll accept the tariff increase, but 150 percent is too much.”
“Oh? Then we have no reason to support you.”
They cared only about exporting grain for profit, regardless of whether the people starved. National survival, peace—everything could be sacrificed.
“Hear, hear!” The Christian-National Peasants’ and Farmers’ Party, which had split from the German National People’s Party, cheered from the side.
God, those bastards… Conservatives were simply beyond comprehension. Hitler sat silently in the lower seats with his arms crossed, looking arrogant. Was there any way to pry information out of that bastard…? After he’d called me a whore last time, my pride wouldn’t let me speak to him first.
“We would be willing to support the government if Eastern Aid were strengthened.”
Hugenberg dangled another piece of bait. Eastern Aid was, quite literally, a policy of providing financial support to the great eastern landowners—the old aristocracy. After unification and industrialization in the nineteenth century, Germany had focused industrial development on the western Rhine region and Bohemia, but in the east—Austria, Brandenburg, Prussia, Bavaria—where the emperor still held sway, traditional agrarian economies persisted in many places due to aristocratic resistance. The Great War drastically reduced land productivity and siphoned labor into munitions production, slashing the revenues of these great landowners. Subsequent land reforms under the Social Democratic government after democratization left most of them drowning in debt. Eastern Aid was the policy designed to bail them out financially.
Seizing all their land and distributing it to the starving people on the streets still wouldn’t be enough…
“…How much expansion are you asking for?”
“At least 40 percent of our landowners’ debts must be converted to low-interest government loans or have their repayment deadlines extended indefinitely.”
“And by low interest you mean…?”
“Around 4 percent should suffice.”
“F-four percent?!”
Brüning’s shock was understandable. The current market rate was around 10 percent; they wanted it more than halved.
“Furthermore, at least 500 million marks from the cabinet budget must be allocated to eastern agricultural support measures.”
Wow… they were really pushing it.
“…I’ll consider it.”
“Of course you will.”
Consider what? This was maddening. Still, no matter how irritating, I needed to keep my temper in check and find a way to get Hitler talking…
“Such measures are not advisable, Chancellor.”
Before I knew it, Deputy Crispi from the Social Democrats had obtained the floor.
“Eastern Aid is a stopgap. Germany needs land reform. Simply handing privileges to the aristocracy will never modernize agriculture.”
“But excessive land reform could create inefficiencies, Deputy Crispi.”
“Whatever we do will be more efficient than the current situation, where aristocrats monopolize vast estates, Chancellor. I’m not advocating radical redistribution. Germany has not taken a single step beyond the medieval tenant-farming system. Reform is essential, Chancellor.”
“…What approach are you suggesting?”
“Distributing large estates to tenant farmers and the unemployed, or converting land into commons to encourage collective farming—there are various possibilities. The point is that land reform is necessary so that the farmers who till and harvest the land directly reap the benefits and contribute to economic revitalization.”
“……”
Brüning gave no answer. Of course he wouldn’t. Acknowledging Crispi’s words would mean taking land away from the very landowners he had just promised support; refusing on any grounds would signal he cared only about protecting vested interests. A zero-sum game between landowners and peasants.
“…I’ve heard you.”
In the end, Brüning could only mumble evasively without giving a proper reply.
“Hearing me is not enough, Chancellor! Do you still not grasp the gravity of the situation? Without land reform, agricultural modernization and revival are impossible!”
“I will… consider it, Deputy.”
“…I hope you think carefully.”
Deputy Crispi ended his remarks without pressing further. Yes, even the Social Democrats were ultimately reformists—leftists. While I’d been getting angry and suppressing my rage at that exchange, I had completely failed the actual mission: getting Hitler to open his mouth.
How on earth was I supposed to…
“This is difficult.”
I honestly confessed as much to Thälmann.
“To be frank, I don’t want to talk to him.”
“Heinz, I understand how you feel… but for the greater cause, could you cooperate just this once?”
“…Understood, Thälmann.”
Once again, I couldn’t refuse and accepted. I was too kind for my own good.
Thanks to the Comintern’s full support, we uncovered the Nazis’ trail.
“The National Socialists are holding a meeting this Sunday.”
“Oh, really?! Where?”
“In Munich.”
An excellent opportunity had presented itself.