Overthrow the Cabinet #1
The verdict sent shockwaves not only through Germany but across the entire world. Ramsay MacDonald’s Labour cabinet in Britain—elected in 1929—sank even deeper into anxiety. MacDonald had already been trapped in a painful dilemma between his party’s pledge to expand welfare and the harsh constraints of austerity.
“Prime Minister, our own budget is barely avoiding deficit as it is. Expanding support beyond the Young Plan is simply impossible.”
Yet the League of Nations understood, at least in part, that if this ruling caused Germany’s workers or far-right factions to run wild, the path to an unstoppable war would open. They wanted, by any means necessary, to avoid the nightmare of the British Navy steaming back into the North Sea and the French Army waiting for the Germans along the Maginot Line.
The newly appointed French Prime Minister, Pierre Laval, cared nothing for whether the German constitution was upheld, whether democracy or the rule of law survived. As long as the reparations arrived on time, nothing else mattered.
Unlike America, Britain, and Germany—which had already been staggering for more than a year under the colossal shock of 1929—France had remained relatively safe from the crisis that had shattered the global capitalist order. While the United States was deeply entangled in the world resource market and Britain relied on colonial labor, France’s economy maintained a healthy balance between agriculture and industry, allowing a degree of self-sufficiency. Most important of all, the stable value of the franc and abundant gold reserves had cushioned the blow.
Laval’s government in France simply hoped Germany would pay its reparations quickly and refrain from tearing up the Treaty of Versailles. The situation in the United States—the very epicenter of the panic—was even worse. President Herbert Hoover had no intention of abandoning his laissez-faire economic principles no matter how dire things became, even if it cost his Republican Party its popularity.
America had breathed a sigh of relief that the socialist fever which began in Leningrad (then Petrograd) in 1917 had finally been halted in Germany. Yet if a revolution broke out, toppled the government, and severed ties with the West, the huge trade surplus the United States enjoyed with Europe would vanish overnight—an absolute disaster.
In the end, no one—not even the United States, which had never joined the League of Nations—wanted the Treaty of Versailles torn apart. That shared interest became the narrow common ground on which they tried to coordinate their responses.
Even Soviet Russia, which had been watching the Great Depression like a house fire from the safety of its self-sufficient socialist economy, could not entirely escape the spreading flames. Inside the Kremlin, debate raged.
“This is our moment! With the German workers’ rage at its zenith, we must support Comrade Thälmann and Comrade Heinz! We must export the revolution to Germany! Germany will tread upon the sluggish precedents of Asia and Spain and become the signal flare for world revolution!”
These fiery declarations came from Leon Trotsky and the left-wing faction within the Communist Party, who insisted the time for offense had arrived.
“Exactly, Comrade Trotsky. What if Britain and France dispatch troops to crush the German left?”
Joseph Stalin, Nikolai Bukharin, and the centrist and right-wing elements of the party pointed to the Soviet Union’s still-incomplete military capabilities and the organizational weakness of the German left. To the eyes of the late Comrade Lenin—who had passed away three years earlier—it would have looked like a perfectly healthy debate. Yet because of it, the opportunity to support the German left kept slipping further away.
In Italy, Prime Minister Benito Mussolini, who rejected traditional conservatism and preached an “alternative right” that despised socialist and communist ideologies, was quietly weaving his own strategy.
If Germany fell into the hands of those who worshipped fascism, Italy could look forward to expanding its influence in the Balkans and North Africa—perhaps even establishing hegemony over the entire Mediterranean.
While the international situation churned with such dangerous currents, the Chancellor’s voice flowed from the radio, and today it sounded especially hateful.
The cabinet will follow the Constitutional Court’s decision. The reform proposal demanded by the People’s Front in January is unconstitutional, therefore the cabinet has no obligation to accept it…
“Unconstitutional…”
The word Verfassungswidrigkeit had us by the throat. Why unconstitutional? Alone in the Communist Party headquarters that had been dissolved in the blink of an eye, I sank into thought.
The judges had to know that the reforms we demanded were constitutional. At the very least, calling a national referendum, repealing austerity, and introducing equal suffrage were unquestionably constitutional. There was no violation of the constitution anywhere. When we filed the constitutional complaint, we had clearly stated that this was not a single all-or-nothing policy but a collection of five separate clauses.
Yet the court had simply ruled the whole thing “unconstitutional.” That could only mean they had decided that not a single one of the five clauses was constitutional. That was impossible.
The Chief Justice had said it plainly: “Providing momentum to resolve Germany’s crisis by rejecting the proposal is more reasonable than the benefits German democracy would gain by accepting its constitutionality.” In other words, even the justices had concluded that “national interest” took precedence over “defense of the constitution.”
Did that make any sense? Of course the principle of proportionality existed. But protecting the constitution came first. Determining constitutionality came first; only afterward should proportionality be considered. How could something that was clearly constitutional be declared unconstitutional under the pretext of protecting the state?
“Haah…”
No matter how many times I snapped my fingers, the result refused to change. The reform bill had been ruled unconstitutional. From now on, every time Brüning pushed forward a similar proposal, he would have an ironclad justification for rejection: one single word—unconstitutional. I could only conclude that some sort of collusion had taken place between the Constitutional Court and the cabinet.
But the water had already been spilled. If Brüning pressured us tomorrow to shut down the Worker’s Factory project, there would be no legal way to refuse. At the same time, the fact that the Social Democrats were now our allies made it impossible to fight outside the law as we usually did. No matter how I looked at it, we were stuck.
I would have to meet with the parliament members tomorrow and discuss our next move.
“Does anyone have a good idea about what we should do?”
The next day, members of the People’s Front gathered at the Social Democratic Party headquarters.
The relationship between the Social Democrats and the Communists, which had seemed to be improving, fractured once again. The question came down to whether they would stay within the bounds of legal struggle or step outside them.
I sighed. I no longer knew what to do. Perhaps I should never have taken the chair. Only now did I truly understand how exhausting it was to stand between the mutually distrustful Communists and Social Democrats.
Politically I stood even further left than the Communists, yet…
“Everyone, please calm down for a moment.”
“I don’t know either. The Constitutional Court overturned a perfectly reasonable ruling. I have no idea what kind of common sense we’re supposed to expect anymore.”
“That won’t work. Even if Russia intervenes and we win, the League of Nations will interfere. In the worst case, it could lead to all-out war.”
With the Western-imposed limits on German armaments still in effect, entering a war against the West could create exactly the situation I had mentioned to the Chancellor over drinks—the complete subjugation of Germany to the West. The Soviet leadership was clearly aware of this danger, which was why they were refraining from reckless contact with us.
“For now, the most direct step is to submit a motion of no confidence in the cabinet.”
A motion of no confidence was a declaration by parliament that it no longer trusted the cabinet and that the cabinet must be reconstituted to align with the will of the people.
“To pass a no-confidence motion, we need a majority of those present in the chamber. Is that even possible? The last time we couldn’t even repeal the Emergency Decree. Besides, the Chancellor still holds the power of the emergency decree. He already has the authority to ignore parliament whenever he wishes.”
Deputy Krischpin’s words were heavy.
“Until now, even when Brüning rejected our reforms, he at least clung to the excuse of ‘unconstitutionality.’ I believe he still retains the minimum will to respect the constitution. I cannot imagine he would dare ignore the rights of parliament guaranteed by that very constitution.”
The right to issue a motion of no confidence was an inherent power of parliament that existed under any circumstances. Germany was not at war, and there was no justification for rejecting it.
“The majority is the same issue. Most of the German National People’s Party deputies aren’t even bothering to show up to parliament. We should seize this moment, quickly introduce the motion, and pass it.”
“They broke the rules first. Why should we be the ones to follow them?”
“Well…”
At any rate, the course of action was decided.
“Then tomorrow we will all attend parliament, introduce the motion of no confidence in the cabinet, and try to pass it the same day if possible. We must not give the German National People’s Party even the slightest opening to strike back.”
The plan we drew up and refined was put into motion the very next day.