The Painter (1)
1905. On the surface, the empire was infinitely stable, but the tendrils of nationalism lurked everywhere.
Indeed, even the Social Democratic Workers' Party (SDAP) had been unable to escape the influence of these nationalist factions before joining hands with the imperial family.
Consequently, every strike and rally they led had been heavily tinged with nationalist colors, and nationalism reared its head at every event.
But now, Stahl's scheme was working perfectly.
"Are the preparations for tomorrow's Prague National Rally going well?"
"W-we have a major problem! Another rally is already taking place on the street where we planned to hold ours!"
"What?"
"It's a protest against unfair dismissals! The workers are demanding that the right to hire and fire be handed over to a personnel committee made up of workers!"
A Czech nationalist organization hastily looked for an alternative venue, but it was a fool's errand.
The organizations following the Stahl-Ferdinand Model, which had spread all the way to Bohemia, had absolutely no intention of allowing a nationalist rally on their streets.
"To hold a rally here, you need permission from our Prague Workers' Vigilance Committee."
"What on earth...! Just because the residents living here have gathered doesn't mean you own the public road!"
"What did you say?"
"Drive out the reactionaries! The streets belong to us!"
Drawing inspiration from Stahl's concept of a "workers' self-governing community," the SDAP had fully fleshed out the theory behind the Stahl-Ferdinand Model.
Their logic was simple: residential areas dominated by workers should be run "democratically" by the workers themselves.
This was where the expertise of the SDAP—seasoned veterans of strikes and protests—came into play.
Adler and Stahl had spent day after day in endless discussions on how to orchestrate these protests to maximum effect.
"Normally, a protest like this needs a shocking catalyst to really gain momentum," Stahl had noted. "The Haymarket affair in Chicago only spread so rapidly because there were 'victims' to rally behind."
"And our protest theme is 'against unfair dismissal,' correct? Then we'll have to get someone fired."
"Will the capitalists really cooperate with such a scheme?" Adler had asked, skeptical.
"Of course not on their own. We'll have to make it worth their while."
Professional wrestling needs a hero, but a charismatic villain is just as crucial.
Would the capitalists willingly play the villain?
Normally, no. But with the SFB Chemical Company and its ammonia—the very engines driving Austria's economic boom—it was entirely feasible.
They had already leveraged the profit margins of ammonia distribution to force improvements in working conditions elsewhere.
"Fire a worker and then reluctantly reinstate him? We cannot possibly agree to such a preposterous proposal!"
"High-purity ammonia production is currently unstable," Stahl countered smoothly. "However, we can guarantee that your firm will be the very first in Bohemia to receive our next shipment of high-purity ammonia."
"Ah. So you want us to establish a policy where layoffs can only occur after consultation with the labor union? You have our full and enthusiastic cooperation!"
Such was the terrifying power of a monopoly supply chain.
Wittgenstein had poured the colossal fortunes and modern steelmaking technologies he acquired into the SFB Chemical Company. No matter how low the initial yield, they had succeeded in building an ammonia supply chain on a scale massive enough to rival the empire's entire saltpeter imports.
Consequently, no matter how hard latecomers struggled, SFB reigned as the absolute sovereign of the Austrian industrial sector, backed by both political clout and economies of scale.
In any case, under pressure from SFB Chemical—which was currently orchestrating a mock factory occupation—a certain gunpowder factory in Bohemia promptly sacked a worker.
Naturally, the dismissed worker received a sum of money so vast he would never have to work another day in his life. The fact that he was a former theater actor remained an eternal secret.
"Ugh... I was loyal to this company!" the actor sobbed dramatically. "I worked like a dog, even losing two fingers in an explosion! And yet, I have been slaughtered like an old horse that has outlived its usefulness!"
"Those bastards! We are not cattle!"
"You capitalists only eat because of our sweat!"
Of course, the nationalist organizations were no strangers to "mass movements" themselves. Drawing on their extensive experience, they tried desperately to paint these socialist protests with nationalist colors. But every time they tried, the strike leaders masterfully brought the demonstrations to a swift close.
The capitalists, having already been promised their rewards, reluctantly conceded and promised to improve working conditions.
"We were wrong. We apologize. From now on, all dismissals must go through the personnel committee."
"Furthermore, except in cases of gross negligence, no worker shall be dismissed without the explicit consent of the labor representatives."
Until now, the nationalist factions had known nothing but failure. Whenever they ran amok, the Emperor crushed them with a brutality that rivaled the Russian Tsar. To the average worker, who remained blissfully ignorant of the behind-the-scenes machinations, the situation looked entirely different.
"Hey, aren't you going to the Czech independence rally anymore?"
"Why bother? Those guys are utterly incompetent! What did our lives ever gain while they were busy shouting about Czech independence?"
"True. Have we ever actually achieved anything tangible through their massive rallies?"
"Exactly. But look at this. The moment we fight under the banner of socialism, we get immediate results."
Once the workers tasted the intoxicating thrill of a successful strike and protest, they abandoned the nationalist camp in droves, raising their voices instead for "improved working conditions."
Naturally, there were minor hiccups. The intensification of the socialist movement caused quite a bit of collateral damage to certain capitalists.
"The Reds are running wild!"
"My God... a revolution might actually break out at this rate!"
Well, in any case, it wasn't as if the empire was going to collapse, right?
'Is this crisis finally drawing to a close?'
Bohemia, Slovakia, Slovenia, Croatia, Serbia, Bosnia, Hungary, Galicia, Tyrol... 1905. The Hungarian crisis, sparked in tandem with the Russian Revolution, would normally have triggered nationalist movements of catastrophic proportions. But this time, the trajectory had fundamentally shifted.
The year 1905, which in my original history marked the beginning of the end for the Austro-Hungarian Empire due to rampant nationalism, had instead become the year socialism caught fire.
"It's getting a bit terrifying at this point," Franz Ferdinand muttered. "Can the empire truly survive like this? If things take a wrong turn, we might end up as the Austro-Hungarian People's Republic instead of the Austro-Hungarian Empire."
"That is indeed a possibility, Your Imperial Highness."
"...?"
"If that happens, you can simply become the General Secretary of the People's Committee."
In any case, we had successfully navigated the first wave of public attention. But there were still many steps left. Nationalism was not something that died so easily. In a way, it was just like communism. The Reds arose spontaneously. No matter how hard a government cracked down on them, communism only seemed to grow stronger under oppression.
Nationalism was no different. Just as communism thrived wherever there was wealth inequality and exploitation, nationalism was born wherever there was othering and cultural oppression. If anything, nationalism was far more dangerous because even the ruling class could wield it with fluid ease.
'It's about time we showed them our strength.'
A mass movement grander than anything seen before! We needed to prove that our ability to mobilize the masses and exert influence far surpassed that of the nationalist camp. And right on cue, another nationalist movement was brewing in Slovenia.
A gymnastics meet was scheduled to be held in Slovenia. Though, calling it a mere gymnastics meet was a bit of a stretch.
'This... is getting a bit too North Korean.'
It was a mass gymnastics movement called Sokol. There wasn't much to it on the surface. Based on the philosophy of "a healthy mind in a healthy body," it was essentially a movement to have the entire populace perform synchronized calisthenics, much like military drills.
'Actually, this isn't a bad idea. We could integrate this into the Stahl-Ferdinand Model.' Yes, the core objective itself was fine. However...
"Did you say thirty thousand people are gathering for the Slovenian Sokol meet?"
"Yes, they apparently plan to perform some sort of mass gymnastics together," Franz Ferdinand replied.
If thirty thousand people gathered under the banner of a nationalist organization to perform synchronized military-style drills, that changed the equation entirely. No matter how one looked at it, this was a political rally.
When thirty thousand people stood in perfect, disciplined ranks, the sheer visual impact was devastating. In the original history, the Emperor would have ordered his troops to open fire without a moment's hesitation. To make matters worse, the event was thoroughly drenched in nationalist sentiment.
"Director Stahl, do you plan to disrupt this event as well, just as you have done with the others?"
"Disrupt" was a bit of a harsh word, but frankly, it was too accurate to dispute.
"No, Your Highness. Sabotage must be executed with careful consideration of the circumstances. If we rashly launch strikes and protests when such a massive crowd is gathered, we might actually find ourselves overwhelmed."
Sabotage had to be handled with the utmost delicacy and sophistication. Otherwise, we risked a counter-offensive—either the nationalists disrupting our own events in kind, or them completely crushing our momentum through sheer numbers.
'I want to throw a wrench in their gears... but how?'
Mass gymnastics. I used to think gathering crowds in public squares under the useless pretext of athletic meets was the exclusive domain of the Soviet Union and communist regimes. Even in the 21st century, didn't people in China—where communist influence lingered—gather in squares every morning to practice Tai Chi? North Korea was the same. Orchestrating colossal mass games to flaunt their mobilization capabilities to the world was their ultimate specialty.
Wait... mass games?
"That's it!"
Originally, "mass games" referred to collective gymnastics and exercises, much like the upcoming Slovenian Sokol event. However, dictators of all stripes—from Nicolae Ceaușescu and Kim Il-sung to Chun Doo-hwan—had co-opted them as political tools, shifting the definition. It evolved into a form of performance art involving thousands of people, featuring synchronized group dances or card sections where participants flipped colored cards to form massive, shifting mosaic images.
'We'll participate in the Sokol and disrupt it with our own mass games!'
Granted, we couldn't outright overpower the thirty thousand attendees. The Sokol was, after all, a sacred sanctuary of Slavic nationalism. However, a card section required only a few hundred or a few thousand people to deliver an overwhelming visual impact. It would serve as a powerful demonstration of just how disciplined and unified our forces were.
I immediately gathered Adler, Franz Ferdinand, and the others to explain my plan.
"We will have each participant prepare a few colored boards. Then, they will hold these boards over their heads like this."
"And then?"
"In sync with the music, they will flip and raise these boards above their heads."
"...And what does that achieve?"
"Now, imagine it. When these boards come together, they form a giant picture. Haven't motion pictures recently emerged as a new marvel? By flipping the boards in sequence, we can display a series of images, creating a moving picture of sorts."
Even with this brief explanation, Adler and Franz Ferdinand instantly grasped the sheer impact of the plan. Imagine thousands of people moving in perfect, flawless unison as if they were a single organism!
"Are you a genius, Stahl? We must absolutely use this for the next International Workers' Day!" Adler exclaimed.
"His Majesty will absolutely adore this," Franz Ferdinand chuckled.
Both Adler and Franz Ferdinand looked at me with genuine admiration. They were men who understood the terrifying power of large-scale mass movements all too well.
"We can easily mobilize a few hundred employees from the SFB Chemical Company," I said.
"And within the SDAP, there will be plenty of volunteers eager to participate in an event like this," Adler added. "But surely there is more to prepare than just volunteers?"
Indeed. We first had to decide on the images to display, which meant we needed to recruit some painters.
"But will there be any trouble with our participation?" Franz Ferdinand asked, a note of concern in his voice. "That place is a hotbed where all kinds of radical Slavic nationalists run wild."
Franz Ferdinand's concern was valid, and I gave it some thought. He was right. This was essentially the equivalent of wearing a rival team's jersey into a stadium packed with violent football hooligans just to provoke them.
"Hmm... you have a point. Honestly, a massive brawl breaking out might actually work in our favor."
"N-no, that is precisely the problem I am warning you about!"
Why? Our goal was disruption. If the Slavs attending the Sokol got into a massive fistfight over whether nation or class came first, the entire event would be utterly ruined anyway.
Viktor Adler broke into a cold sweat at my casual remark and quickly intervened.
"While the Sokol is indeed a sacred event for nationalists, various workers' unions and social democratic parties from different nations also participate. There shouldn't be any issue with our entry itself."
"And the massive brawl?"
"...I cannot speak to that."
In any case, I busily set to work preparing a 21st-century, North Korean-style mass game. There wasn't much time left before the event.