The Occupation of the Ruhr
January 4, 1923. Paris, France. Raymond Poincaré, Prime Minister of France. He sat alone in an empty conference room, sipping his tea as he waited for the generals. Soon, the doors opened, and the military ministers and generals filed in one by one, taking their seats.
"You summoned us, Prime Minister?"
"Yes. Sit down, everyone."
"Sir, former Prime Minister Aristide Briand has sent a letter of protest. It urges us not to provoke Germany or the world."
"Burn it."
"Understood."
One of the generals tossed the letter straight into the fireplace without even glancing at its contents. After all, who cared about the opinions of a left-wing politician like Briand?
"As you all know, we won the Great War through unbreakable spirit. What did Aristide Briand ever do? It was us right-wingers and soldiers who defended the fatherland, wasn't it?"
With that, Raymond spread his hands wide. The room nodded in unison, eyes fixed on him.
"President Alexandre Millerand has given his approval. That man's decisive when it counts. Anyway, the plan I devised—you've all reviewed it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. We can delay no longer. Beasts only learn when you whip them. A civilized nation like ours might try words first, but does anyone truly consider Germany civilized? It's barbarian territory, plain and simple."
"Sir, but... isn't this too dangerous?"
"Danger makes it worthwhile, doesn't it? That's how we'll jolt Germany into obedience. There's a method to taming wild animals."
Raymond Poincaré spread a map across the table and jabbed a finger at one region. Ruhr. Then he drew a line straight to the right.
"We start with the Ruhr. Occupy its industrial zone and squeeze something out of those treaty-breakers. If there's no reaction, push further right. Then right again."
"Sir, this could spark war."
"Ha! Germany's army is capped at 100,000 by Versailles. You think France would lose? It'd be a boon."
"International relations would collapse."
"Are you a leftist, by chance?"
"...Nothing, sir."
"I like a quick conversation. Prepare. The advance begins on the 8th. Secure the entire Ruhr in short order."
With those words, he scrawled his signature on a document with a quill. An order commanding the French Army to march. And so, Raymond Poincaré etched his name into history once more.
January 8, 1923. French mobile divisions stationed in Alsace-Lorraine crossed the German border for the first time. There was no German army to stop them. The Treaty of Versailles forbade any troops west of the Rhine.
Thus, with zero resistance, the forces poured into the Ruhr region one after another. The locals, witnessing the spectacle, fled in terror thinking war had returned, or hid in their buildings. Some passersby, enraged simply because the soldiers were French, hurled stones or cursed.
"Drag that bastard out."
"Why the hell are French troops here? Get out! Go back to your own country!"
"Barbarian scum."
But such futile resistance was swiftly crushed. In just one day, Ruhr's city centers fell. By January 10, the core areas were fully in French hands.
On January 12, the French occupied Ruhr's government offices, turning them into a temporary HQ. To Germany, they issued a hardline ultimatum: "We will maintain occupation until reparations under the Treaty of Versailles are transferred."
This wasn't war. It was a one-sided declaration. Not even a formal declaration of war.
"Clear them all out!"
"By measures for your nation's treaty violation, this factory is temporarily seized by the French government."
By January 13, with the occupation solidified, the French seized factories and various production facilities across the Ruhr without permission. Some machines were loaded onto trucks for shipment to France; others were shut down.
"We'll value these machines at 7.5 million marks apiece. Got it?"
They set the prices arbitrarily—essentially highway robbery. The Ruhr citizens were furious. Overnight, the sudden occupation cost them jobs and property.
"This can't be happening! They're just thugs! What the hell is our government doing?!"
In the midst of it, the French—putting on a show of benevolence—forced Ruhr residents back to work. They rounded up idlers from the streets and shoved them into iron and coal mines, or barged into bakeries and eateries, taking food without paying. Wages for the conscripted miners were minimal, and hyperinflation soon turned them to worthless paper.
Caught between a rock and a hard place. Neither Germany nor France offered salvation.
January 20, 1923. News of the French occupation of the Ruhr reached Bavaria via newspapers. Of course, we'd had some prior intel. Fortunately, Catalina, the family, and a few acquaintances from the Ruhr had mostly evacuated to Bavaria.
"How could this happen? Where the devil is Wilhelm Cuno and what is he doing?"
"Strasser, you know as well as I do—this government's incompetent. At best, they're urging civilians to strike."
"Our fellow Germans in the Ruhr are suffering under French oppression. What do we do?"
Gregor Strasser raised his voice, insisting we mobilize the Wave Corps and march on the Ruhr. The Corps had grown to about 8,000 strong—though many were paper members, we could field over 5,000 in reality.
Against the French mobile division occupying the Ruhr, 5,000 militiamen were peanuts militarily. But politically? Enough to stir a storm.
"Absurd. Falkenrain, Strasser's too emotional to think straight. Fight the French? Who benefits if we just bleed out?"
Ernst Hanfstaengl, ever the businessman, countered. Yahn Krichz agreed.
"He's right, Brother. Not the time. And even if, we can't go alone."
A meeting of DDRAP's top cadres. Opinions split sharply: aid the Ruhr, or ignore the crisis.
Max Amann, editor of our Bavarian Workers' Newspaper and current propaganda chief, sided with Hanfstaengl.
"No need for direct aid. We exploit it politically."
"Amann, you scribblers don't get it—action wins support. Don't spout off if you know nothing of politics."
"Strasser, I know politics better than you. No need for losses or sacrifices. Set up a Ruhr fund, toss some cash, claim credit from afar with propaganda. Done."
"German comrades are trapped in the Ruhr! Is that all you see?!"
Gregor Strasser exploded at Max Amann. Krichz stood, restraining him.
"I get the anger, but Brother's here. Watch yourself, Strasser."
"..."
Strasser sat. Amann had a point, coldly speaking—it was near-perfect logic. Crisis is opportunity. Exploit what you can.
But I envisioned something different.
I have a predecessor named Hitler.
Though I killed him... Anyway, Hitler turned the Ruhr occupation into gold—just like Amann suggested. He united Bavaria's far-right parties, fractured as oil and water, into the German Combat Alliance.
The common foe—the Ruhr occupation—made it possible. Sure, their "March on Rome" imitation, the Beer Hall Putsch, was a flop... But in Germany's dark days, Hitler and the NSDAP actually acted. It burned deep into southern Germans' minds, including Bavaria.
"Max Amann, I appreciate the input, but refrain from viewing our brothers' pain purely as opportunity."
"My apologies, Leader."
"That said, you're not entirely wrong. We lack options now."
I glanced at Hanfstaengl and Krichz.
"What's our current funding like, Hanfstaengl?"
"I'd need to calculate precisely, but we're flush—better than ever."
"Then for now, fundraise for the Ruhr. Gather food and essentials for civilians. That's enough. Real resistance? We discuss with all Bavaria's parties, not just us."
"Uniting with Bavaria's parties—what do you mean...?"
"Time to rally the right-wing factions."
"But Leader, that risks our dominance. This is our chance to monopolize it."
Max Amann voiced concern. But he missed one thing: this event was monopolizable either way. The public remembers just one face per group.