Nuremberg: Germany's Day
"We are not slaves to France! We fight for freedom! We fight for Germany!"
"Arrest all those bastards!"
June 1923. The Ruhr occupation had reached its peak. Over the past five months, countless people had been injured or lost their property due to the French army's occupation of the Ruhr. French garrison troops had even arrested and executed factory managers who destroyed their own plants or burned machinery.
"Those terrorists!"
The damage in the Ruhr only grew worse. And with it, resistance intensified. Wilhelm Cuno and Wilhelm Marx, the current heads of the Weimar government, were secretly ordering strikes and work slowdowns among Ruhr citizens from behind the scenes, even providing covert funding to passively defy France. Contrary to French expectations, the occupation failed to extract the resources and wealth they desired, dragging the operation out. Britain began protesting to France, and within France itself, fierce criticism poured in against actions tantamount to outright invasion.
"Rotten leftists. Haven't those guys been brainwashed by the Germans? Instead of supporting our army, they dare criticize us?"
French Prime Minister Raymond Poincaré seethed at how this incident was becoming a political liability. Things weren't being handled properly. The plan wasn't proceeding as intended. It felt like everything was clogged up.
"War Minister! Summon the War Minister!"
Raymond Poincaré called in the War Minister to turn the situation around. Before he arrived, Poincaré had already unrolled a map and was drawing arrows across it. An advance into Germany. To secure the reparations stipulated by the Treaty of Versailles, they needed to be bolder. Beyond his anti-German stance, there were deeper reasons for his fervor in occupying and pushing into the Ruhr. France's economy was collapsing just like Germany's postwar. The franc's gold standard was effectively shattered, unemployment was rising, American consumer goods were flooding in and draining foreign reserves, and fiscal woes were severe.
'If only Germany had paid its reparations on time, this wouldn't have happened...!'
Poincaré thought this as the War Minister entered, immediately demanding an eastward advance.
"War Minister! We can't delay any longer! Lead an advance eastward with the mobile divisions at once!"
"Your Excellency, that could spark another full-scale war with Germany. If it comes to that, everything will go up in smoke, and Britain won't stand idly by."
"Britain? Those island perverts who love neutrality and balance? Ignore them."
"Your Excellency, expanding the occupation further means we won't get the reparations under Versailles—we'll get nothing at all."
"...Summon the British ambassador."
Raymond Poincaré wasn't devoid of reason. Faced with the War Minister's opposition, he shelved the eastward advance plan. But he had no intention of abandoning the Ruhr occupation. He summoned the British ambassador and demanded Britain join in supporting the occupation. Naturally, the ambassador refused.
"Your Excellency, I'm sorry, but my government will not comply with your request."
"Fine. I didn't expect you to anyway. At least know this: your protests won't make us withdraw our troops. That's all."
"...Your Excellency, the League of Nations is viewing France with concern. Please show prudent judgment for the sake of the homeland."
"We'll handle our own affairs. No more meddling."
"Very well, then. I'll take my leave, Your Excellency."
He'd give up the advance but maintain the status quo. That was Poincaré's thinking.
In September of the same year, as the Ruhr occupation dragged on, the DDRAP attended the "Nuremberg German Day" rally. Nuremberg was quite a distance from Munich and the second city of Bavaria. Political groups and parties gathered here to debate or pledge joint action. And it was my pivotal battleground.
"Invitation?"
"Yes."
"German Third Reich Workers' Party... Ah, that famous one from Munich. Handsome just like the papers said. Come in."
Here, I parted from my party members. Party leaders met separately. Members attended the rally to run the event... And this was the true significance of the "Nuremberg German Day" event.
It was a gathering of leaders from regional giants like the "Bavarian People's Party" and "Bavarian Democratic Party"—liberals, Catholic socialists—and various smaller parties. I was assigned a prearranged seat of honor. A wide table was laid with food, and wine was poured for everyone. At a glance, it resembled nobles dining together for harmony. But nothing could be further from the truth...
"Oh, who might this be? The man who turned Bavaria into an extreme-right stronghold?"
"Pleased to meet you. You know me?"
"How could I not? The fellow who smashed the communists in Bavaria?"
From the start, some dragged up our party's scandals; others sneered or cracked old-man jokes calling me Jewish... This was no nobles' salon. Food was the last thing on their minds. The cost of this spread alone must have run into millions of marks.
"Anyway, our young lad's got a silver tongue—succeeded in Munich. Let's raise a glass to this Junker, Lucas von Falkenrain."
"..."
Everyone stood with wine glasses raised, staring at me intently.
"What's the holdup, Falkenrain? We're toasting you—can't do it without you."
I sighed deeply at those words. Then I stood, not extending my glass but hurling it to the floor. Wine splashed onto my boots.
"What the—? Such a waste..."
"Even now, Germans can't afford bread, let alone wine. Should we indulge in luxuries like this?"
"You're mad. Spilling wine won't feed the people."
"I know. I'm criticizing your culture. This vulgar habit of casually toasting as if it's natural."
"What did you say?"
"Get a grip! Germany is in crisis. And the people claiming to serve her are here, doing this?"
My outburst silenced the room. But rebuttals soon followed.
"Ha. Kid, politics has procedures. You wouldn't understand yet..."
"No. Politics exists for the state and people. Think I don't know realpolitik? How else would DDRAP become Bavaria's top party?"
I approached the elderly leader of the "Bavarian Center Party" who'd dismissed me. Staring him down, he averted his eyes. My gaze held countless mixes of blood and mud.
"Realpolitik? Let me ask: What will you sacrifice for state and people?"
"That's a stretch, Falkenrain. And you? What can you sacrifice?"
"I already sacrificed everything in the Great War."
"..."
I always wore my Iron Cross and uniform to political events. The uniform symbolized devotion to Germany. Berliners who knew would recognize it—I'd been hailed multiple times as a brave soldier from the World War.
"Allow me to propose something to you elders who fancy 'realpolitik.'"
I sat calmly. I'd won the initial power play. No one would openly scorn me now. I'd at least created an atmosphere where they'd listen.
"Join us, or oppose us. Those are your two choices."
"What do you mean?"
"Exactly that. Even now, our Ruhr brethren die under French oppression. Surely everyone here knows."
"We're aware of the Ruhr situation. It's the main agenda for this German Day rally."
"Yet here we are, spitting at each other instead of uniting over a lavish feast... Shame on you."
"So, what now?"
"We must oust this impotent government that does nothing against France."
As I explained calmly, eyes turned to me. Faces noticeably twisted.
"Are you sane? That was dangerously radical."
"To save our Ruhr kin, I'll use any means. Politics serves state and people. If you have even a shred of conscience..."
I tapped the table.
"Join or oppose. Choose one."
Of course, details would come later... But I needed them. I couldn't do it alone. Yes. I planned to recreate exactly what Hitler had done. That was all.